A QUESTION OF IMPORTANCE
It had been chance pure and simple which happened to take Doctor Hilary
to Woodleigh on the day the Duchessa received Trix's telegram, but it
cannot be equally said that it was chance which took him to Exeter on the
following day, and which made him travel down again to Kingsleigh by the
four o'clock train. Also it was certainly not chance which induced him to
be on the platform at least a quarter of an hour before the train was due
at the station, ready to keep a careful lookout on all the passengers in
it.
* * * * *
Trix had had an uneasy journey from London. She had re-read Miss
Tibbutt's letter at least a dozen times. At first she had allowed herself
to be almost unreasonably depressed by it; afterwards she had been almost
more unreasonably depressed because she had allowed herself to be
depressed in the first instance. Quite possibly it was all a storm in a
tea-cup, and this man had nothing whatever to do with Pia's unhappiness.
Of course the chance meeting and the overheard conversation had fitted in
so neatly as to make Miss Tibbutt think it had, and she had easily
communicated the same idea to Trix. But quite probably it had nothing
more to do with it than her own surmise regarding Doctor Hilary had had.
And that had proved entirely erroneous, though at the time it had
appeared the most sane of conclusions. Also Miss Tibbutt might quite
conceivably be wrong as to Pia's being now unhappy at all, whatever she
had seemed to be in the summer.
Trix's visit began to appear to her somewhat in the light of a wild-goose
chase. Anyhow she had not given Pia the smallest hint as to why she was
coming. Naturally she could not possibly have done that. She had still to
invent some tangible excuse for her sudden desire to visit Woodleigh
again. Sick of London greyness would be quite good enough, though
certainly not entirely true. But possibly a slight deviation from truth
would be excusable under the circumstances. And she _was_ sick of London
greyness. The fog yesterday had got on her nerves altogether, though
quite probably it would not have done so if it had not been for Miss
Tibbutt's letter, which had made her feel so horribly restless. But then
there was no need to say why the fog had got on her nerves.
Yes; the fog would be excuse enough. And it was not an atom of good
worrying herself as to whether Miss Tibbutt had been right or wrong
regarding the idea communicated in her letter. If she were right it made
Trix unhappy to think about it, and if she were wrong it made Trix cross
to think she _had_ thought about it. So the wisest course was not to
think about it at all. But the difficulty was not to think about it.
Trix knew perfectly well that absurd little things had this power of
depressing her, and she wished they had not. She knew, also, that other
quite little things had the power of cheering her in equal proportion,
and she wished that one of these other things would happen now. But that
was not particularly likely.
The depression had been at its lowest ebb as they ran into Bath. It was,
however, slightly on the mend by the time Trix reached Exeter, though she
was still feeling that her journey had probably, if not certainly, been a
piece of pure foolishness on her part.
The carriage she was in was up in the front of the train. She was the
sole occupant thereof. She now put up something akin to a prayer that she
might remain in undisturbed possession. Apparently, however, the prayer
was not to be granted. A tall figure, masculine in character, suddenly
blocked the light from the window. Trix heaved a small sigh of patient
resignation.
"Good afternoon, Miss Devereux," said a voice.
Trix looked up. Her resignation took to itself wings and fled.
"Doctor Hilary!" she exclaimed.
Doctor Hilary heaved his big form into the carriage, and turned to take a
tea-basket from a porter just behind him. First tipping the said porter,
he put the basket carefully on the seat.
"I've been on the lookout for you," he remarked calmly.
"Oh," said Trix, a trifle surprised.
Doctor Hilary sat down, keeping, however, one eye towards the platform.
"Yes," he continued, still calmly. "The Duchessa happened to tell me
yesterday that you were coming, and as I happened to be in Exeter to-day
I thought we might as well do this bit of the journey together."
"I see," said Trix.
Doctor Hilary looked up. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked quickly.
"Mind!" echoed Trix, "I am quite delighted. I've been so bored, and
rather tired, and--yes, I think quite depressed."
Doctor Hilary looked concerned.
"You poor little thing," he said. "And I suppose you have had one
sandwich, and no tea. Men turn to food when they're depressed, and women
think they can't eat. Honestly, there's nothing like a good meal for
helping one to look on the brighter side of things."
Trix smiled first at him, and then at the tea-basket.
"Anyhow I'm to be fed now, it seems."
The train began to move slowly out of the station. Doctor Hilary gave
vent to an ill-supressed sigh of relief. The train was non-stop to Brent.
He began pulling at the straps of the tea-basket.
Tea and Doctor Hilary's company had a really marvellous effect on Trix's
spirits. The little pleasant occurrence _had_ happened, and quite
unexpectedly.
"I'm glad you're coming down to Woodleigh," said Doctor Hilary presently.
"The Duchessa has seemed out of sorts lately, and I fancy your coming
will cheer her."
"Oh," said Trix, "you think so, too." And then she stopped.
"Who else thinks so?" queried Doctor Hilary.
"Well, Miss Tibbutt didn't seem quite satisfied about her," owned Trix.
"It was a letter from her made me come. And then I thought perhaps she'd
been mistaken, and I'd been silly to think there was any need of me, and
that--well, that I'd been a little officious. It's a depressing
sensation," sighed Trix.
Doctor Hilary laughed.
"So that was the cause of the depression," quoth he.
Trix nodded. "It was rather silly, wasn't it?" she asked.
"I am not sure," he said.
"It was such an idiotic little thing to worry about," said Trix
Doctor Hilary looked thoughtful.
"Perhaps. But isn't it just the little things we _do_ worry over? They
are so small, you know, it's difficult to handle them. It is far easier
not to worry over a thing you can get a real grasp of."
Trix smiled gratefully.
"I am so glad you understand," she said. "I am always doing things on
impulse. I fancy I am indispensable, I suppose, and then all at once I
think what a little donkey I am to have interfered. It is so easy to
think oneself important to other people's welfare when one isn't a bit."
"Aren't you?" said Doctor Hilary quietly.
"Of course not," replied Trix. There was a hint of indignation in her
voice. "And please don't say I am, or else it will make me feel that you
think I said what I did say just in order that you might contradict me.
Like fishing for a compliment, you know. And I didn't mean that in the
least, I didn't truly."
Doctor Hilary smiled, a queer little smile.
"I know you didn't mean that. But all the same I am going to contradict
you."
Trix looked up. "Oh well," she began, laughing and half resignedly. And
then something in Doctor Hilary's face made her stop suddenly, her heart
beating at a mad pace.
"You have become very important in my life," he said quietly. "I did not
realize how important, till you went away."
Trix was silent.
"I am not very good at making pretty speeches," said Doctor Hilary
steadily, "but I hope you understand exactly what I mean. You have become
so important to my welfare that I should find it exceedingly difficult to
go on living without you. I suppose I should do it somehow if I must, but
probably I should make a very poor job of it." He stopped.
Trix gave a sudden little intake of her breath. For a moment there was a
dead silence. Then:--
"Will you always feed me when I am depressed?" she asked. And there was a
little quiver half of laughter, half of tears, in her voice.