THE CUT DIRECT
It was a merry party which had gathered together in the shady heart
of Haven Woods. The Selwyns, Sara and Elisabeth, Miles Herrick and the
Lavender Lady were all there, and, in addition, there was a large and
light-hearted contingent from Greenacres, where Audrey was entertaining
a houseful of friends. Only Garth had not yet arrived.
Two young subalterns on leave and a couple of pretty American sisters,
all of them staying at Greenacres, were making things hum, nobly
seconded in their efforts by Miles Herrick, who had practically
recovered from his sprained ankle and one of whose “good days” it
chanced to be.
Every one seemed bubbling over with good-humour and high spirits, so
that the dell re-echoed to the shouts of jolly laughter, while the
birds, flitting nervously hither and thither, wondered what manner of
creatures these were who had invaded their quiet sanctuary of the woods.
And presently, when the whole party gathered round the white cloth,
spread with every dainty that the inspired mind of Audrey's chef had
been able to devise, and the popping corks began to punctuate the babble
of chattering voices, they took wing and fled incontinently. They had
heard similar sharp, explosive sounds before, and had noted them as
being generally the harbingers of sudden death.
“Where's that wretched hermit of yours, Sara?” demanded Audrey gaily.
“I told him we should lunch at one, and it's already a quarter-past.
Ah!”--catching sight of a lean, supple figure advancing between the
trees--“Here he is at last!”
A shout greeted Garth's approach, and the uproarious quartette composed
of the two subalterns and the girls from New York City pounded joyously
with their forks upon their plates, creating a perfect pandemonium of
noise, Miles recklessly participating in the clamorous welcome, while
the Lavender Lady fluttered her handkerchief, and Sara and Audrey both
hurried forward to meet the late comer. In the general excitement nobody
chanced to observe the effect which Trent's appearance had had upon one
of the party.
Elisabeth had half-risen from the grassy bank on which she had been
sitting, and her face was suddenly milk-white. Even her lips had lost
their soft rose-colour, and were parted as if an exclamation of some
kind had been only checked from passing them by sheer force of will.
Out of her white face, her eyes, seeming so dark that they were almost
violet, stared fixedly at Garth as he approached. Their expression was
as masked, as enigmatical as ever, yet back of it there gleamed an odd
light, and it was as though some curious menace lay hidden in its quiet,
slumbrous fire.
The little group composed of Audrey, Sara, and Garth had joined the
main party now, and Garth was shaking eager, outstretched hands and
laughingly tossing back the shower of chaff which greeted his tardy
arrival.
Then Sara, laying her hand on his arm, steered him towards Elisabeth.
Some one who had been standing a little in front of the latter,
screening her from Trent's view, moved aside as they approached.
“Garth, let me introduce you to Mrs. Durward.”
The smile that would naturally have accompanied the words was arrested
ere it dawned, and involuntarily Sara drew back before the instant,
startling change in Garth's face. It had grown suddenly ashen, and his
eyes were like those of a man who, walking in some pleasant place, finds
all at once, that a bottomless abyss has opened at his feet.
For a full moment he and Elisabeth stared at each other in a silence
so vital, so pregnant with some terrible significance, that it impacted
upon the whole prevailing atmosphere of care-free jollity.
A sudden muteness descended on the party, the laughing voices trailing
off into affrighted silence, and in the dumb stillness that followed
Sara was vibrantly conscious of the hostile clash of wills between the
man and woman who had, in a single instant, become the central figures
of the little group.
Then Elisabeth's voice--that amazingly sweet voice of hers--broke the
profound quiet.
“Mr.--Trent”--she hesitated delicately before the name--“and I have met
before.”
And quite deliberately, with a proud, inflexible dignity, she turned her
back upon him and moved away.
Sara never forgot the few moments that followed. She felt as though
she were on the brink of some crisis in her life which had been slowly
drawing nearer and nearer to her and was now acutely imminent, and
instinctively she sought to gather all her energies together to meet
it. What it might be she could not guess, but she was sure that this
declared enmity between the man she loved and the woman who was her
friend preluded some menace to her happiness.
Her eyes sought Garth's in horror-stricken interrogation.
“What is it? What does she mean?” she demanded swiftly, in a breathless
undertone, instinctively drawing aside from the rest of the party.
He laughed shortly.
“She means mischief, probably,” he replied. “Mrs. Durward is no friend
of mine.”
Sara's eyes blazed.
“She shall explain,” she exclaimed impetuously, and she swung aside,
meaning to follow Elisabeth and demand an explanation of the insult. But
Garth checked her.
“No,” he said decidedly. “Please do nothing--say nothing. For Audrey's
sake we can't have a scene--here.”
“But it's unpardonable----”
“Do as I say,” he insisted. “Believe me, you will only make things worse
if you interfere. I will make my apologies to Audrey and go. For my
sake, Sara”--he looked at her intently--“go back and face it out. Behave
as if nothing had happened.”
Compelled, in spite of herself, by his insistence, Sara reluctantly
assented and, leaving him, made her way slowly back to the others.
A disjointed buzz of talk sprayed up against her ears. Every one rushed
into conversation, making valiant, if quite fruitless efforts to behave
as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, while, a little
apart from the main group, Elisabeth stood alone.
Meanwhile Trent sought out his hostess, and together they moved away,
pausing at last beneath the canopy of trees.
“No words can quite meet what has just occurred,” he said formally. “I
can only express my regret that my presence here should have occasioned
such a _contretemps_.”
Although the whole brief scene had been utterly incomprehensible to her,
Audrey intuitively sensed the bitter hurt underlying the harshly spoken
words, and the outraged hostess was instantly submerged in the friend.
“I am so sorry about it, Garth,” she said gently, “although, of course,
I don't understand Mrs. Durward's behaviour.”
“That is very kind of you!” he replied, his voice softening. “But please
do not visit your very natural indignation upon Mrs. Durward. I alone
am to blame, I ought never to have renounced my role of hermit.
Unfortunately”--with a brief smile of such sadness that Audrey felt her
heart go out to him in a sudden rush of sympathy--“my mere presence is
an abuse of my friends' hospitality.”
“No, no!” she exclaimed quickly. “We are all glad to have you with
us--we were so pleased when--when at last you came out of your shell,
Garth”--with a faint smile.
“Still the fact remains that I am outside the social pale. I had no
business to thrust myself in amongst you. However--after this--you may
rest assured that I shan't offend again.”
“I decline to rest assured of anything of the kind,” asserted Audrey
with determination. “Don't be such a fool, Garth--or so unfair to your
friends. Just because you chance to have met a women who, for some
reason, chooses to cut you, doesn't alter our friendship for you in the
very least. What Mrs. Durward may have against you I don't know--and I
don't care either. _I_ have nothing against you, and I don't propose
to give any pal of mine the go-by because some one else happens to have
quarreled with him.”
Trent's eyes were curiously soft as he answered her.
“Thank you for that,” he said earnestly. “All the same, I think you will
have to make up your mind to allow your--friend, as you are good enough
to call me, to go to the wall. You, and others like you, dragged him
out, but, believe me, his place is not in the centre of the room. There
are others besides Mrs. Durward who would give you the reason why, if
you care to know it.”
“I don't care to know it,” responded Audrey firmly. “In fact, I should
decline to recognize any reason against my calling you friend. I don't
intend to let you go, nor will Miles, you'll find.”
“Ah! Herrick! He's a good chap, isn't he?” said Trent a little
wistfully.
“We all are--once you get to know us,” returned Audrey, persistently
cheerful. “And Sara--Sara won't let you go either, Garth.”
His sensitive, bitter mouth twisted suddenly.
“If you don't mind,” he said quickly, “we won't talk about Sara. And I
won't keep you any longer from your guests. It was--just like you--to
take it as you have done, Audrey. And if, later on, you find yourself
obliged to revise your opinion of me--I shall understand. And I shall
not resent it.”
“I'm not very likely to do what you suggest.”
He looked at her with a curious expression on his face.
“I'm afraid it is only too probable,” he rejoined simply.
He wrung her hand, and, turning, walked swiftly away through the wood,
while Audrey retraced her footsteps in the direction of the dell.
She was feeling extremely annoyed at what she considered to be Mrs.
Durward's hasty and inconsiderate action. It was unpardonable of any
one thus to spoil the harmony of the day, she reflected indignantly, and
then she looked up and met Elisabeth's misty, hyacinth eyes, full of a
gentle, appealing regret.
“Mrs. Maynard, I must beg you to try and pardon me,” she said,
approaching with a charming gesture of apology. “I have no excuse to
offer except that Mr. Trent is a man I--I cannot possibly meet.” She
paused and seemed to swallow with some difficulty, and of a sudden
Audrey was conscious of a thrill of totally unexpected compassion. There
was so evidently genuine pain and emotion behind the hesitating apology.
“I am sorry you should have been distressed,” she replied kindly. “It
has been a most unfortunate affair all round.”
Elisabeth bestowed a grateful little smile upon her.
“If you will forgive me,” she said, “I will say good-bye now. I am sure
you will understand my withdrawing.”
“Oh no, you mustn't think of such a thing,” cried Audrey hospitably,
though within herself she could not but acknowledge that the suggestion
was a timely one. “Please don't run away from us like that.”
“It is very kind of you, but really--if you will excuse me--I think I
would prefer not to remain. I feel somewhat _bouleversee_. And I am so
distressed to have been the unwitting cause of spoiling your charming
party.”
Audrey hesitated.
“Of course, if you would really rather go----” she began.
“I would rather,” persisted Elisabeth with a gentle inflexibility of
purpose. “Will you give a message to Sara for me?” Audrey nodded.
“Ask her to come and see me to-morrow, and tell her that--that I will
explain.” Suddenly she stretched out an impulsive hand. “Oh, Mrs.
Maynard! If you knew how much I dread explaining this matter to Sara!
Perhaps, however”--her eyes took on a thoughtful expression--“Perhaps,
however, it may not be necessary--perhaps it can be avoided.”
A sense of foreboding seemed to close round Audrey's heart, as she met
the gaze of the beautiful, enigmatic eyes. What was it that Elisabeth
intended to “explain” to Sara? Something connected with Garth Trent,
of course, and it was impossible, in view of the attitude Elisabeth
had assumed, to hope that it could be aught else than something to his
detriment.
“If an explanation can be avoided, Mrs. Durward,” she said rather
coldly, “I think it would be much better. The least said, the soonest
mended, you know,” she added, looking straight into the baffling eyes.
The two women, all at once antagonistic and suspicious of each other,
shook hands formally, and Elisabeth took her way through the woods,
while Audrey rejoined her neglected guests and used her best endeavours
to convert an entertainment that threatened to become a failure into,
at least, a qualified success. By dint of infinite tact, and the loyal
cooperation of Miles Herrick, she somehow achieved it, and the majority
of the picnickers enjoyed themselves immensely.
Only Sara felt as though a shadow had crept out from some hidden place
and cast its grey length across the path whereon she walked, while
Miles and Audrey, discerning the shadow with the clear-sighted vision
of friendship, were filled with apprehension for the woman whom they had
both learned to love.