THE ETERNAL FLAME
Daisy maintained her resolution on the following day, and though she
did not speak again of going downstairs, she insisted that Muriel
should return to the hockey-field and resume her place in Olga's team.
It was the last match of the season, and she would not hear of her
missing it.
"You and Blake are both to go," she said. "I won't have either of you
staying at home for me."
But Blake, when Muriel conveyed this message to him, moodily shook his
head. "I'm not going. I don't want to. You must, of course. It will do
you good. But I couldn't play if I went. I've strained my wrist."
"Oh, have you?" Muriel said, with concern. "What a nuisance! How did
you manage it?"
He reddened, and looked slightly ashamed. "I vaulted the gate into the
meadow this morning. Idiotic thing to do. But I shall be all right.
Never mind about me. I shall smoke in the garden. I may go for a
walk."
Thus pressed on all sides, though decidedly against her own
inclination, Muriel went. The day was showery with brilliant
intervals. Grange saw her off at the field-gate.
"Plenty of mud," he remarked.
"Yes, I shall be a spectacle when I come back. Good-bye! Take care of
yourself." Muriel's hand rested for an instant on his arm, and then
she was gone--a slim, short-skirted figure walking swiftly over the
grass.
He stood leaning on the gate watching her till a clump of trees
intervened between them, then lazily he straightened himself and began
to stroll back up the garden. He was not smoking. His face wore a
heavy, almost a sullen, look. He scarcely raised his eyes from the
ground as he walked.
Nearing the house the sudden sound of a window being raised made
him look up, and in an instant, swift as a passing cloud-shadow, his
moodiness was gone. Daisy was leaning on her window-sill, looking down
upon him.
Though she had not spoken to him for weeks, she gave him no greeting.
Her voice even sounded a trifle sharp.
"What are you loafing there for?" she demanded. "Why didn't you go
with Muriel to the hockey?"
He hesitated for a single instant. Then--for he never lied to
Daisy--quite honestly he made reply. "I didn't want to."
Her pale face frowned down at him, though the eyes had a soft light
that was like a mother's indulgence for her wayward child.
"How absurd you are! How can you be so lazy? I won't have it, Blake.
Do you hear?"
He moved forward a few steps till he was immediately below her, and
there stood with uplifted face. "What do you want me to do?"
"Do!" echoed Daisy. "Why, anything--anything rather than nothing.
There's the garden-roller over there by the tool-shed. Go and get it,
and roll the lawn."
He went off obediently without another word, and presently the clatter
of the roller testified to his submissive fulfilment of her command.
He did not look up again. Simply, with his coat off and shirt-sleeves
turned above his elbows, he tackled his arduous task, labouring up and
down in the soft spring rain, patient and tireless as an ox.
He had accomplished about half his job when again Daisy's voice broke
imperiously in upon him.
"Blake! Blake! Come in! You'll get wet to the skin."
He stopped at once, straightening his great frame with a sigh of
relief. Daisy was standing at the drawing-room window.
He pulled on his coat and went to join her.
She came to meet him with sharp reproach. "Why are you so foolish?
I believe you would have gone on rolling if there had been an
earthquake. You must be wet through and through." She ran her little
thin hand over him. "Yes, I knew you were. You must go and change."
But Grange's fingers closed with quiet intention upon her wrist. He
was looking down at her with the faithful adoration of a dumb animal.
"Not yet," he said gently. "Let me see you while I can."
She made a quick movement as if his grasp hurt her, and in an instant
she was free.
"Yes, but let us be sensible," she said. "Don't let us talk about hard
things. I'm very tired, you know, Blake. You must make it easy for
me."
There was a piteous note of appeal in her voice. She sat down with
her back to the light. He could see that her hands were trembling, but
because of her appeal he would not seem to see it.
"Don't you think a change would be good for you?" he suggested.
"I don't know," she answered. "Jim says so. He wants me to go to
Brethaven. It's only ten miles away, and he would motor over and look
after me. But I don't think it much matters. I'm not particularly fond
of the sea. And Muriel assures me she doesn't mind."
"Isn't it at Brethaven that Nick Ratcliffe owns a place?" asked
Grange.
"Yes. Redlands is the name. I went there once with Will. It's a
beautiful place on the cliff--quite thrown away on Nick, though,
unless he marries, which he never will now."
Grange looked uncomfortable. "It's not my fault," he remarked bluntly.
"No, I know," said Daisy, with a faint echo of her old light laugh.
"Nothing ever was, or could be, your fault, dear old Blake. You're
just unlucky sometimes, aren't you? That's all."
Blake frowned a little. "I play a straight game--generally," he said.
"Yes, dear, but you almost always drive into a bunker," Daisy
insisted. "It's not your fault, as we said before. It's just your
misfortune."
She never flattered Blake. It was perhaps the secret of her charm for
him. To other women he was something of a paladin; to Daisy he was no
more than a man--a man moreover of many weaknesses, each one of which
she knew, each one of which was in a fashion dear to her.
"We will have some tea, shall we?" she said, as he sat silently
digesting her criticism. "I must try and write to Will presently. I
haven't written to him since--since--" She broke off short and began
again. "I got Muriel to write for me once. But he keeps writing by
every mail. I wish he wouldn't."
Grange got up and walked softly to the window. "When do you think of
going back?" he asked.
"I don't know." There was a keen note of irritation in the reply.
Daisy leaned suddenly forward, her fingers locked together. "You
might as well ask me when I think of dying," she said, with abrupt and
startling bitterness.
Grange remained stationary, not looking at her. "Is it as indefinite
as that?" he asked presently.
"Yes, quite." She spoke recklessly, even defiantly. "Where would be
the use of my going to a place I couldn't possibly live in for more
than four months in the year? Besides--besides--" But again, as if
checked by some potent inner influence, she broke off short. Her
white face quivered suddenly, and she turned it aside. Her hands were
convulsively clenched upon each other.
Her cousin did not move. He seemed to be unaware of her agitation.
Simply with much patience he waited for her end of the sentence.
It came at last in a voice half-strangled. She was making almost
frantic efforts to control herself. "Besides, I couldn't stand
it--yet. I am not strong enough. And he--he wouldn't understand, poor
boy. I think--I honestly think--I am better away from him for the
present"
Blake made no further inquiries. From Daisy's point of view, he seemed
to be standing motionless, but in reality he was quite unconsciously,
though very deliberately, pulling the tassel of the blind-cord to
shreds.
The clouds had passed, and the sun blazed down full upon him, throwing
his splendid outline into high relief. Every detail of his massive
frame was strongly revealed. There was about him a species of careless
magnificence, wholly apart from arrogance, unfettered, superb.
To Daisy, familiar as she was with every line of him, the sudden
revelation of the sunlight acted like a charm. She had been hiding her
eyes for many days from all light, veiling them in the darkness of her
grief, and the splendour of the man fairly dazzled her. It rushed
upon her, swift, overmastering as a tidal wave, and before it even the
memory of her sorrow grew dim.
Blake, turning at last, met her eyes fixed full upon him with that in
their expression which no man could ignore. She had not expected him
to turn. The movement disconcerted her. With a sharp jerk She averted
her face, seeking to cover that momentary slip, to persuade him
even then, if it were possible, into the belief that he had not seen
aright.
But it was too late. That unguarded look of hers had betrayed her,
rending asunder in an instant the veil with which for years she had
successfully baffled him.
In a second he was on his knees beside her, his arms about her,
holding her with a close and passionate insistence.
"Daisy!" he whispered huskily. And again, "Daisy!"
And Daisy turned with a sudden deep sob and hid her face upon his
breast.