AN OFFER OF FRIENDSHIP
It was with unspeakable relief that Muriel learned of Nick's
departure. That he had elected to take Olga with him surprised her
considerably and caused her some regret. Grange had discovered some
urgent business that demanded his presence in town, and she missed the
child in consequence more than she would otherwise have done.
Daisy was growing stronger, and was beginning to contemplate a change,
moved at last by Jim Ratcliffe's persistent urging. There was a
cottage at Brethaven which, he declared, would suit her exactly.
Muriel raised no objection to the plan. She knew it would be for
Daisy's benefit, but her heart sank whenever she thought of it. She
was glad when early in June Blake came back to them for a few days
before starting on a round of visits.
He approved of the Brethaven plan warmly, and he and Muriel rode over
one morning to the little seaside village to make arrangements. Muriel
said no more to him upon the subject of Nick. On this one point
she had come to know that it was vain to look for sympathy. He had
promised to help her indeed, but he simply did not understand
her nervous shrinking from the man. Moreover, Nick had made it so
abundantly evident that he had no intention of thrusting himself upon
her that there could be no ground for fear on that score. Besides, was
not her engagement her safeguard?
As for Blake, her silence upon the matter made him hope that she was
getting over her almost childish panic. With all the goodwill in the
world, he could not see that his presence as watch-dog was required.
Yet, as they turned from the cottage on the shore with their errand
accomplished, he did say after some hesitation, "Of course, if for
any reason you should want me when I am away, you must let me know. I
would come at once."
She thanked him with a heightened colour, and he had a feeling that
his allusion had been unwelcome. They rode up from the beach in
silence.
Turning a sharp corner towards the village where they proposed to
lunch, they came suddenly upon a motor stationary by the roadside.
A whoop of cheery recognition greeted them before either of them
realised that it was occupied, and they discovered Nick seated on the
step, working with his one hand at the foot-brake. Olga was with him,
endeavouring to assist.
Nick's face grinned welcome impartially to the newcomers. "Hullo! This
is luck. Delighted to see you. Grange, my boy, here's a little job
exactly suited to your Herculean strength. Climb down like a good
fellow, and lend a hand."
Grange glanced at Muriel, and with a slight shrug handed her his
bridle. "I'm not much good at this sort of thing," he remarked, as he
dismounted.
"Never thought you were for a moment," responded Nick. "But I suppose
you can do as you're told at a pinch. This filthy thing has got
jammed. It's too tough a job for a single-handed pigmy like me." He
glanced quizzically up at Muriel with the last remark, but she quickly
averted her eyes, bending to speak to Olga at the same instant.
Olga was living in the seventh heaven just then, and her radiant face
proclaimed it. "I'm learning to drive," she told Muriel. "It's the
greatest fun. You would just love it. I know you would." She stood
fondling the horses and chattering while the two men wrestled with the
motor's internal arrangements, and Muriel longed desperately to give
her animal the rein and flee away from the mocking sprite that gibed
at her from Nick's eyes. Whence came it, this feeling of insecurity,
this perpetual sense of fighting against the inevitable? She had
fancied that Blake's presence would be her safeguard, but now she
bitterly realised that it made no difference to her. He stood as it
were outside the ropes, and was powerless to intervene.
Suddenly she saw them stand up. The business was done. They stood for
a second side by side--Blake gigantic, well-proportioned, splendidly
strong; Nick, meagre, maimed, almost shrunken, it seemed. But in that
second she knew with unerring conviction that the greater fighter of
the two was the man against whom she had pitted her quivering woman's
strength. She knew at a single glance that for all his bodily weakness
Nick possessed the power to dominate even so mighty a giant as Blake.
What she had said to herself many a time before, she said again. He
was abnormal, superhuman even; more--where he chose to exert himself,
he was irresistible.
The realisation went through her, sharp and piercing, horribly
distinct. She had sought shelter like a frightened rabbit in the
densest cover she could find, but, crouching low, she heard the rush
of the remorseless wings above her. She knew that at any moment he
could rend her refuge to pieces and hold her at his mercy.
Abruptly he left Blake and came to her side. "I want you and Grange to
come to Redlands for luncheon," he said. "Olga is hostess there. Don't
refuse."
"Oh, do come!" urged Olga, dancing eagerly upon one leg. "You've never
been to Redlands, have you? It's such a lovely place. Say you'll come,
Muriel."
Muriel scarcely heard her. She was looking down into Nick's face,
seeking, seeking for the hundredth time, to read that baffling mask.
"Don't refuse," he said again. "You'll get nothing but underdone chops
at the inn here, and I can't imagine that to be a weakness of yours."
She gave up her fruitless search. "I will come," she said.
"It's exactly as you like, you know, Muriel," Grange put in awkwardly.
She understood the precise meaning of Nick's laugh. She even for a
moment wanted to laugh herself. "Thank you. I should like to," she
said.
Nick nodded and turned aside. "Olga, stop capering," he ordered, "and
drive me home."
Olga obeyed him promptly, with the gaiety of a squirrel. As Nick
seated himself by her side, Muriel saw her turn impulsively and rub
her cheek against his shoulder. It gave her a queer little tingling
shock to see the child's perfect confidence in him. But then--but
then--Olga had never looked on horror, had never seen the devil leap
out in naked fury upon her hero's face.
They waited to let the car go first, Olga proudly grasping the wheel;
then, trotting briskly, followed in its wake.
Muriel had an uneasy feeling that Blake wanted to apologise, and she
determined that he should not have the opportunity. Each time that
he gave any sign of wishing to draw nearer to her, she touched her
horse's flank. Something in the nature of a revelation had come to
her during that brief halt by the roadside. For the first time she
had caught a glimpse, plain and unvarnished, of the actual man that
inhabited the giant's frame, and it had given her an odd, disturbing
suspicion that the strength upon which she leaned was in simple fact
scarcely equal to her own.
The way to Redlands lay through leafy woodlands through which here
and there the summer sea gleamed blue. Turning in at the open gates,
Muriel uttered an exclamation of delight. She seemed to have suddenly
entered fairyland. The house, long, low, rambling, roofed with thatch,
stood at the end of a winding drive that was bordered on both sides
by a blaze of rhododendron flowers. Down below her on the left was a
miniature glen from which arose the tinkle of running water. On her
right the trees grew thickly, completely shutting out the road.
"Oh, Blake!" she exclaimed. "What a perfect paradise!"
"Like it?" said Nick; and with a start she saw him coolly step out
from a shadowy path behind them and close the great iron gate.
Impulsively she pulled up and slipped to the ground. "Take my horse,
Blake," she said. "I must run down to that stream."
He obeyed her, not very willingly, and Nick with a chuckle turned and
plunged after her down the narrow path. "Go straight ahead!" he called
back. "Olga is waiting for you at the house."
He came up with Muriel on the edge of the fairy stream. Her face was
flushed and her eyes nervous, but she met him bravely. She had known
in her heart that he would follow. As he stopped beside her, she
turned with a little desperate laugh and held out her hand.
"Is it peace?" she said rather breathlessly.
She felt his fingers, tense as wire, close about her own. "Seems like
it," he said. "What are you afraid of? Me?"
She could not meet his look. But the necessity for some species of
understanding pressed upon her. She wanted unspeakably to conciliate
him.
"I want to be friends with you, Nick," she said, "if you will let me."
"What for?" said Nick sharply.
She was silent. She could not tell him that her sure defence had
crumbled at a touch. Somehow she was convinced that he knew it
already.
"You never wanted such a thing before," he said. "You certainly
weren't hankering after it the last time we met."
Her cheeks burned at the memory. Again she felt ashamed. With a great
effort she forced herself to speak with a certain frankness.
"I am afraid," she said--"I have thought since--that I was rather
heartless that day. The fact was, I was taken by surprise. But I am
sorry now, Nick. I am very sorry."
Her tone was unconsciously piteous. Surely he must see that if they
were to meet often, as inevitably they must, some sort of agreement
between them was imperative. She must feel stable ground beneath her
feet. Their intercourse could not be one perpetual passage of arms.
Flesh and blood could never endure it.
But Nick did not apparently view the matter in the same light. "Pray
don't be sorry," he airily begged her. "I quite understood. I never
take offence where none is intended, and not always where it is. So
dismiss the matter from your mind with all speed. There is not the
smallest occasion for regret."
He meant to elude her, she saw, and she turned from him without
another word. There was to be no understanding then, no friendly
feeling, no peace of mind. She had trusted to his generosity, and it
was quite clear that he had no intention of being generous.
As they walked by a mossy pathway towards the house, they talked upon
indifferent things. But the girl's heart was very bitter within
her. She would have given almost anything to have flung back his
hospitality in his grinning, triumphant face, and have departed with
her outraged pride to the farthest corner of the earth.