"There stood one with a heart in her hands: there sat another with
hers in a cage:--and the tale goes on."--HEWLETT.
If those two first sittings had proved trying to Audrey, they were as
nothing to the later ones that followed upon her disastrous walk by
the sea.
Whenever Sir Lakshman Singh's presence set her free, she would find
some valid excuse for slipping away to the garden; or the piano; or
better still, to spend an hour with Madame de Lisle and her boy,
whose trouble was of a kind that her practical nature could help and
understand. This is what comes of putting one's life into the hands
of a _man_, she would reflect, by way of consolation, whenever
Monsieur de Lisle's folly and selfishness reacted more sharply than
usual upon his wife and child. But the consolation did not strike
deep, and do what she might, the thought of the two, left in the
sitting-room, knocked incessantly at her heart. The primitive woman
in her--long repressed and denied--rose up with might and taught her,
at first hand, some plain truths that she had little will to learn.
She, who took her stand upon self-knowledge, found suddenly that she
had a stranger to reckon with--and that stranger, Audrey Hammond.
For love, like all great natural disturbances, stirs up best and
worst alike from the deep waters of the human heart. Had it come to
this, that she was actually jealous of Lilamani, because Nevil's eyes
and mind were concentrated upon her with increasing delight as the
picture grew under his hand? So much at least was patent; even as
the change in her--smother it how she might--was patent to Nevil. He
set it down to her original disapproval; and was disappointed to find
her so obstinate over a question settled past dispute.
But, for him, every minor consideration was dwarfed by the one thing
that mattered: his picture, that already whispered of success, and
the quickening sense of power that grew by what it fed on. There was
a delicate pleasure, also, in the pursuit of an intimacy by no means
to be hurried or unduly pressed. For all her young simplicity and
flashes of confidence, this alluring child of an ancient race was
still, in his eyes, almost as much a thing apart from the common
round of life as she had seemed at first sight. Still, for him, she
was the Arabian Nights' Princess brought hither by a kindly Fate to
save him from the ambitions of others and kindle his spark of talent
to a flame. Something of this Audrey guessed, and rated herself
roundly for the relief it brought her. It was not Lilamani, it was
the picture that enthralled him. With its completion, he would
retreat to his allegiance; and then--then----
But at this point the old unawakened Audrey would slam the door
sternly upon vain imaginings unworthy an enlightened woman.
And Lilamani?
For her this week--charged with a hidden drama--was a time of mental
and spiritual changes the more vital because they were evolving
unawares. Nor had they any direct relation to the studies so
zealously pressed upon her by Audrey. These traversed only the
surface of her mind, leaving few and hazy impressions in their wake.
From books more inspiring than any in Audrey's trunk she had learnt
astonishingly much for her years; and now her hidden self whispered
that it were well to learn something of her fellow-beings direct from
life; or, in other words, from the blue eyes and golden speech of the
first white man Fate had flung in her path of life.
All unguessed by her the folded flower of her heart was opening, like
a lotus to the moon, under an influence silent and irresistible as
that which draws petal from petal till the shining secret stands
revealed. She only knew that the dreaded sittings had become the
pivot round which all lesser lights revolved; that the days between
seemed empty and unsatisfying; the more so, because those days were
disfigured by Audrey's battalions of the "ugly words" that hurt her
mind. "Hygiene," "oxygen," "structural physiology": she grew to hate
the sound of them; to wonder how she would ever face those dreadful
"exams," whose mission was simply to give her a free pass back to
India, as a woman qualified to live her own life, and to help those
who could not or would not desert the beaten track.
But what if she herself found the unbeaten one too steep, too stony?
No--no. That were mere weakness. By some means she must attain her
goal; though at present its far-off gleam was dimmed by emotions more
immediate in their appeal to her budding womanhood than any she had
yet known.
So it befell that she let Sinclair persuade her to join a tea-party
in the studio, where she was presented to Martino and ravished his
inflammable heart. Nay more, she spent two evenings downstairs,
losing, each time, a little of that paralyzing shyness induced by
strange human beings in the mass. It cost her a greater effort than
Audrey or Sir Lakshman knew; and both times she had her reward.
Nevil devoted himself to her as gallantly as though he divined that
the effort had been made for his pleasure; and Broome began to ask
himself, was it, after all, not the picture, but the "houri"?
As for Audrey, it was useless to repeat that the craze would pass,
that there could be no possibility of serious complications between
such mighty opposites. She was in the grip of an emotion that is
deaf to reason, nor regards the great god Common Sense, under whose
banner she had lived and moved. On the second occasion she could
scarce speak naturally to Lilamani when they reached their rooms; and
the girl, who had come up a-flutter with the thrill of her new
gladness, had gone to bed chilled, puzzled, almost unhappy.
So day by day the love and confidence that had been between them were
dimmed by friction and constraint; and more trying than all--for each
in her degree--were the morning hours of study. New faces, new
imaginings, and the thrill enhancing both, estranged Lilamani more
than ever from Audrey's bone-dry discourses on conditions of health
and disease. The call of youth in her blood was ten times more
commanding than any appeal to her intellect or ambition. Again and
again, in defiance of brave resolves, her fancy would wander off at
will, while Audrey's voice, reading or explaining, formed a sonorous
accompaniment to the airy visions of her dream.
Audrey, meanwhile, had her own private devils to fight; and the fact
that at times they mastered her, bred a smothered irritability that
too often flashed out in sarcasm, or sharp speech. Her pupil's
increasing absentmindedness annoyed her as never before. Nevil's
doing, she could have sworn it. Whether he were merely turning the
girl's head or disturbing her heart, some sort of veiled warning
seemed advisable. Yet she shrank from engendering by premature
speech, ideas that might never occur to this unsophisticated child of
seclusion.
In any case the effect upon her studies was obvious. Each morning
Audrey was maddened afresh by a sense of ploughing the sands. Each
morning, when books, notes, and pencils were put away, the mutual
sigh of relief became harder to restrain. Whenever Audrey's vexation
flashed out, Lilamani's penitence would have disarmed a stone. But
no penitence, however genuine, saved her from relapse next day: and
at last, after a week of mingled happiness and strain, the inevitable
crisis came.
It was a day of sudden, still heat. Even the persistent light wind
of the Riviera seemed too lazy to blow. And it is on just such balmy
days that imagination, like the swallow, soars highest into the blue;
as Lilamani found to her cost.
To-day her mood was less rebellious than usual. She was making an
honest effort to "be good" and "attend." But Audrey's chosen subject
was not a happy one; nor had she the art of infusing life into dead
facts. Her remarks on sick-room hygiene, illustrated by Indian
experiences, were eminently sane, eminently practical; while Lilamani
sat still as a mouse under a cat's claw, a pencil in her fingers, her
eyes on the brilliant strip of sky and tree-tops framed by the open
French windows. Vainly she clutched at each sentence, trying not to
let it slip out of her mind as it passed; till she began to feel like
a clumsy child playing at ball, and the foolish fancy whisked her
miles away.
For a space Audrey talked on, unaware. But when, in the midst of a
technical dissertation on invalid food-values, a dreamy half-smile
flitted across her pupil's face, the smothered irritation of days
leaped out in flame.
"Lilamani, will you attend!" she cried, slapping the open book so
sharply that the girl jumped in her seat. "Have you heard one word
of what I've just said?"
Lilamani puckered her forehead distressfully. "Oh yes--I heard."
"Well then--tell me what it was."
"It was--I----" She passed a hand across her brow as if to brush
away cobwebs. "It was--oh, I forget."
"Speak the truth, please. You never heard it at all."
"I did _hear_--only----"
"You weren't listening?"
"I--I suppose not ... I was thinking----"
"Of carbons and proteids?"
"No ... no ... of some small verses I have been trying to make. One
had just come so beautifully; and you've startled it away."
"Verses? Good heavens, you're incorrigible! What about?"
The grey eyes probed the brown ones as a lancet probes a wound--and
they drew blood. Lilamani looked down, saw she had scribbled a line
or two, and crumpling up the paper thrust it into her bodice.
"I cannot tell you what about, Audrey," she said, with the gentle
dignity that so well became her. "They are only for my own private
heart--
"Don't distress yourself. I've no wish to see them." Her tone was
cold now, her face a mask. "But I have at least the right to insist
that you shall not write verses when I am talking of far more
important subjects and trying to make them clear to you. I wonder if
you've taken in anything at all this week? Look at your notebook!
Nothing but a few incoherent scribbles. It's a disgrace! And
here--verses again----"
Lilamani's hand covered them promptly, and she tore out the page. "I
can't help that. It's my nature," she said with a touch of heat. "I
am not meaning to write them when you talk. They come."
"My dear girl, don't ask me to believe such fairy-tales. But if they
do come--you must stop them coming--or I must stop teaching you.
Frankly, Lilamani, I expected great things of you; and I am
disappointed. Girls of your race are generally such eager
students--so quick with their brains----"
"My brain is made in another pattern--that's why."
"It didn't seem so at first. It's all this stupid business of the
picture and seeing so many people that has turned your head----"
At that Lilamani pushed aside the hated books and sprang to her feet.
Tears stood in her eyes. The crimson of anger stained her cheeks.
"Oh, I am sick of these studies--you are unkind to speak such things.
I shall not hear you. My head is not 'turned,' and the picture is
not at all stupid. It is going to be a beautiful gift for my dear
father. As for too many people--it was you that made me----"
Her voice broke, and she hid her face from the eyes that seemed to
look through her as if she were a pane of glass. A word, even a look
of sympathy, might have worked wonders just then. But though Audrey
was not so made, she could not see the girl thus, unmoved.
"My dear child," she said, touching her shoulder and speaking more
gently, though scarce tenderly. "When I 'made you,' as you say, I
couldn't foresee that--that things would move so fast. You're not
quite strong yet, and a little overwrought through doing too much.
That's all the trouble really. Lie down for an hour, and I'll give
you some bromide----"
That last was fatal. Lilamani stepped swiftly backward, and
uncovered her face.
"Oh, you _don't_ understand! You never do. You think everything is
from the body. This trouble is in my soul--and you cannot cure it
with any of your stupid medicines----"
Audrey's face hardened again.
"No. I don't understand your behaviour," she said in chill, even
tones. "But I wish _you_ to understand that if you think medicines
'stupid' and are already sick of your studies, they will not be
forced on you by me. Give up college and medicine, by all means--if
you are prepared to go back home and obey your mother's wishes----"
"No--no. I will not--I will kill myself rather!" the girl cried out
with sudden passion and fled precipitately, leaving Audrey alone by
the table, angry and bewildered as she had rarely been in all the
well-regulated years of her life.
Her bewilderment was for Lilamani; her anger was for Nevil, first and
last. The emotion of a week, however genuine, was no match for the
sex antagonism of ten years. "When man comes in at the window, Peace
goes out at the door," was her favourite perversion of the old
proverb anent Poverty and Love. And behold her wisdom justified: but
at what a cost! Small consolation to reflect that she had foreseen
this result of Sir Lakshman Singh's permission. But there would be
some satisfaction in telling Nevil plainly what damage he had done to
the girl whom he obviously admired, if nothing more.
Why not seek him out and tell him now--while she could trust her
embittered heart to hurt either him or herself with an equal stoicism
...
Lilamani, leaning against her closed door, a-quiver from head to
foot, heard her friend's departing footsteps, and drew a breath of
relief. Never till now had she admitted that there lurked in Audrey
some unnameable quality that seemed to rub the bloom off everything,
and crush out all the beauty and colour of life. Whether that
quality belonged to this one Englishwoman or to all, Lilamani could
not tell. But there were moments when the prospect of a college full
of Audreys, with a Miss Blakeney or two thrown in, seemed hardly less
terrifying than the marriage from which she had fled.
While she leaned against the door, with closed eyes and heaving
breast, tears stole unheeded over her cheeks that were no more on
fire of anger, because anger was drowned in shame at her own loss of
self-command. Had not that dear father--whose precepts were sacred
to her as the laws of Manu--impressed on her from earliest childhood
that only the low-born or the god-forsaken allow the red mist of
anger to darken the light within? Happy for her that he had not seen
her five minutes ago. But now, the way being clear, she could slip
softly back to her House of Gods, and recapture the virtue she had
lost.
There sun and sea gave her greeting, and a little lazy wind whispered
of evening coolness not far off. Lying back in her chair, she closed
her eyes again, that the last of the sunbeams might caress their
lids, while the twin healers--warmth and silence--spoke peace to her
soul. Of a sudden, in the heart of silence a sound was born: a
footstep. Well, what matter? Let it pass. But she had an almost
uncanny ear for footsteps; and this one----
She leaned forward eagerly: eyes wide, lips apart. Yes. It was he,
in the greenish-grey flannel suit that she always hoped for when he
came. Remembering the afternoon when she had seen him first, she
could scarce believe it was but two weeks ago. It seemed as if it
must have been another Lilamani in another life. Yet it was indeed
she, even to the selfsame yellow _sari_: but how little she had
dreamed----
Here came a shy thought not to be framed in words; and she slipped
past it hurriedly wondering if he would look up; if a vision of her
ever visited his mind when she was not present?
It was as if she had spoken aloud. He looked up at once. For a long
moment his eyes held hers, while the blood burned in her cheeks.
Then, taking courage, she waved a hand. To her amazement, he replied
by a gesture bidding her come down; and all the natural woman in her
yearned to obey. But for a Hindu girl of good breeding, yea, though
she had dared to rebel against _dastur_, such boldness were out of
the question, even had not her quick ears heard the approach of
footsteps more familiar than his own. Shaking her head, she leaned
back out of sight just as Audrey came along the path.
She heard their voices at meeting; but no words. Then, cautiously,
she peeped between the balustrades, watching unseen. He was smiling,
the kind, infectious smile that lighted all his face. But Audrey's
eyes showed no answering gleam. They wore the hard masked expression
that had grown too familiar to Lilamani in the past week. She asked
him something. He assented with raised brows; and, turning about,
they walked together down the wide pathway to the sea.
Then she leaned over and looked after them; looked and looked till
the tears gathered again in her eyes. What were they talking of,
those two favoured ones, free to go where they would and with whom
they pleased, while she could only look and long and wonder--like a
human bird in a cage? Nay, her true cage had been happier, since she
could not see too plainly between the bars. For the first time she,
who so loved the land of her birth, regretted her nationality. Of
what use to give her freedom, when the dusky skin, and all the hidden
differences it implied, could no more be wiped out than the colour of
the sea!
Sobs came thick and fast now, and fearing her father's return from
Nice, she fled blindly back to her room; flung herself on the bed,
and there let grief have its way with her. For the passionate heart
of the East slept beneath her girlish gentleness; and already it had
turned in its sleep. If there could only have been talk of such a
bridegroom--was the stifled cry of her soul: and the next instant she
reproached herself for a bold, shameless one, to think thoughts so
unworthy of maidenhood. For this cherished daughter of Sir Lakshman
Singh was no precocious little woman, like most Indian girls of her
age; but something as near the English type of "sweet seventeen" as
the conflicting elements of her life and education could be made to
produce. And through all her vague, chaotic misery, her thoughts
clave to those two down by the sea. What were they talking of--what?
Only at the sound of her father's footstep afar off did she rise up
bravely and bathe her swollen eyes.