"IT CANNOT BE."
In the conjecture that his cousin had fallen into an infatuation for
Hermia, Hilary Blachland was right--the only respect in which he had
failed to grasp the full situation being that he had not fathomed the
depth of that infatuation.
He knew her little ways, none better; knew well how insidiously
dangerous she could be to those who did not know them, when she saw fit
to lay herself out to attract. That she was laying herself out to
entrap Percy was the solution of the whole problem.
Yet not all of it. She had been with the Earles before Percy's arrival,
before she could even have known he was in the country at all. And what
had become of Spence? Well, this, too, would be cleared up, for he knew
as well as though she had told him in so many words, that before they
parted again she meant to have a private talk with him, and an
understanding, and to this he was not averse. It would probably be a
stormy one, for he was not going to allow her to add young West to her
list of victims; and this he was going to give her emphatically to
understand.
A rustle and a rush in front, and a blekbuck leaped out of the long
grass almost at his horse's feet, for they were riding in line--a
hundred yards or so apart. Up went his gun mechanically--a crack and a
suspicion of a puff of smoke. The graceful little animal turned a
complete somersault, and lay, convulsively kicking its life away.
Another started up, crossing right in front of Percival. The latter
slipped to the ground in a moment, got a sight on, and turned it over
neatly, at rather a long distance shot.
"I say, Bayfield. Those two Britishers are leading off well," said
Earle, as they pulled in their horses and lighted pipes, to wait till
the other two should be ready to take the line again.
There are more imposing, but few more enjoyable forms of sport, than
this moving over a fine rolling expanse of bontebosch veldt, beneath the
cloudless blue of the heavens, through the clear exhilarating air of an
early African winter day; when game is plentiful, and anything may jump
out, or rise at any moment; blekbuck or duiker, guinea-fowl or koorhaan,
or partridge, with the possibility of a too confiding pauw, and other
unconsidered trifles. All these conditions held good here, yet one, at
any rate, of those privileged to enjoy them, keen sportsman as he was,
felt that day that something was wanting--that a cloud was dimming the
sun-lit beauty of the rolling plains, and an invisible weight crushing
the exhilaration of each successful shot.
Blachland, pursuing his sport mechanically, was striving to shake off an
unpleasant impression, and striving in vain. Something seemed to have
happened between yesterday and to-day. Or was it the thought that Lyn
Bayfield would be more or less in Hermia's society throughout the whole
of that day? Yet, even if such were the case, what on earth did it
matter to him?
The day came to an end at last, but there had been nothing to complain
of in the way of the sport. They had lunched in the veldt, in ordinary
hunter fashion--and in the afternoon had got in among the guinea-fowl;
and being lucky enough to break up the troop, had about an hour of
pretty sport--for scattered birds lie well and rise well--and by the
time they turned their faces homeward, were loaded up with about as much
game--buck and birds--as the horses could conveniently carry.
A flutter of feminine dresses was visible on the stoep, as they drew
near the house, seeing which, an eager look came into Percival West's
face. It was not lost upon his kinsman, who smiled to himself
sardonically, as he recalled how just such a light had been kindled in
his own at one time, and by the same cause. What a long while ago that
seemed--and to think, too, that it should ever have been possible.
A chorus of congratulation arose as the magnitude of the bag became
apparent.
"Those two Britishers knocked spots out of us to-day!" cried Earle.
"Bayfield and I can clean take a back seat."
"You wouldn't call Mr Blachland a Britisher, surely, Mr Earle?" struck
in Hermia. "Why, he's shot lions up-country."
"Eh, has he? How d'you know?" asked Earle eagerly--while he who was
most concerned mentally started.
"Didn't he tell us so this morning?" she said, and her glance of
mischief was not lost upon Blachland, who remarked:
"Does that fact denationalise me, Mrs Fenham? You said I couldn't be
counted a Britisher."
"Well, you know what I meant."
"Oh, perfectly."
There was a veiled cut-and-thrust between these two: imperceptible to
the others--save one.
That one was Lyn. Her straight instinct and true ear had warned her.
"She is an adventuress," was the girl's mental verdict. "An impostor,
who is hiding something. Some day it will come out." Now she said to
herself, watching the two, "He doesn't like her. No, he doesn't." And
there was more satisfaction in this conclusion than even its framer was
aware of.
Throughout the evening, too, Hilary found himself keenly observing new
developments, or the possibility of such. At supper, they were mostly
shooting all the day's bag over again, and going back over the incidents
of other and similar days. Percival, in his seat next Hermia, was
dividing his attention between his host's multifold reminiscence and his
next-door neighbour, somewhat to the advantage of the latter. A new
development came, however, and it was after they had all got up from the
table, and some, at any rate, had gone out on to the stoep to see the
moon rise. Then it was, in the sudden transition from light to
darkness, Blachland felt his hand stealthily seized and something thrust
into it--something which felt uncommonly like a tiny square of folded
paper. Hermia's wrap brushed him at the time, and Hermia's voice,
talking evenly to Percival on the other side, arrested his ear. There
was a good deal more talk, and lighting of pipes, and presently it was
voted too cold to remain outside. But, on re-entering, the party had
undergone diminution by two. Mrs Earle was looking more discontented
than ever.
"What's the odds?" chuckled her jolly spouse, with a quizzical wink at
his two male guests. "They're a brace of Britishers. They only want to
talk home shop. Fine woman that Mrs Fenham, isn't she, Blachland?"
"Yes. How did you pick her up?" he replied, noticing that the
discontented look had deepened on the face of his hostess, and bearing
in mind Bayfield's insinuations, thought that warm times might be in
store for Hermia.
"Oh, the wife found her. I hadn't anything to do with it. But she's
first-rate in her own line: gets the nippers on no end. Makes 'em
learn, you know."
Would surprises never end? thought Hilary Blachland. Here was an
amazing one, at any rate, for he happened to know that Hermia's mind, as
far as the veriest rudiments of education were concerned, was pretty
nearly a blank. How on earth, then, did she contrive to impart
instruction to others? He did not believe she could, only that she had
succeeded in humbugging these people most thoroughly.
Then they had manoeuvred Lyn to the piano, and got her to sing, but
Hilary, leaning back in his chair, thought that somehow it did not seem
the same as up there in her own home, when night after night he had sat
revelling in the sweet, clear, true notes. And then the other two,
entering from their moonlight stroll, had subsided into a corner
together. The sight reminded him of Spence, who must needs make an open
book of his callow, silly face. Percival was doing the same.
"Just as I thought," he said to himself, an hour later, as under cover
of all the interchange of good nights, he managed to slip away for a
moment to investigate the contents of the mysterious paper. "`Meet
to-morrow and have an explanation, or I may regret it all my life.'
Um--ah! very likely I shall do that in any case. Still, I'm curious
about the explanation part of it myself, so meet we will."
"Come along, old chap," said Percival, grabbing him by the arm. "You've
got to doss down in my diggings, and we'll have a good round jaw until
we feel sleepy. Phew! it's cold!" he added, as they got out on to the
stoep--for Percival's room was at the end of the stoep, and was quite
shut off from the house. The moonlit veldt stretched away in dim beauty
around, its stillness broken by the weird yelp of hunting jackals, or
the soft whistle of the invisible plover overhead.
They had been talking of all sorts of indifferent things. Blachland
knew, however, that the other wanted to talk on a subject that was not
indifferent, and was shy to lead up to it. He must help him through
directly, because he didn't want to be awake all night. But when they
had turned in and had lit their pipes for a final smoke, Percival
began--
"I say, Hilary, what do you think of that Mrs Fenham?"
"Rather short acquaintance to give an opinion upon, isn't it?"
"No. Skittles! But I say, old chap, she's devilish fetching, eh?"
"So you seem to find. It strikes me, Percy, you're making a goodish bit
of running in that quarter. Look out."
The other laughed good-humouredly, happily in fact.
"Why `look out?' I mean making running there. By Jove, I never came
across any one like her!"
Blachland smiled grimly to himself behind a great puff of smoke. He had
good reason to believe that statement.
"It's a fact," went on Percival. "But I say, old chap, she doesn't seem
to fetch you at all. I'm rather glad, of course--in fact, devilish
glad. Still, I should have thought she'd be just the sort of woman
who'd appeal to you no end. You must be getting _blase_."
"My dear Percy, a man's idiocies don't stay with him all his life, thank
Heaven--though their results are pretty apt to."
"Well, Hilary, I'm mortal glad to have the field clear in this case,
because I want you to help me."
"I don't think you need any help. Judging from the very brief period of
observation vouchsafed to me, the lady herself seems able and willing to
help you all she knows."
"No, but you don't understand. I mean business here--real serious--"
"Strictly honourable--or--"
The young fellow flushed up.
"If any one else had said that--" he began, indignantly.
"Oh, don't be an ass. You surely don't expect me--me, mind--to cotton
to heroics in a matter of this kind. What do you know about the woman?
Nothing."
"I don't care about that I can't do without her."
"She can do without you, I expect, eh?"
"She can't. She told me so."
"Did she? Now, Percy, I don't want to hurt your feelings. But how many
men do you suppose she has told the same thing to--in her time?"
"None. Her marriage was only one of convenience. She was forced into
it."
"Of course. They always are. Now, supposing she had told me, for
instance, she couldn't do without me? What then?"
"You? Why, you never set eyes on her till this morning."
"No. Of course not. I was only putting a case. Again, she's rather
older than you."
"There you're wrong. She's a year or two younger. She told me so."
Blachland, happening to know that she was, in fact, five or six years
the young fellow's senior, went on appreciating the humours of the
situation. And really these were great.
"By Jove! Listen!" said the other suddenly, as a chattering and
clucking of fowls was audible outside. "There's a jackal or a bushcat
or something getting at the fowls. They roost in those low trees just
outside. I'll get the gun, and if we put out the light, we may get a
shot at him from the window."
"Not much," returned Blachland decisively. "The window's at the head of
my bed, not yours. I wouldn't have it opened this beastly cold night
for a great deal. Besides, think what a funk you'd set up among the
women by banging off a gun at this ungodly hour. The hens must take
their chance. Now look here, Percy," he went on, speaking earnestly and
seriously, "take a word of warning from one who has seen a great deal
more of the world, and the crookedness thereof, than you have, and chuck
this business--for all serious purposes I mean. Have your fun by all
means--even to a fast and furious flirtation if you're that way
disposed. But--draw the line at that, and draw it hard."
"I wouldn't if I could, and I couldn't if I would. Hilary--we are
engaged."
"What?"
The word came with almost a shout. Blachland had sat up in bed and was
staring at his young kinsman in wild dismay. His pipe had fallen to the
ground in his amazement over the announcement. "Since when, if it's a
fair question?" he added, somewhat recovering himself.
"Only this evening. I asked her to marry me and she consented."
"Then you must break it off at once. I tell you this thing can't come
off, Percy. It simply can't."
"Can't it? But it will. And look here, Hilary, you're a devilish good
chap, and all that--but I'm not precisely under your guardianship, you
know. Nor am I dependent upon anybody. I've got a little of my own,
and besides, I can work."
"Oh, you young fool. Go to sleep. You may wake up more sensible," he
answered, not unkindly, and restraining the impulse to tell Percival the
truth then and there, but the thought that restrained him was the coming
interview with Hermia on the morrow. He was naturally reluctant to give
her away unless absolutely necessary, but whatever the result of that
interview, he would force her to free Percival from her toils. To do
him justice, the idea that such an exposure would involve himself too
did not enter his mind--at least not then.
"I think I will go to sleep, Hilary, as you're so beastly
unsympathetic," answered the younger man good-humouredly. "But as to
the waking up--well, you and I differ as to the meaning of the word
`sensible.' Night-night."
And soon a succession of light snores told that he was asleep, probably
dreaming blissfully of the crafty and scheming adventuress who had
fastened on to his young life to strangle it at the outset. But Hilary
Blachland lay staring into the darkness--thinking, and ever thinking.
"Confound those infernal fowls!" he muttered, as the cackling and
clucking, mingled this time with some fluttering, arose outside, soon
after the extinguishing of the light. But the disturbance subsided--nor
did it again arise that night, as he lay there, hour after hour,
thinking, ever thinking.