THREE MONTHS' TRUCE
"Red marble shall not ease the heartache..."
"Why should I rear me halls of rare
Design, on proud shafts mounting high?
Why bid my Sabine vale good-bye
For doubled wealth and care?"
--C. S. CALVERLEY.
There was, however, much in Melicent's new position which was
irksome, and to her inexperience, wholly unexpected. She had not
foreseen that the event would make a stir in the county, and bring
her into a prominence much accented by the fact that she was a
qualified architect, now occupied in building a gentleman's
country-seat.
Sir Joseph's paternal kiss was an infliction which positively scared
her; and the influx of congratulatory visitors still worse.
"Capital, Melicent darling!" was Mrs. Cooper's honeyed sting; "you
are quite a lesson to us all in overcoming unfortunate tendencies! I
always quote you to anybody who complains to me of children that are
difficult to manage."
Lancelot was out of earshot when this amenity was uttered; but Mr.
Helston heard it, and, being unregenerate, hit back.
"Talking of children that are difficult to manage," he said, "what
news have you of George?"
"A most amusing letter," promptly replied the vicar, who was always
ready, with armour girt on, to defend his own. "He gives a capital
account of the colonial method of pooling labour for harvesting
purposes. Had you that custom among the Boers, Millie?"
"I don't know," said Melicent. "Ask Captain Brooke."
"Brooke's gone back to town," said Helston. "He went off last night
on his motor. He is going to take it to Clunbury by road."
"Oh," said Millie, "I wish he had taken me! Travelling all night
too! I should have enjoyed it!"
"Oh," cried her aunt, "we must really tell Mr. Burmester this! You
must remember, Melicent darling, that you are appropriated now. It
would never do to make Mr. Burmester jealous."
"Really, Aunt Minna," said Melicent disgustedly, "one would think you
were the under-housemaid."
She walked away, with her head in the air, after this unpardonable
speech, and told Lancelot that she could not stand Fransdale now that
she was engaged; they must go back to town at once.
"Well," said Lance, "of course I ought to be back, only I was waiting
till you went. We'll travel together."
"Captain Brooke's off, I hear."
"Yes; the builders' estimates for that confounded house came in, and
he was off like a shot; thinks of nothing else but his house and his
motor car; hardly took any notice when I told him we were engaged."
"Oh, well," said Melicent vaguely; "one wouldn't expect him to be
interested in that."
"I did. I do. He's my friend."
"Ah! That's why, I expect! You see, he knows me better than you do."
Until Lance's blank stare faced her she did not realise the thing she
had said.
"I mean," she hastily subjoined, "that he may have heard all about
what a naughty girl I used to be from Mr. Mayne. You know, they are
great friends."
"Ah," said Lance tenderly, "but Mayne thinks the world of you."
"Does he?" said Melicent, rather wearily.
* * * * * * * *
In the train, on the way to town, she felt happier. Things were
falling out as she wished. It was unconsciously that she was acting
with such surpassing selfishness. She did not tell herself that she
was fencing herself with an engagement in order to be free to gratify
her ambition. She did not even know that at the back of her mind lay
the treacherous thought that, when Lone Ash was built, Lance might be
thrown over. But a deeper self-knowledge would have shown her that
this was what she really intended. Her mind just now was full of
dreams: but they were in stone and mortar. Visions of corbie-stepped
gables, of oriel windows, of mullions, drip-stones and other
bewitching details, would keep coming in between her and Lance's
scholarly, boyish face opposite. She and he were at one end of the
carriage, the Helstons, with newspapers ostentatiously spread, at the
other.
Lancelot was a good deal elated and somewhat thrown off his balance
by the great fact of his engagement. He arrived at the railway
station brimful of the idea of writing to his paper to decline the
St. Petersburg mission. He was terribly dashed at first by his
_fiancée's_ warm opposition to this idea.
"You can't care for me, if you can coolly face the idea of my being
away till the end of June!" he cried.
"I never pretended to care for you in that emotional kind of way; I'm
not emotional," said Millie, with calmness. "I care with my mind,
and I like a man to go and do his duty, not to hang round a woman's
apron-string. Look how soldiers and sailors have to part from the
women they love! You have your name to make in the world."
"I see your point of view," said the lover wistfully, "but it is a
little hard to go off and leave you so soon. I'm--I'm very much in
love, you know, darling. You are the kind of girl men do make fools
of themselves for."
Melicent sighed. Perhaps she was thinking of a certain cup of coffee
streaming down a man's face and shirt, and the fight that ensued on
that swift insult.
"I tell you honestly, Lance, I'm not in love with you," she said.
"It's no use pretending."
He was silent, giving her only an ardent look--a look that she
resented.
But she told herself, a man is only in love for such a short time.
It is the kind of thing a woman must tolerate and allow until the
brief madness passes. Now with regard to Bert, she doubted if such
well-recognised rules would hold. He might easily prove capable of
being in love all his life, which made him inexcusable. Her fancy
ran off again upon this tack, till she was recalled by hearing Lance
say:
"If you knew how awful it is to think of leaving you. Words don't
convey the horrible feeling, the craving for you, when you are out of
my sight."
"Perhaps you don't trust me," she said, with a little supercilious
smile. "Perhaps you think I shall not keep faith if you leave me?"
"Melicent!" He insisted upon taking her hand, unbuttoning and
removing her glove, kissing the palm and holding it to his cheek. "I
shan't say another word. I'm the happiest man on earth. I shall
look on my exile as the proof of my manhood."
"I am more likely to value you correctly if you go away," said
Melicent, withdrawing her hand when she had borne his caress as long
as she could. "I shall grow used to the idea of you. I can't adjust
my horizons at present, with you in the foreground. It used to be so
empty."
"And you will spend all to-morrow with me, won't you? We will lunch,
shop, dine together, go to the theatre--we will have one day of
happiness, and then part."
One day of happiness! The girl looked wistfully at him.
"Lance, will it truly make you very happy to spend the day with me?"
"I wonder you can ask," he said. He added a string of lovers'
folly--tender names and protestations.
"Well, then, we'll try it!" she cried recklessly. "I want a day of
happiness too. You shall take me where you like, and I shall try and
be happy. I think I am too cold and selfish. I'll try and let
myself go to-morrow, and enjoy things, and be sweet to you. You
shall have a memory to carry to Russia with you--the memory of a day
as happy as I can make it."
* * * * * * * *
The day of happiness was a pitiable failure as far as Melicent was
concerned. She did her best, honestly. She wore her prettiest
clothes, and tried hard to be really interested in jewellery, and to
persuade herself that driving down Bond Street in a hansom,
purchasing a smart diamond ring, lunching at the Trocadero, and so
on, in company with a good-looking, well-dressed, clever and
agreeable young man, constituted the elements of enjoyment for her.
But it would not do. She would rather have been wandering alone on
Fransdale Rigg in a storm and a mackintosh; or, better still,
superintending the foundation-laying of the first child of her genius.
After their final leave-taking, and the passionate demonstration on
the part of Lance which she had not been able to evade, she was
almost determining to put an end to the whole thing. But when he was
gone the tension relaxed at once. She liked him very well at a
distance. Perhaps--almost certainly--by the time he returned, she
would find that her affections had progressed in his direction.
Meanwhile, she blindly felt the protection of her engagement to be an
imperious necessity in the present circumstances.
And three days after the sailing of her lover, the idea of her
approaching wedding had grown dim and far; for Captain Brooke came to
Mr. Helston's office to consider the builders' estimates.
Melicent was at her drawing-board when he came in, her fair head bent
over a piece of delicate work. The meeting was expected on both
sides, and both were thoroughly on guard. Mr. Helston was present,
and after the usual greetings had passed, the Captain, without pause,
offered Melicent his congratulations on her engagement.
"Mayne seemed afraid that you would throw up your commission and
leave me in the lurch in consequence of more pressing interests," he
said. "I am glad to find you are more business-like than that."
She smiled.
"I'm afraid Lance knows that he will have to go shares with
architecture in my heart," she said, slightly shrugging her shoulders.
Helston had gone for a moment to the outer office, to carry a paper
to a clerk: the two were alone.
"_What a fool Burmester must be!_" said Brooke hurriedly, under his
breath.
She looked up, angry, amazed; but his eyes were in another direction,
and it was impossible for her to answer him, because Helston
immediately returned. They plunged into business; and thereafter her
client's manner was wholly natural, quiet and business-like.
In the course of two or three interviews, the raw surfaces of
Melicent's susceptibilities were healed, her apprehensions lulled.
Fired through and through with professional enthusiasm, she gave
herself heart and soul to the difficulties and the fascinations of
her profession.
The glory of it! To see her Idea taking shape in material that
should endure for ages! To see dreams and thoughts reduced to
dimensions and proportions and traced upon the bosom of the ground in
foundations that would be still young, years after their designer was
dust!
The circumstances were exceptional. Her client gave her
_carte-blanche_, and was to the full as enthusiastic as she. The
spring was a glorious one. As the fruit trees in the old orchard of
Lone Ash Farm burst into flower, the outline of Melicent's creation
began to rise imperishable, on the hill-side.