Hindwood stared at him with a frown. He was contrasting this Ivan
Varensky with the leader of men whose deeds of three years ago had so
deeply stirred him. One picture stood out ineffaceably. It was of a sea
of panic-stricken soldiers, patriotism forgotten, arms flung away, in
wild retreat, and of Ivan Varensky driving forward alone, as though
he, by his single courage, could turn back the enemy. And this was the
man--the white knight of Russia, the scape-goat, the magician of words!
Had he met him three years ago, he would have knelt to him. Now all he
could do was to frown.
It was necessary to say something. He spoke gruffly. “You've chosen an
odd method of returning. We had news you were dead.”
“I was,” the green eyes narrowed, “nearly. I'm always nearly dying.
Isn't that so, Anna? And then I come back. This last time, as you
observed, I had the discourtesy to forget. I was thinking of Santa.
Actually I struggled to survive. Believe me, that's unlike me.”
The forbearance of his manner was rebuking. Making an effort to be
genial, Hindwood held out his hand. “It's a strange way to meet. I've
long been your admirer. It was a close call--as close as a man could
have.”
Varensky winced as the powerful grip closed about his fingers. They were
long and pointed, more like a woman's than a man's. “A close call!” He
smiled. “You're American? It wasn't--not for me. I could tell you-- But
perhaps one day, when I've become past history, Anna will do that.”
As he mentioned his wife, he gave her a look at once tender and
furtive--a look which acknowledged without rancor the truth of the
situation. She started forward, but his eyes held her. She stopped
half-way.
“However you return,” she said chokingly, “and however often, you know
that I'm glad. It's the certainty that I shall lose you--that however
often you return I shall never have you--”
She bowed her head. From the edge of the cliff, without a trace of
emotion, the other woman watched her.
Tilting her face with his bruised fingers, Varensky regarded her
earnestly. “As if I wasn't aware of that!” And then, “Let's be going.”
Side by side, but always separate, they moved across the downs. There
was no backward glance. Hindwood followed them with his eyes till they
sank into a hollow. The last he saw was the raw gold of her hair and the
conical top of his pointed head, growing more distant above the bracken.