The best moments of a man's life are the moments when, strong in
himself, he feels that the world lies before him. Gratified ambition
may be the summer, but anticipation is the ardent spring-time of a man's
career.
As Loder drove that night frown Fleet Street to Grosvenor Square he
realized this--though scarcely with any degree of consciousness--for he
was no accomplished self-analyst. But in a wave of feeling too vigorous
to be denied he recognized his regained foothold--the step that lifted
him at once from the pit to the pinnacle.
In that moment of realization he looked neither backward nor forward.
The present was all-sufficing. Difficulties might loom ahead, but
difficulties had but one object--the testing and sharpening of a man's
strength. In the first deep surge of egotistical feeling he almost
rejoiced in Chilcote's weakness. The more Chilcote tangled the threads
of his life, the stronger must be the fingers that unravelled them. He
was possessed by a great impatience; the joy of action was stirring in
his blood.
Leaving the cab, he walked confidently to the door of Chilcote's house
and inserted the latch-key. Even in this small act there was a grain
of individual satisfaction. Then very quietly he opened the door and
crossed the hall.
As he entered, a footman was arranging the fire that burned in the big
grate. Seeing the man, he halted.
“Where is your mistress?” he asked, in unconscious repetition of his
first question in the same house.
The man looked up. “She has just finished dinner, sir. She dined alone
in her own room.” He glanced at Loder in the quick, uncertain way that
was noticeable in all the servants of the household when they addressed
their master. Loder saw the look and wondered what depth of curiosity it
betrayed, how much of insight into the domestic life that he must always
be content to skim. For an instant the old resentment against Chilcote
tinged his exaltation, but he swept it angrily aside. Without further
remark he began to mount the stairs.
Gaining the landing, he did not turn as usual to the door that shut
off Chilcote's rooms, but moved onward down the corridor towards Eve's
private sitting-room. He moved slowly till the door was reached; then
he, paused and lifted his hand. There was a moment's wait while his
fingers rested on the handle; then a sensation he could not explain--a
reticence, a reluctance to intrude upon this one precinct--caused his,
fingers to relax. With a slightly embarrassed gesture he drew back
slowly and retraced his steps.
Once in Chilcote's bedroom, he walked to the nearest bell and pressed
it. Renwick responded, and at sight of him Loder's feelings warmed with
the same sense of fitness and familiarity that the great bed and sombre
furniture of the room had inspired.
But the man did not come forward as he had expected. He remained close
to the door with a hesitation that was unusual in a trained servant. It
struck Loder that possibly his stolidity had exasperated Chilcote, and
that possibly Chilcote had been at no pains to conceal the exasperation.
The idea caused him to smile involuntarily.
“Come into the room, Renwick,” he said. “It's uncomfortable to see you
standing there. I want to know if Mrs. Chilcote has sent me any message
about to-night.”
Renwick studied him furtively as he came forward. “Yes, sir,” he
said. “Mrs. Chilcote's maid said that the carriage was ordered for
ten-fifteen, and she hoped that would suit you.” He spoke reluctantly,
as if expecting a rebuke.
At the opening sentence Loder had turned aside, but now, as the man
finished, he wheeled round again and looked at him closely with his
keen, observant eyes.
“Look here,” he said. “I can't have you speak to me like that. I may
come down on you rather sharply when my--my nerves are bad; but when I'm
myself I treat you--well, I treat you decently, at any rate. You'll
have to learn to discriminate. Look at me now!” A thrill of risk and of
rulership passed through him as he spoke. “Look at me now! Do I look as
I looked this morning--or yesterday?”
The man eyed him half stupidly, half timidly.
“Well?” Loder insisted.
“Well, sir,” Renwick responded, with some slowness; “you look the
same--and you look different. A healthier color, perhaps, sir--and
the eye clearer.” He grew more confident under Loder's half-humorous,
half-insistent gaze. “Now that I look closer, sir--”
Loder laughed. “That's it!” he said. “Now that you look closer. You'll
have to grow observant: observation is an excellent quality in a
servant. Wheat you come into a room in future, look first of all at
me--and take your cue from that. Remember that serving a man with nerves
is like serving two masters. Now you can go; and tell Mrs. Chilcote's
maid that I shall be quite ready at a quarter-past ten.”
“Yes, sir. And after that?”
“Nothing further. I sha'n't want you again to-night.” He turned away as
he spoke, and moved towards the great fire that was always kept alight
in Chilcote's room. But as the man moved towards the door he wheeled
back again. “Oh, one thing more, Renwick! Bring me some sandwiches and
a whiskey.” He remembered for the first time that he had eaten nothing
since early afternoon.
At a few minutes after ten Loder left Chilcote's room, resolutely
descended the stairs, and took up his position in the hall. Resolution
is a strong word to apply to such a proceeding, but something in his
bearing, in the attitude of his shoulders and head, instinctively
suggested it.
Five or six minutes passed, but he waited without impatience; then at
last the sound of a carriage stopping before the house caused him to
lift his head, and at the same instant Eve appeared at the head of the
staircase.
She stood there for a second, looking down on him, her maid a pace or
two behind, holding her cloak. The picture she made struck upon his mind
with something of a revelation.
On his first sight of her she had appealed to him as a strange blending
of youth and self-possession--a girl with a woman's clearer perception
of life; later he had been drawn to study her in other aspects--as a
possible comrade and friend; now for the first time he saw her as a
power in her own world, a woman to whom no man could deny consideration.
She looked taller for the distance between them, and the distinction
of her carriage added to the effect. Her black gown was exquisitely
soft--as soft as her black hair; above her forehead was a cluster of
splendid diamonds shaped like a coronet, and a band of the same stones
encircled her neck. Loder realized in a glance that only the most
distinguished of women could wear such ornaments and not have her beauty
eclipsed. With a touch of the old awkwardness that had before assailed
him in her presence, he came slowly forward as she descended the stairs.
“Can I help you with your cloak?” he asked. And as he asked it,
something like surprise at his own timidity crossed his mind.
For a second Eve's glance rested on his face. Her expression was quite
impassive, but as she lowered her lashes a faint gleam flickered
across her eyes; nevertheless, her answer, when it came, was studiously
courteous.
“Thank you,” she said, “but Marie will do all I want.”
Loder looked at her for a moment, then turned aside. He was not hurt by
his rebuff; rather, by an interesting sequence of impressions, he was
stirred by it. The pride that had refused Chilcote's help, and the
self-control that had refused it graciously, moved him to admiration. He
understood and appreciated both by the light of person experience.
“The carriage is waiting, sir,” Crapham's voice broke in.
Loder nodded, and Eve turned to her maid. “That will do, Marie,” she
said. “I shall want a cup of chocolate when I get back--probably at one
o clock.” She drew her cloak about her shoulders and moved towards the
door. Then she paused and looked back. “Shall we start?” she asked,
quietly.
Loder, still watching her, came forward at once. “Certainly,” he said,
with unusual gentleness.
He followed her as she crossed the footpath, but made no further offer
of help; and when the moment came he quietly took his place beside her
in the carriage. His last impression, as the horses wheeled round, was
of the open hall door--Crapham in his sombre livery and the maid in her
black dress, both silhouetted against the dark background of the hall;
then, as the carriage moved forward smoothly and rapidly, he leaned back
in his seat and closed his eyes.
During the first few moments of the drive there was silence. To Loder
there was a strange, new sensation in this companionship, so close and
yet so distant. He was so near to Eve that the slight fragrant scent
from her clothes might almost have belonged to his own. The impression
was confusing yet vaguely delightful. It was years since he had been so
close to a woman of his own class--his own caste. He acknowledged the
thought with a curious sense of pleasure. Involuntarily he turned and
looked at her.
She was sitting very straight, her fine profile cut clear against the
carriage window, her diamonds quivering in the light that flashed
by them from the street. For a space the sense of unreality that had
pervaded his first entrance into Chilcote's life touched him again, then
another and more potent feeling rose to quell it. Almost involuntarily
as he looked at her his lips parted.
“May I say something?” he asked.
Eve remained motionless. She did not turn her head, as most women would
have done. “Say anything you like,” she said, gravely.
“Anything?” He bent a little nearer, filled again by the inordinate wish
to dominate.
“Of course.”
It seemed to him that her voice sounded forced and a little tired. For
a moment he looked through the window at the passing lights; then slowly
his gaze returned to her face.
“You look very beautiful to-night,” he said. His voice was low and his
manner unemotional, but his words had the effect he desired.
She turned her head, and her eyes met his in a glance of curiosity and
surprise.
Slight as the triumph was, it thrilled him. The small scene with
Chilcote's valet came back to him; his own personality moved him
again to a reckless determination to make his own voice heard. Leaning
forward, he laid his hand lightly on her arm.
“Eve,” he said, quickly--“Eve, do you remember?” Then he paused
and withdrew his hand. The horses had slackened speed, then stopped
altogether as the carriage fell into line outside Bramfell House.