BESIDE THE SEA
The week-end visit of Edris lengthened into more than a week.
Daily they walked together by the wintry sea, Bundle being carefully
led by Darville. Both were blissfully happy, though Edris had made no
response to the question he put on that night when he declared his
love. Time after time he urged her to give him his answer, but she
remained silent and undecided.
Sometimes he believed that she loved him, but feared what people might
say if she married a man of his age. He was not wealthy--far from it.
The substantial income he received from the royalties on his books all
over the world he had devoted to paying his own heavy expenses
incurred in so constantly traveling on Secret Service work.
His agents received rich emoluments at his hands, but he himself was
unpaid. To some of those unsuspected men and women, who so repeatedly
risked their liberty in Britain’s cause, he made substantial _ex
gratia_ payments out of the public funds, as recompense for their
astuteness and bravery. Many of those he employed enjoyed quite large
incomes, being regarded as persons of independent means fond of travel
and change.
Edris, unaware of the heavy burden of responsibility upon his
shoulders, frequently wondered at his sudden silence as they walked
together. At one moment he would be bright and merry, and then
suddenly become absorbed and silent.
The four days following that fateful night proved delightful to them
both. Edris found herself thinking less of Lionel’s unreliability and
his heartless shallowness. She saw in Seton Darville a strong contrast
to the young man she had adored. Lionel was slim and very
good-looking, a boy highly attractive to any girl, while Seton,
broad-shouldered and deep-chested, was growing gray. But his hard grip
was that of a strong, resolute man of the world; the look in his eyes
indulgent and sympathetic to a woman, yet to a man hard, even cold to
his friends; yet unscrupulous and bitterly revengeful to any who dared
to do him an injury.
Instead of going to the Metropole for their meals they preferred to
have them together in the flat--simple meals which Edris appreciated,
as their intimate chats could not be conducted in the glare and
garishness of the great Brighton hotel.
Each day they went forth in the winter winds by the sea. Both were
self-absorbed, he regarding her as his idol, while she was full of
wonder at the new situation so suddenly created. They grasped hands
when they thought themselves unobserved. They sat together in the
glasshouse shelters on the promenade very often, and gazed out upon
the gray, misty sea, so full of mystery and sadness.
Their hearts realized the truth that a great gulf remained between
them.
One evening, after they had taken tea at the flat, and Bundle was due
to be taken for his walk, they went forth. A tearing northeast wind
was blowing along from the direction of Brighton, and rain was
falling. Darville, true to his tradition of taking out Bundle twice a
day, went out to face the wind. Both he and Edris wore raincoats
buttoned to the throat, while Bundle, hating the wet, as all toy dogs
do, battled about in the rain, shaking his coat now and then as he
sniffed his favorite corners.
They were walking in the direction of Shoreham, with the wind behind
them, when Darville said very abruptly:
“Do you know, Edris, I fear to go to Wengen again.”
“Fear? Why?” asked the girl, walking at his side and bent against the
strong wind.
“Because I--well, I hesitate. You will be courted and flattered by
younger men. I shall sit while you are dancing and watch you in the
arms of younger men, and--and, by God! I won’t be able to bear it!”
“How silly of you, Seton!” she laughed. “In my state of disillusion,
can you ever dream that any man could attract me?”
“No. I know it. I have no charm for you.”
“Yes, my dear Seton, you have,” she cried at once. “You are older than
I am, it is true, but your vitality and your energy are--well, they
are outstanding and wonderful. The whole world, society, and the
readers of the picture-papers admire you, and agree that you will
never grow up. You are amazing.”
“But why?” he asked, linking his arm in hers as they went along. “I am
such an ordinary type of man. I have done my best, both publicly as an
author, gaining popularity all over the world, and in social circles,
which I never like; indeed, I detest them.”
“So do I,” Edris said. “You recollect how you introduced me to London
society--the fringe of it, perhaps. Your friend Beryl took me up only
because I was your friend. Those at-homes and dinners! What a dream
they were! On the first night you introduced me, I had a man vowing
eternal affection for me. Wasn’t it really funny?”
“Yes, I know,” Darville said. “I heard about it. The head of any other
girl might have been turned by those scoundrels and rogues who are the
parasites of our modern society--those wealthy old men who conceive a
passion for young girls.”
Edris was mute. It was upon her tongue to tell Seton openly that he
was one of those elderly men who attracted young girls. But next
second she hesitated. Seton Darville was a man outstanding in all the
world, a man of brains and intellect--a real caveman, such as she had
longed to meet through all her life.
The pair exchanged glances, but no word was said.
“I hate society,” she said at last. “Everyone is so artificial in the
strenuous struggle for photographs in the papers. I prefer to lead my
own life independently, and to be what I am and no more.”
“I quite agree,” he said, as they strolled together. They had turned,
and now had their faces to the cutting sea breeze.
“To endeavor to be other than one’s own self is, after all,
ridiculous,” he remarked. “I have watched, and seen, how natural you
always are.”
“I care nothing for what people think. All I want to do is to lead my
own life.”
“I admire your independence,” he said. “After I had introduced you to
society at your mother’s wish, you wrote me the truth. Do you recall
that letter you sent me after you had been to the duchess’s
dinner-party? I saw then that you, like myself, have no use for the
shams of society.”
“I love a free, unfettered life,” the girl declared. “I long to
breathe the fresh air of the Alps again, to see those wonderful
snow-clad peaks and those primeval glaciers, and to live among the
well-mannered Swiss peasants, whom I love.”
“Perhaps we will go again to Wengen,” he said. “I will try and give
you a good time, my darling--if I dare call you so.”
She gave no permission, a fact which he at once noted. Though the days
had gone since that night when he had confessed his love, yet she had
given him no hope that his dream might be realized. She tolerated him;
was, indeed, kindly disposed towards him; but that was all.
They were fast friends--lovers perhaps to the world, for no girl would
be guest of a bachelor in his rooms for over a week if they were not
lovers. Yet, in this case, they were mere pals. Their Platonic
friendship was fast cementing. He told her of his past life, and
confessed much to her, while she, on her part, laid bare the secret of
her flirtations with other men before she had met Lionel.
Those intimate talks, as they strolled beside the sea, brought them
closer to each other, while at home they were in the habit of sitting
on the big settee close to the fire, he often holding her in his
embrace.
“How strange it is!” she remarked one evening as they sat smoking
cigarettes, his arm about her waist and her face lit by the firelight
glow, prior to parting for the night. “A stranger would think we were
lovers, wouldn’t they?”
“And are we not?” he asked quickly. “Do you doubt, Edris, that I
really love you?”
“No. I really believe you do,” answered the girl frankly. “That is why
it is all so strange.”
“Because of the difference in our ages? Yes, I know, dearest,” he
sighed sadly.
“I never think of your age, Seton,” she said after a pause. “To me you
are as a young man, and I have grown to--to like you.”
“But not to love me,” he exclaimed, with bitterness in his tremulous
voice.
She turned her eyes to his, regarding him in silence for a few
seconds. Then she said in a soft whisper:
“You are mistaken. In these last few days I have found that I
reciprocate the great affection you have for me, dearest.”
“Then you really love me just a little after all!” he gasped with
delight.
“Yes, I love you more than just a little,” was her answer.
“Oh! Thank God for those words of yours, my darling!” he cried, and,
pressing her to his heart, he imprinted the first kiss upon her ready
lips, while she kissed him in return.
In the dim firelight he saw the unmistakable love-look that can never
be feigned, and knew at last that she was his.
Until far in the night they remained talking, she still held in his
strong arms, while ever and anon he imprinted fond caresses upon her
lips and upon her hands, and in those hours they began to understand
each other. Two broken hearts thus became united, and when he kissed
her good-night, and held open the door of her room, she answered in a
low, sweet voice, as her lips met his:
“Good-night, my beloved.”
Next day they both went to London, and Seton accompanied her from
Euston and saw her safely home to Stagsden Hall, which was situated
about three miles from Thurnby, in Leicestershire. Edris’s big blue
open car met them at the station, and quickly took them up the hill to
General Temperley’s fine house, which stood in extensive grounds,
commanding a magnificent view of woods and pastures.
The moment they entered the gates, Lord Simba, a magnificent brindle
Great Dane, bounded across the lawn to greet his young mistress, who
descended to pet him, while, a few moments later, Darville entered the
great paneled lounge, where he was warmly welcomed by the General and
Mrs. Temperley.
“At last Edris has prevailed upon you to visit us again, Darville!”
cried the General with pleasure. “I’m so delighted to see you.”
“And I’m delighted to be here. But I’ve simply brought Edris home. I’m
sorry that I can’t remain this time, but I have some very pressing
business in town to-morrow, so I can only stay the night,” said their
visitor apologetically.
Darville was very fond of the General because of his breezy manner and
unfailing good humor, even though he now lived in retirement, while
Mrs. Temperley, a good-looking and well-preserved woman, was of that
intellectual type which appealed to him.
When Edris had shown him to his room, and he began to dress for dinner
he wondered what the girl’s parents would say if they knew their
secret. At present they had agreed to conceal the truth, therefore
whatever affection they showed each other was in strict secrecy.
The house was a large, well-appointed, modern one, with fine, lofty
rooms and long windows, extremely comfortable and well planned. Both
the drawing-room, the morning-room, and, indeed, all the rooms, showed
Mrs. Temperley’s exquisite taste, while her own boudoir was a
delightful little snuggery, and Edris’s own white enameled room, the
walls of which were literally covered with pictures of Switzerland and
Swiss winter sports, was charming.
At dinner that night Edris announced to her parents that she had
succeeded in inducing Seton to go to Switzerland, and they arranged a
date for their departure.
“I’ll see our mutual friend Gale to-morrow and book everything,” he
said, whereupon Mrs. Temperley expressed regret that they were unable
to go because of the General’s health.
“I know, however,” she added, “that Edris will be quite safe in your
hands.”
“Oh, I’m delighted to look after her,” he said, glancing across at the
girl. “It is rather dull for her alone when all the other girls appear
to have men friends.”
“Yes, Seton. You were awfully good to me last season.” She did not
refer to the fact that he had left suddenly for Paris. She had never
mentioned it to her mother. Indeed, both the General and his wife were
under the impression that she still loved Lionel. “You introduced me
to lots of nice people.”
“And I hope to do so again,” he said cheerily. “I’ll meet you at
Victoria, as before, and we will put our baggage together and book it
through. Be there at half-past twelve, and we’ll lunch together at the
Grosvenor before starting.”
“Excellent. We leave on the twentieth, and spend Christmas at Wengen,
as before,” said the girl, and so full of enthusiasm was she that
before retiring that night she got out her smart new ski-ing costume,
with its breeches, stockings, ski-ing boots, and waterproof gloves,
and laid them out in readiness for packing.
Once again they were both going to that marvelous wonderland of
snow-peaks and glaciers which they both loved so well.
They were so blissfully happy in their new-found affection--that
great, indescribable passion which now consumed them both--that upon
the horizon of their sea of life no cloud appeared.
They lived for each other alone, careless of the world, careless of
everything. Indeed, next day Darville found it impossible to tear
himself away from her, and it required no persuading on her part to
induce him to stay still another twenty-four hours.
And on that day they walked with Lord Simba through the woods in the
direction of Theddingworth, where there was none to witness their
long, passionate embraces.