A Christmas Surprise.
The few weeks to Christmas passed uneventfully. The Blakes came to
London and Lawrence joined them, and they all seemed to slip back into
their old groove for the time being. Paddy came and went much the same
as before, and Lawrence strove to possess his soul in patience. Once
more he resorted to subterfuge to find out when she was likely to be
coming, and in general she succeeded in outwitting him. If she was half
expected he would sit in his smoke-room with the door ajar, and listen
to hear if the stately James opened the door to a familiar voice. If
she came he would casually join them all at tea. If she did not he went
to his club. Once he inveigled her into the sanctum itself. That was a
red-letter day. He went downstairs to see her out, and in the hall told
her in a voice of most disarming naturalness, that he had a beautiful
little setter pup in his room—wouldn’t she like to see it?
Paddy hesitated, and was lost.
She could never resist dogs. The little creature was in a basket near
the fireplace, and she took it up in undisguised delight, going eagerly
over its points with him. Then she put it back and turned to the door.
“Don’t hurry,” in that same disarming voice. “There are a good many
things that will interest you here, if you will only look at them.”
Paddy murmured something about the dispensary, with one eye on the
door, and the other on a model yacht. With great diplomacy Lawrence
turned his head away, and said simply, “Oh, well, another time
perhaps.”
Paddy said: “Is that a model of the _Shamrock_? What a little beauty it
is!”
They went over the points of the yacht, and she became engrossed in it.
Then she suddenly made an unaccountable movement for the door. It had
dawned on her that she was parleying with the enemy. That the enemy was
dangerously alluring. Feeling a little mad with herself, she made her
exit ungracefully. A jerky good-by—a feeble explanation of her sudden
haste—and she was gone.
Then Lawrence smiled. His extremely wide and varied experience with the
opposite sex had made him correspondingly wise. In that moment he saw
victory in sight. Far enough away still, perhaps, but yet there. It was
becoming a duel of wills. To him it was his strength of will and
personality, against her fanaticism. He had chosen a strong word, but
fallen short in grasping all it involved. How many a strong will has
been worsted even by a weak fanatic! How many a weak will, under the
influence of fanaticism has achieved the deeds of the strong!
He knew that day that in some way she was not wholly indifferent to
him. He believed she was just a little bit afraid, and that, to him,
was the sweetest thought of all.
Paddy hurried home, and wondered why she had been so stupidly weak as
to go and see the puppy. She was genuinely vexed, and the incident had
the present result of making her absent herself longer than usual, and
be more difficult, when at last she came.
Lawrence went to his store of understanding, and said: “She has
discovered that she is afraid.”
Then Christmas approached. It had been arranged for Mrs Adair, and
Eileen, and Paddy to cross to Omeath for a week, somewhat to the
latter’s surprise, for it seemed to her extremely rash for Eileen and
her mother to take such a journey at that time of the year. However,
her remonstrances were quickly swept aside, and the plans made. Then
came a letter from Aunt Jane begging Mrs Adair and Eileen to start a
week before Christmas, and if Paddy could not come with them, for her
to follow on Christmas eve. To Paddy’s amazement Mrs Adair immediately
showed signs of consenting. For one moment it was almost a shock to
her—it seemed so strange that they should go off like that without her,
when they knew she could not possibly go before Christmas eve. Seeing
her mute surprise, her mother hastened to explain that the aunties had
a very special reason for wishing it, and then Paddy decided there was
something in the air of which she was entirely ignorant. A year ago she
would have promptly asked innumerable questions, but somehow a secret
in her own life had raised a dim barrier between her and her mother and
sister, and she felt, with a vague sense of loneliness, that, perhaps,
they likewise had a secret they kept from her. She made no demur about
their hurried departure, but kissed them good-by with a bright face,
though something in her eyes made Eileen remark as the train steamed
out of Euston:
“It’s rather too bad, mother, isn’t it?”
“She will understand all right on Christmas Day,” Mrs Adair answered,
and a beautiful colour stole over Eileen’s face.
Beyond doubt, as Paddy had conjectured, there was something in the
wind. There were two others, however, who were much pleased by the
arrangement, namely, Gwendoline and Lawrence.
“It’s just capital, isn’t it?” Gwen exclaimed. “Now you’ll have to take
Paddy over on Christmas eve.”
Lawrence said little, but Gwen saw a light come into his eyes that he
could not altogether hide. Paddy at first was vexed, and showed it.
“Don’t be an idiot,” quoth Gwen. “Why, it stands to reason it’s
pleasanter to have an escort for a long, cold, dark journey like that,
and Lawrence is splendid to travel with. He just looks after you all
the time and doesn’t bother to talk. I shall come and fetch you in the
brougham in the afternoon and go to Euston, and see you both off
myself.”
She did so, and Paddy’s good aunt was immensely impressed by the
magnificence of the livery and horses of the equipage, that drew up in
the dingy Shepherd’s Bush street that December afternoon, outside the
doctor’s highly coloured front door. Gwen herself she only saw dimly
through the drawing-room curtains, inside the brougham, but even that
glimpse so impressed her that for several days the church guilds and
things had a rest, in favour of this vision from the far-off
fashionable world.
Paddy took it all very coolly. She did not even wear her best hat,
which greatly scandalised her aunt, but as Paddy explained, it was too
heavy on her forehead to travel in and the other would do quite as
well.
When they reached Euston, Lawrence was waiting, having artfully reached
the station first in order to procure not only their tickets, but, by a
substantial tip, the first-class compartment for themselves.
“What! here already!” cried Gwen. “Ye gods and fishes, is the world
coming to an end! Mark it down on your cuff, Lawrence, that you once
caught a train with five minutes to spare, instead of leisurely
strolling up after it was already on the move, and having to scramble
into the guard’s van.”
Lawrence took no notice.
“Do you prefer the dining-car or dinner baskets?” he asked Paddy.
“I don’t need either, thanks. I never feel hungry on a journey.”
“Have the baskets, Lawrie,” said Gwen. “Then you are not tied to any
time, and you don’t have the bother of going to the restaurant car.”
Paddy turned away. “I must get my ticket,” said she.
Gwen looked highly amused. Indeed the whole performance was tickling
her so, she could hardly refrain from bursting out laughing at the two
of them.
“I took the liberty of getting your ticket when I got my own,” said
Lawrence. “I thought it would save you the trouble.”
Paddy murmured a word of thanks, and opened her purse.
“How much do I owe you!” she asked.
Lawrence caught the gleam in Gwen’s eyes, and could not help an
answering gleam.
“I’m not quite sure,” he said. “May we leave it for the present?”
A little demon possessed Gwen. “Don’t forget the tips for the porters
when you’re settling-up,” she said.
Paddy looked rather black, and Lawrence had to turn away to buy some
papers.
“You are a wretch, Gwen,” said Paddy. “You know perfectly well you
wouldn’t let anyone pay for you.”
“Oh! wouldn’t I!” with emphasis. “I’d just think how jolly lucky I was
to be all that much to the good.”
Lawrence came back with his arm full of illustrated magazines.
“Nothing like plenty of literature to keep one from getting dull,” said
Gwen wickedly. “But my! won’t it complicate the settling-up!”
A guard came along and told Lawrence they would be starting in two
minutes, and so obsequious and marked was his deference that Gwen was
again taken with an unaccountable spasm of amusement.
“You scoundrel, Lawrence,” she murmured, in an aside, “that cost you
nothing short of a sovereign.”
Lawrence pretended not to hear, but led the way to their compartment
and placed the magazines on the seat. Paddy was thoughtful a moment,
and again a little black.
“I don’t want to travel first,” she said. “I can’t afford it. Let us
meet at Holyhead and cross on the steamer together.”
“It’s a pity to waste the ticket,” said Lawrence, “and the thirds are
so crowded. Besides there is no time now.”
“No, they’re just off,” put in Gwen quickly. “Good-by, Paddy. Sorry I
can’t be in for that settling-up. I’m so afraid Lawrence will cheat
you. Have a good time. See you on Thursday,” and a few seconds later
the train was steaming out of the station.
Gwen’s last remark with reference to Thursday was an allusion to a
visit she and her adoring Goliath were paying to the Blakes in a few
days. They were to have gone over with Lawrence, but at the last her
parents refused to part with her for Christmas Day, and they were not
starting till the twenty-seventh.
“It will be lovely to have Gwen in Ireland,” Paddy said, as they
settled themselves, “but she ought to have paid her first visit in the
summer.”
Lawrence gave a little laugh.
“I don’t suppose the seasons make much difference to people in her and
Bob’s happy state of mind. It’s just likely she will hardly know
whether it is December or July,”—then he proceeded to shake out his
big, warm rug and tuck it all round Paddy.
She tried to remonstrate, but she might as well have talked to the rug.
“I won’t worry you the whole way if you’re good, Paddy,” he said, with
a smile, in which there was a touch of wistfulness; “but you’ll just
have to let me take care of you; it would be any man’s right who had
known you as long as I have.”
She coloured and lowered her eyes, but made no further demur. When he
was satisfied he had done everything possible, and again sat down, she
opened one of the papers, and buried her face in it, pretending to be
carefully studying the illustrations. But in reality something of a
tumult was stirring in her heart. It was so good to be taken care
of—poor Paddy. The way her mother and Eileen had gone on ahead had hurt
her more than any one knew, and Lawrence’s careful attentions only made
her feel the contrast. If it had only been Jack—or indeed anyone but
Lawrence.
He had opened a paper also and now sat quietly reading opposite to her,
not attempting to worry her with conversation. Once or twice Paddy
ventured to glance covertly into his thin, keen face after discovering
she could do so without his knowledge.
She was wondering a little why, occasionally of late, she had
experienced a wholly new and unaccountable sensation, something like
dread. How could she be afraid?... she the fearless! Was it the subtle
suggestion of strength? Hardly so, for Ted Masterman was no less
strong, and she had never had any anxious qualms with him, nor remotest
suggestion of loss of self-confidence. Was it the thin, cynical lips!
Was it the something indescribable that suggested unscrupulousness? In
repose it was not a reassuring face. The mouth was a little cruel, the
jaw had an obstinate set, and there were fine lines of irritability
round the keen eyes. Only when he smiled was there real charm, and even
then it depended on the measure of his wish to please; though, because
his smile was rare, it was invariably attractive.
Paddy watched him covertly, feeling interested. She realised that he
had the look of a man who could not be thwarted with impunity. A man
strong enough to be patient up to a certain point, and then capable of
being unscrupulous rather than give in. She wished vaguely that he had
been different, and at that moment, before she had time to lower her
gaze, Lawrence looked up suddenly from his paper straight into her
eyes.
There was no time for subterfuge, and a sudden flood of colour in her
cheeks told its own tale.
Lawrence smiled his sudden, fascinating smile, and resting his arms
across his knees, leaned toward her.
“What were you thinking about, Patricia!”
“Nothing,” said Paddy, and shut her mouth with a little snap.
“Come!” coaxingly, “you may as well tell me.”
But she would not be inveigled, and picked up her papers again, saying
that she had forgotten. Lawrence, however, was not so easily put off.
“Do you know you have such a funny mouth, Paddy,” he said. “It doesn’t
shut properly, and when you want to be very firm you have to use great
pressure. It almost looks as if it had a spring that didn’t work quite
properly, and sometimes, although you are very determined to be severe,
it persists in getting unmanageable and twitching. It’s quite the most
fascinating, irresistible mouth I ever saw in my life.”
“Don’t be silly,” trying not to see how altogether engaging his manner
had become. “In about two seconds I shall put up my umbrella.”
“Don’t do that,” he laughed. “It would be too unkind. I don’t mind your
firing bombs at me in your conversation, but I should mind very much if
you hid yourself.”
“That is the reason that would have more weight with me than any other
for doing so,” promptly.
Lawrence sat back and laughed outright.
“Clean bowled!” he said. “’Pon my word, Paddy, there’s no getting in
edgeways with you.”
“Give up trying,” dryly. “Read a book and improve your mind instead.”
“Does it need it so badly?”
“Never too old to learn,” without looking up.
“You needn’t say it as if I were your grandfather. I’m only
thirty-five, and what are you? Let me see, Doreen is twenty-five, and
you are eighteen months younger, therefore you must be either
twenty-three or twenty-four. Time you were growing wiser, Paddy, and
suiting yourself to your world, and its exigencies.”
“I suppose you mean _your_ world!”
“Mine and yours. It’s got to come some day, Patricia. Why not now?”
She shut her lips more tightly, and pretended to be buried in her
paper.
“You can’t possibly know what you are reading about. Put the paper down
and talk for a little. You will only damage your eyesight.”
Still no answer.
He ventured further. “Do you remember the last time we were alone in a
small space between four walls at this hour!”
She put the paper down suddenly, and looked straight into his eyes.
“You are not playing fair,” she said.
He sat up quickly, and drew his hand across his face, and then said
quite simply: “You are right. I apologise.”
Paddy was instantly mollified, and he saw it, and took the opportunity
to get up and rearrange her rug.
“It is all right,” she urged, but he only smiled, and persisted in
tucking her up more cozily. Once again Paddy had that fleeting sense of
the satisfaction of masculine protection, and looked a little wistfully
down at her book.
“If I promise to play fair, will you talk?” he asked. “It is so tiring
to read.”
She could not but agree with him, and they spent the rest of the
journey talking about Lawrence’s travels, and the wonders of far-off
lands. When he would take the trouble he was a delightful
conversationalist, and Paddy gave an exclamation of astonishment when
she found they were nearing Holyhead.
Lawrence smiled inwardly, but was far too clever to mar his momentary
triumph by seeming to notice it, and they remained good friends until
the train steamed into Omeath station.
Paddy, of course, was hanging out of the window, watching for each
familiar landmark, but when the train drew up, she uttered an
exclamation of such boundless amazement, incredulity, and delight
mingled, that Lawrence was quite startled.
Coming running down the platform was Jack O’Hara.