"And now," Major Stotford remarked, as he turned in at the gates of
Court Heatherleigh and drove slowly along the smooth gravelled path
which led to the house, "for explanations. Beastly things,
explanations, eh? Can't see the necessity for them myself."
He scrutinised the white face which, even in its pallor, and despite the
worried expression which he observed settled upon it as they drew near
her home, looked extraordinarily fresh and sweet. He had enjoyed the
ten mile drive exceedingly. Had he not believed that his companion was
enduring more discomfort than she would allow, he could have wished that
the distance had been greater. He was a man who appreciated feminine
society, and he had derived considerable pleasure as the result of an
act of careless good-nature from which he had not anticipated enjoyment.
It had been a new and agreeable experience. He determined that he
would see her again. The slight service he had been able to render her
gave him that much right at least, he decided.
The door was flung wide, and the butler came down the steps with concern
written large on his discreet features. He opened the door of the car.
Major Stotford alighted, shouldered the man authoritatively out of the
way, and assisted Prudence to the ground. She leaned on his arm
heavily, and he saw her blue eyes darken with a look of pain.
"I'm sorry; my ankle hurts."
She turned from him to the waiting servant; but Major Stotford,
anticipating her request, lifted her in his arms and carried her easily
up the steps and into the hall.
The butler, following quickly, got ahead of this intrusive stranger
whose proceedings he did not altogether approve of, and threw open the
drawing-room door. Major Stotford entered with his burden, and after
one swift comprehensive glance which took in the fact that the room was
untenanted, and located the sofa at the same moment, carried Prudence to
it and laid her gently down among its cushions. He stood over her
inquiringly, anxiety in his look and the hint of a smile in his eyes.
"Come now! We're all right, eh?" he said, and felt in his pocket for
his flask, thought better of it and withdrew his hand again empty.
Prudence made an effort to sit up and laughed nervously.
"It's so stupid," she said, "A little thing like that! It's nothing
really."
She was immensely relieved that no one save Graves had witnessed their
arrival. It would have alarmed her father, and scandalised Agatha, to
have seen her carried in like a baby. Major Stotford's helpfulness had
been in excess of what was necessary, she felt; with the aid of a strong
arm she could have accomplished the journey herself.
"I've given you a lot of trouble. You've been awfully kind to me," she
said.
Before he could reply, Mr Graynor entered, concerned and fussy,
followed by Agatha, who wore an expression of protest, and suggested
frigid disapproval in the very rustle of her skirts.
"I always knew how it would end," she exclaimed. "This doesn't in the
least surprise me."
"Oh! it isn't the end," Major Stotford put in with a twinkling of
amusement. "These little annoyances happen at the beginning. I don't
think there are any bones broken."
Mr Graynor bent anxiously over Prudence and laid a hand on her hair.
"You've had an accident. Are you much hurt?" he asked.
"It's nothing really," she said, ashamed at the general fuss in front of
a stranger. "I had a spill--a silly little spill which jarred my ankle.
Major Stotford very kindly motored me home."
Mr Graynor glanced swiftly at the person referred to. His anxiety
partially relieved, he found time to give attention to the man who had
not only brought his daughter home, but was, he imagined, responsible
for the accident. Major Stotford, taking advantage of the pause, set
about correcting this impression, which he had foreseen as likely to
follow his share in the proceedings.
"I was fortunately near the spot," he said. "Miss Graynor rode over a
dog in the roadway, and unluckily it was not the dog which got hurt. It
seldom is on these occasions. I brought home the wreckage."
"I am sure I am very much obliged to you," Mr Graynor said, but with
such a lack of graciousness in his manner as to cause Prudence surprise
and distress. Major Stotford's helpfulness had been more valuable than
he realised. She glanced at her new acquaintance with a quick bright
flush.
"I know I am. If it had not been for Major Stotford's kindness I should
have been stranded for the night with no possibility of communicating
with you at a wretched wayside cottage ten miles away. I've trespassed
enormously on his time, and given quite a lot of trouble. But I enjoyed
the ride."
He laughed pleasantly.
"I enjoyed it too. And you make too much of my services. They were
nothing. I trust the foot will soon be well, and that the injuries are
as light as you would so bravely have us believe." He addressed himself
to Mr Graynor. "If you like I'll leave word at the doctor's on my way
back. You'll want to call him in, I expect."
"Thank you, there is no need to trouble you further," Mr Graynor
returned stiffly. "I can send."
"I have already sent," Miss Agatha interposed; and Major Stotford turned
to look in her direction, as if recalling the presence of one he had
temporarily forgotten.
"Then that's finished," he said; "and it only remains to unload the
car."
He spoke with a certain cold hostility in his voice which did not escape
Prudence's ear. It hurt her. She could have wept with vexation at her
father's want of gratitude and courtesy to this man who had proved so
good a friend to her in her need: she felt that she wanted to apologise
to him for the rudeness of her family. Then she became aware of her
father speaking again in the same politely distant tones as before,
thanking the other man coldly for the trouble he had been put to, and
assuring him that the bicycle had been removed by the servants.
"You should not have burdened yourself with that too," he added. "You
place me under a heavy obligation to you which will leave me always
indebted."
"My dear sir," Major Stotford interrupted, "you are in no sense under an
obligation to me; please disabuse your mind of that idea."
He cut short further expressions of gratitude by advancing to the sofa
and shaking hands with Prudence, who, as if desirous of atoning for the
general lack of warmth, gave him both her hands on a simple girlish
impulse. He took and held them with no show of surprise.
"Thank you so much," she said, a soft appeal in eyes and voice which he
was quick to note. "I just want to say how much I enjoyed the drive and
your kind care of me. I'm very grateful to you."
"You are setting such a premium on ordinary courtesy that I begin to
believe it must be a rare quality in these parts," he said jestingly,
with what sounded to Prudence a faintly sarcastic humour. He had
assuredly not been given particular evidence of the quality beneath that
roof. "But if you insist on regarding my small service so graciously I
do not feel inclined to quarrel with you on that score. I can only
repeat that I am glad I happened to be on the spot. Good-bye. Take
care of the ankle. It will tax your patience, I expect."
Mr Graynor accompanied him into the hall, and invited him into the
library for refreshment, which he declined. Prudence listened to their
voices outside, listened to the motor drive away, and turned with a face
pale with indignation, when her father re-entered the room, and
reproached him with having displayed so little gratitude to a man who
had acted with such ready kindliness towards her.
"I felt ashamed," she said. "You were barely civil."
"You forget yourself, Prudence," Agatha said. "Father was quite civil.
There was no need to gush--you did that."
"And if I did," Prudence cried, exasperated, "you two forced me into
doing so."
Mr Graynor had crossed to the window, where he remained with his back
towards the room, paying little heed to their wrangling.
"I wish it had not been Major Stotford who rendered you the service," he
said presently, and faced about and approached the sofa with an
expression of worried annoyance on his face. "I am sorry this has
happened."
"Why?" Prudence sat up straighter and punched the cushions viciously.
"Why?" she repeated aggressively.
"Because--"
"Do you think it necessary to explain these matters to a child?" Agatha
interrupted tartly.
Prudence laughed angrily.
"I'm not a child," she said. "You can't keep my mind for ever on a
leading string."
"I think you are unnecessarily excited," Mr Graynor said in displeased
tones. "I doubt whether that is good for you in your present
condition."
"Being thwarted is not good for me in my present condition," Prudence
retorted, but with greater calmness. "You aren't being fair to me. Why
should it be a matter for regret to you that Major Stotford should do me
a service? He hadn't much choice. No man, who wasn't a brute, could
have acted otherwise in the circumstances."
"No," Mr Graynor admitted. "It was simply unfortunate. Major Stotford
is a man whom I do not care to have in my house, whom I would not choose
as an associate for my daughters. He has an evil reputation."
"Evil!" Prudence sounded a note of incredulity. "In what sense?" she
asked.
"There is no need to soil your ears with his history," Mr Graynor
replied. "His wife divorced him two years ago. I understood he was
abroad."
"Oh!" said Prudence, and felt oddly chilled by this revelation.
She had liked the man, had hoped that the acquaintance so informally
begun would develop pleasantly on ordinary lines, a hope which she
realised very certainly could never be fulfilled. Further intercourse
would be forbidden her. Though had the road been open to a pursuance of
the acquaintance Prudence herself would no longer have wished to follow
it up. The colour had gone out of the pleasure and left a neutral-toned
picture in its stead, a picture of life in its least lovely aspect, with
the sordid streak of self-indulgence trailing its disfiguring smudges
across the canvas. Was nothing that was pleasant altogether fine? In
this complex meandering of human destinies was this mean streak, which
spoilt the fine grain of the wood, discoverable in each separate
individual?
Prudence lay back against the cushions feeling utterly weary and unable
to cope with the rush of swift emotions which flooded her mind.
Reaction followed upon the period of excitement. She was conscious only
of the pain in her foot. No one had thought of removing her shoe. She
had loosened it in the car; but the foot had swollen and felt too big
for its covering. She made an effort now to remove the shoe, whereupon
Agatha, capable but unsympathetic, came to her assistance.
"You ought to have done that before," she complained petulantly, and to
her own surprise, as well as to her sister's, broke down and cried
weakly.