VANE WITHDRAWS.
Dusk was drawing on when Vane strolled along the terrace in front of the
Dene.
He was preoccupied and eager, but fully aware of the need for coolness,
because it was very possible that he might fail in the task he had in
hand. By and by he saw Evelyn, whom he had been waiting for, cross the
opposite end of the terrace, and moving forward he joined her at the
entrance to a shrubbery walk. A big, clipped yew with a recess in which
a seat had been placed stood close by.
"I've been sitting with Mopsy," said Evelyn. "She seems very little the
worse for her adventure--thanks to you." She hesitated, and her voice
grew softer. "I owe you a heavy debt--I am very fond of Mopsy."
"It's a great pity she fell in," Vane declared.
Evelyn looked at him with surprise. She scarcely thought he could regret
the efforts he had made on her sister's behalf, but that was what his
words implied.
"The trouble is that the thing might seem to give me some claim on you,
and I don't want that," he explained. "It cost me no more than a
wetting; I hadn't the least difficulty in getting her out."
His companion was still puzzled. She could find no fault with him for
being modest about his exploit, but that he should make it clear that he
did not require her gratitude seemed to her unnecessary.
"For all that, you did bring her out," she persisted.
"I don't seem to be beginning very fortunately," Vane replied. "What I
mean is, that I don't want to urge my claim, if I have one. I'd sooner
be taken on my merits." He paused a moment with a smile. "That's not
much better, is it? But it partly expresses what I feel. Leaving Mopsy
out altogether, let me try to explain--I don't wish you to be influenced
by anything except your own idea of me. I'm saying this because one or
two points that seem in my favour may have a contrary effect."
Evelyn made no answer, and he indicated the seat. "Won't you sit down, I
have something more to say."
The girl did as he suggested, and his smile faded. "Now," he went on,
"you won't be astonished if I ask if you will marry me?"
He stood looking down on her with an impressive steadiness of gaze. She
could imagine him facing the city men, from whom he had extorted the
full value of his mine, in the same fashion, and in a later instance, so
surveying the eddies beneath the osiers when he had gone to Mabel's
rescue. She felt that they had better understand one another.
"No," she said; "if I must be candid, I am not astonished." Then the
colour crept into her cheeks, is she met his gaze. "I suppose it is an
honour and it is undoubtedly a--temptation."
"A temptation?"
"Yes," said Evelyn, mustering her courage to face a crisis she had
dreaded. "It is only due to you that you should hear the truth--though I
think you suspect it. I have some liking for you."
"That is what I wanted you to own," Vane broke in.
She checked him with a gesture. Her manner was cold, and yet there was
something in it that stirred him more than her beauty.
"After all," she answered, "It does not go very far, and you must try to
understand. I want to be quite honest, and what I have to say
is--difficult. In the first place, things are far from pleasant for me
here; I was expected to make a good marriage, and I had my chance in
London; I refused to profit by it, and now I'm a failure. I wonder if
you can realise what a temptation it is to get away."
"Yes," he said; "it makes me savage to think of it. I can, at least,
take you out of all this. If you hadn't had a very fine courage, you
wouldn't have told me."
Evelyn smiled a curious wry smile.
"It has only prompted me to behave, as most people would consider,
shamelessly; but there are times when one must get above that point of
view. Besides, there's a reason for my candour. Had you been a man of
different stamp, it's possible that I might have been driven into taking
the risk. We should both have suffered for a time, but through open
variance we might have reached an understanding--not to intrude on one
another. As it is, I could not do you that injustice, and I should
shrink from marrying you with only a little cold liking."
The man held himself firmly in hand. Her calmness had infected him, and
he felt that this was not an occasion for romantic protestations, even
had he felt capable of making them, which was not the case. As a matter
of fact, such things were singularly foreign to his nature.
"Even that would go a long way with me, if I could get nothing better,"
he declared. "Besides, you might change. I could surround you with some
comfort; I think I could promise not to force my company upon you; I
believe I could be kind."
"Yes," assented Evelyn; "I shouldn't be afraid of harshness from you;
but it seems impossible that I should change. You must see that you
started handicapped from the beginning. Had I been free to choose, it
might have been different; but I have lived for some time in shame and
fear, hating the thought that some one would be forced on me."
He said nothing, and she went on. "Must I tell you? You are the man."
His face grew hard and for a moment he set his lips tight. It would have
been a relief to express his feelings concerning his host just then.
"If you don't hate me for it now, I'm willing to take the risk," he said
at length. "It will be my fault if you hate me in the future; I'll try
not to deserve it."
He imagined she was yielding, but she roused herself with an effort.
"No," she said. "Love on one side may go a long way, if it is strong
enough--but it must be strong to overcome the many clashes of thought
and will. Yours"--she looked at him steadily--"would not stand the
strain."
Vane started. "You are the only woman I ever wished to marry." He paused
with a forcible gesture. "What can I say to convince you?"
She smiled softly. "I'm afraid it's impossible. If you had wanted me
greatly, you would have pressed the claim you had in saving Mopsy, and I
would have forgiven you that; you would have urged any and every claim.
As it is, I suppose I am pretty"--her lips curled scornfully--"and you
find some of your ideas and mine agree. It isn't half enough. Shall I
tell you that you are scarcely moved as yet?"
It flashed upon Vane that he was confronted with the reality. Her beauty
had appealed to him, but without rousing passion, for there was little
of the sensual in this man. Her other qualities, her reserved
graciousness, which had a tinge of dignity in it; her insight and
comprehension, had also had their effect; but they had only awakened
admiration and respect. He desired her as one desires an object for its
rarity and preciousness; but this, as she had told him, was not enough.
Behind her physical and mental attributes, and half revealed by them,
there was something deeper: the real personality of the girl. It was
elusive, mystic, with a spark of immaterial radiance which might
brighten human love with its transcendent glow; but, as he dimly
realised, if he won her by force, it might recede and vanish altogether.
He could not, with strong ardour, compel its clearer manifestation.
"I think I am as moved as it is possible for me to be," he said.
Evelyn shook her head. "No; you will discover the difference some day,
and then you will thank me for leaving you your liberty. Now I beg you
to leave me mine and let me go."
Vane stood silent a minute or two, for the last appeal had stirred him
to chivalrous pity. He was shrewd enough to realise that if he persisted
he could force her to come to him. Her father and mother were with him;
she had nothing--no common-place usefulness or trained abilities--to
fall back upon if she defied them. But it was unthinkable that he should
brutally compel her.
"Well," he said at length, "I must try to face the situation; I want to
assure you that it is not a pleasant one to me. But there's another
point. I'm afraid I've made things worse for you. Your people will
probably blame you for sending me away."
Evelyn did not answer this, and he broke into a little grim smile.
"Now," he added, "I think I can save you any trouble on that
score--though the course I'm going to take isn't flattering, if you look
at it in one way. I want you to leave me to deal with your father."
He took her consent for granted, and leaning down laid a hand lightly on
her shoulder. "You will try to forgive me for the anxiety I have caused
you. The time I've spent here has been very pleasant, but I'm going back
to Canada in a few days. Perhaps you'll think of me without bitterness
now and then."
He turned away, and Evelyn sat still, glad that the strain was over, and
thinking earnestly. The man was gentle and considerate as well as
forceful, and she liked him. Indeed, she admitted that she had not met
any man she liked as much, but that was not going very far. Then she
began to wonder at her candour, and to consider if it had been
necessary. It was curious that this was the only man she had ever taken
into her confidence; and her next suitor would probably be a much less
promising specimen. On the other hand, it was consoling to remember that
eligible suitors for the daughter of an impoverished gentleman were
likely to be scarce.
It had grown dark when she rose and, entering the house, went up to
Mabel's room. The girl looked at her sharply as she came in.
"So you have got rid of him," she said. "I think you're very silly."
"How did you know?" Evelyn asked with a start.
"I heard him walking up and down the terrace, and I heard you go out.
You can't walk over raked gravel without making a noise. He went along
to join you, and it was a good while before you came back at different
times. I've been waiting for this the last day or two."
Evelyn sat down with a strained smile. "Well," she said, "I have sent
him away."
Mabel regarded her indignantly. "Then you'll never get another chance
like this one. If you had only taken him I could have worn decent
frocks. Nobody could call the last one that."
This was a favourite grievance and Evelyn ignored it; but Mabel had more
to say. "I suppose," she went on, "you don't know that Wallace has been
getting Gerald out of trouble?"
"Are you sure of that?" Evelyn asked sharply.
"Yes," said Mabel; "I'll tell you what I know. Wallace saw Gerald in
London--he told us that--and we all know that Gerald couldn't pay his
debts a little while since. You remember he came down to Kendal and went
on and stayed the next night with the Claytons. It isn't astonishing
that he didn't come here after the row there was on the last occasion."
"Go on," said Evelyn. "What has his visit to the Claytons to do with
it?"
"Well," said Mabel, "you don't know that I saw Gerald in the afternoon.
After all, he's the only brother I've got; and as Jim was going to the
station with the trap I made him take me. The Claytons were in the
garden; we were scattered about, and I heard Frank and Gerald, who had
strolled off from the others, talking. Gerald was telling him about some
things he'd bought; they must have been expensive, because Frank asked
him where he got the money. Gerald laughed, and said he'd had an
unexpected stroke of luck that had set him straight again. Now, of
course, Gerald got no money from home, and if he'd won it he would have
told Frank how he did so. Gerald always would tell a thing like that."
Evelyn was filled with confusion and hot indignation. She had little
doubt that Mabel's surmise was correct.
"I wonder if he has told anybody, though it's scarcely likely," she
said.
"Of course he hasn't. We all know what Gerald is. Wallace ought to get
his money back, now you have sent him away," Mabel, who had waited a
moment or two, went on. "But, of course, that's most unlikely. It
wouldn't take Gerald long to waste it."
Evelyn rose, and, making some excuse, left the room. A suspicion which
had troubled her more than Gerald's conduct had lately crept into her
mind, and it now thrust itself upon her attention--several things
pointed to the fact that her father had taken a similar course to that
which her brother had taken. She felt that had she heard Mabel's
information before the interview with Vane, she might have yielded to
him in an agony of humiliation. Mabel had summed up the situation with
stinging candour and crudity--Vane, who had been defrauded, was entitled
to recover the money he had parted with. For a few moments Evelyn was
furiously angry with him, and then, growing calmer, she recognised that
this was unreasonable. She could not imagine any idea of a compact
originating with the man, and he had quietly acquiesced in her decision.
Soon after she left her sister, Vane walked into the room which Chisholm
reserved for his own use. Chisholm was sitting at the table with some
papers in front of him and a cigar in his hand, and Vane drew out a
chair and lighted his pipe before he addressed him.
"I've made up my mind to sail on Saturday, instead of next week," he
said.
"You have decided rather suddenly, haven't you?"
Vane knew that what his host wished to inquire about was the cause of
his decision, and he meant to come to the point. He was troubled by no
consideration for the man.
"The last news I had indicated that I was wanted," he replied. "After
all, there was only one reason why I have abused Mrs. Chisholm's
hospitality so long."
"Well?" said Chisholm, with an abruptness which hinted at anxiety.
"You will remember what I asked you some time ago. I had better say that
I abandon the idea."
Chisholm started, and his florid face grew redder while Vane, in place
of embarrassment, was conscious of a somewhat grim amusement. It seemed
strange that a man of Chisholm's stamp should have any pride, but he
evidently possessed it.
"What am I to understand by that?" he asked with some asperity.
"I think what I said explained it. Bearing in mind your and Mrs.
Chisholm's influence, I've an idea that Evelyn might have yielded, if
I'd strongly urged my suit; but that was not by any means what I wanted.
I'd naturally prefer a wife who married me because she wished to do so.
That's why, after thinking the thing over, I've decided to--withdraw."
Chisholm straightened himself in his chair, in fiery indignation, which
he made no attempt to conceal.
"You mean that after asking my consent and seeing more of Evelyn, you
have changed your mind. Can't you understand that it's an unpardonable
confession; one which I never fancied a man born and brought up in your
station could have brought himself to make."
Vane looked at him with an impassive face. "It strikes me as largely a
question of terms--I mayn't have used the right one. Now you know how
the matter stands, you can describe it in any way that sounds nicest. In
regard to your other remark, I've been in a good many stations, and I
must admit that until lately none of them were likely to promote much
delicacy of sentiment."
"So it seems," Chisholm was almost too hot to sneer. "But can't you
realise how your action reflects upon my daughter?"
Vane held himself in hand. He had only one object: to divert Chisholm's
wrath from Evelyn to himself and he thought he was succeeding in this.
For the rest, he cherished a strong resentment against the man.
"It can't reflect upon her, unless you talk about it, and both you and
Mrs. Chisholm have sense enough to refrain from doing so," he answered
dryly. "I can't flatter myself that Evelyn will grieve over me." Then
his manner changed. "Now we'll get down to business. I don't purpose to
call that loan in, which will, no doubt, be a relief to you."
He rose leisurely and, strolling out of the room, met Carroll shortly
afterwards in the hall. The latter glanced at him sharply.
"What have you been doing?" he inquired. "There's a look I seem to
remember in your eye."
"I suppose I've been outraging the rules of decency, but I don't feel
ashamed. I've been acting the uncivilised Westerner, though it's
possible that I rather strained the part. To come to the point, however,
we pull out for the Dominion first thing to-morrow."
Carroll asked no further questions. He did not think it would serve any
purpose, and he contented himself with making arrangements for their
departure, which they took early on the morrow. Vane had a brief
interview with Mabel, who shed some tears over him, and then by her
contrivance secured a word or two with Evelyn alone.
"Now," he said, "it's possible that you may hear some hard things of me,
and I count upon your not contradicting them. After all, I think you owe
me that favour. There's just another matter--as I won't be here to
trouble you, try to think of me leniently."
He held her hand for a moment and then turned away, and a few minutes
later he and Carroll left the Dene.