Raife seized his hat, which he had flung upon the table, and descended
with heavy tread to the hall. His powerful frame quivered with emotion.
He slammed the door and, endeavouring to control himself, sauntered
down the terraces, and entered the croft by way of the stable-yard. He
was just in time to hear the buzz of a rapidly-revolving engine, and,
looking upwards, he saw an aeroplane winging its way at lightning speed
over the turrets and twisted chimneys of the Tudor mansion that was his.
At the far end of the croft he descried Hilda, his fiancee, waving a
handkerchief to the disappearing airman. His rage knew no bounds. He
wanted a gun to take a parting shot at this American, who had intruded
himself on his happiness. He waited with folded arms and scowling face,
until Hilda had tripped across the soft grass of the croft. She ran
straight up to him, and, before he had time to resist, threw her arms
around his neck. Her sweet voice, in genuine tones, rang in his ears:
"Raife, Raife, how we have missed you. You dear, wicked old thing to
have run away from us."
The complete spontaneity of her action, and the earnestness of her
conduct, immediately softened his rage. For a while he said nothing.
She lingered with her arms still clinging to him, and appealed: "Raife,
why, I verily believe you are angry with me. Don't, dear Raife. It
will break my heart if you, my hero, my own true love, should be angry
with me."
Then, as the cloud gradually removed from his stern countenance, she
continued, pleadingly: "What have I done, Raife? Was it only that
stupid talk about Mr Brookman's American voice? Why, we always talk
that way over there. If you had been away for a long time, wouldn't you
like to hear an English voice, even if it was only dear old Edgson's, or
one of your grooms' or gardeners'?"
The conquest was nearly complete. Raife's smile was only half-hearted
as yet, however, as he said, in a tone of remonstrance: "Yes, but they
tell me you have been riding in that fellow's aeroplane."
Hilda laughed merrily as she said: "Of course I have. You dear heart,
you don't have to be jealous about that. You great, big, brave darling.
You go up in one, and you will find there's no time for courting when
you are chug-chugging through the air at sixty to seventy miles an hour.
You only want to court the sky, or else the clouds, then!"
He stopped and gazed into her eyes, and a gradual feeling of shame came
over him, as it dawned upon him that his jealousy had savoured far more
of the plebeian than the patrician. He was receiving a lesson from this
pure-spirited, ingenuous American girl. She might be impulsive, but she
was frank and pure-spirited. She had given up her love to her hero and
she would be true to him.
He stooped lower and kissed her, saying: "Forgive me, Hilda. I was
jealous, and I was a veritable fool. There seems to be a kink in my
character somewhere, and you have made me ashamed of myself."
The reconciliation was nearly complete, and the first quarrel of the
lovers had ended. Would there be any further rifts in the lute, or was
there to be perfect peace after this ill-considered hurricane of
jealousy?
Harold Brookman sailed through the clouds on his northward journey to
Hendon aerodrome. He arrived without further mishap, and was received
with acclamation by his comrades of the air. He was not aware of how
imminent had been the quarrel between himself and his host, Sir Raife
Remington. Nor was he aware of the unreasoning ferocity of the other
man's jealousy.
The two lovers wandered, arm in arm, through the gardens. Their
happiness was apparently restored, but Hilda Muirhead had received the
first shock to her ideals. The wound was there. Would it be allowed to
heal for ever, or would the malignant curse of the long years ago enter
into her young life also?
Their progress was slow, and there was little conversation between them.
Here and there a gardener saluted them, and inwardly envied the young
master and his bride "that was to be." Lady Remington watched them from
the library window as, occasionally, they came into view. To her, also,
happiness had, in part, returned after the distressing incidents of the
morning. Her heart ached for her wayward son, and the future was
fraught with danger. She loved Hilda already with a mother's love, and
she was very anxious lest Raife's vagaries should destroy the peace of
the young girl's life. She descended the broad staircase and met them
as they sauntered along the terrace. She was the first to speak, with
the intuitive knowledge that, by doing so, she might save embarrassment.
She addressed herself to Raife:
"Wasn't it strange, Raife, that Mr Brookman should come from
Cincinnati, and be married to Hilda's old college friend? What was her
name, Hilda?"
Raife winced, blushed, and stammered: "You didn't tell me he was
married."
Hilda replied, with some show of spirit: "No, Raife, you didn't give me
a chance. In any case, I don't see that need make any difference. If
Mr Brookman, or any other fellow countryman in distress, were
unmarried, I should feel it my duty to be civil to them."
Every word, uttered with an accentuated intonation, was a stab to Raife,
who cursed himself for his foolish impetuosity.
Hilda concluded: "Yes, Harold Brookman married my college chum, Lottie
Devine. They've been married about four years. They have two children
and are very happy. Lottie wouldn't be my chum if she were not a nice
girl, and if Harold Brookman were not a nice man, he wouldn't have
married Lottie. He's over here training for a Transatlantic air race,
and I hope he'll win."
Raife Remington's discomfiture was complete.