The next evening Bruce came in, holding himself very straight, with a
slightly military manner. When he saw his wife he just stopped himself
from saluting.
'That's a man!' he exclaimed. 'That's a splendid fellow.'
Edith didn't answer.
'You don't appreciate him. In my opinion Aylmer Ross is a hero.'
'I hope he's better?'
'Better! He would say so, anyhow. Ah, he's a wonderful chap!' Bruce
hummed Tipperary below his breath.
Edith was surprised to find herself suffering no less mental discomfort
and irritation while Bruce talked about Aylmer and praised him than she
used to feel years ago. It seemed as if three years had passed and
altered nothing. She answered coldly. Bruce became more enthusiastic. He
declared that she didn't know how to value such a fine character.
'Women,' he repeated, 'don't know a hero when they see one.'
Evidently if Bruce had had his way Aylmer would have been covered with
DSO's and VC's; nothing was good enough for him.
On the other hand, if Edith had praised Aylmer, Bruce would have been
the first to _debiner_ his actions, undervalue his gifts, and crab him
generally.
Edith was not one of those women, far more common than is supposed, who
consider themselves aggrieved and injured when a discarded lover
consoles himself with someone else. Nor was she one of the numerous
people who will not throw away what they no longer want for fear someone
else will pick it up. She had such a strong sympathy for Dulcie Clay
that she had said to herself several times she would like to see her
perfectly happy. Edith was convinced that the nurse adored her patient,
but she was not at all sure that he returned the admiration. Edith
herself had only seen him alone once, and on that occasion they had said
hardly anything to each other. He had been constrained and she had been
embarrassed. The day that Arthur Coniston was there and they talked of
pictures, Aylmer had given her, by a look, to understand that he would
like to see her again alone, and she knew perfectly well, even without
that, that he was longing for another _tête-à-tête_.
However, the next day Edith went with Madame Frabelle.
This was a strangely unsatisfactory visit. Edith knew his looks and
every tone of his voice so well that she could see that Aylmer, unlike
everybody else, was not in the least charmed with Madame Frabelle. She
bored him; he saw nothing in her.
Madame Frabelle was still more disappointed. She had been told he was
brilliant; he said nothing put commonplaces. He was supposed to be
witty; he answered everything she said literally. He was said to be a
man of encyclopaedic information; but when Madame Frabelle questioned him
on such subjects his answers were dry and short; and when she tried to
draw him out about the war, he changed the subject in a manner that was
not very far from being positively rude.
Leaving them for a moment, Edith went to talk to Dulcie.
'How do you think he's getting on?' she said.
'He's getting well; gradually. He seems a little nervous the last day or
so.'
'Do you think he's been seeing too many people?'
'He hasn't seen more than the doctor has allowed. But, do you know, Mrs.
Ottley, I think it depends a great deal who the people are.'
She waited a moment and then went on in a low voice:
'You do him more good than anyone. You see, he's known you so long,' she
added gently, 'and so intimately. It's no strain--I mean he hasn't got
to make conversation.'
'Yes, I see,' said Edith.
'Mr. Ross hasn't any near relations--no mother or sister. You seem to
take their place--if you understand what I mean.'
Edith thought it charmingly tactful of her to put it like that.
'I'm sure _you_ take their place,' Edith said.
Dulcie looked down.
'Oh, of course, he hasn't to make any effort with me. But then _I_ don't
amuse him, and he wants amusement, and change. It's a great bore for a
man like that--so active mentally, and in every way--to have to lie
perfectly still, especially when he has no companion but me. I'm rather
dull in some ways. Besides, I don't know anything about the subjects
he's interested in.'
'Don't talk nonsense,' said Edith, smiling. 'I should imagine that just
to look at you would be sufficient.'
'Oh, Mrs. Ottley! How can you?'
She turned away as if rather pained than pleased at the compliment.
'I haven't very high spirits,' she said. 'I'm not sure that I don't
sometimes depress him.'
'On the contrary; I'm sure he wouldn't like a breezy, restless person
bouncing about the room and roaring with laughter,' Edith said.
She smiled. 'Perhaps not. But there might be something between. He will
be able to go for a drive in a week or two. I wondered whether, perhaps,
you could take him out?'
'Oh yes; I dare say that could be arranged.'
'I have to go out all tomorrow afternoon. I wondered whether you would
come and sit with him, Mrs. Ottley?'
'Certainly I will, if you like.'
'Oh, please do! I know he's worrying much more about his son than
anybody thinks. You see, the boy's really very young, and I'm not sure
he's strong.'
'I suppose neither of them told the truth about their age,' said Edith.
'It reminds one of the joke in _Punch_: "Where do you expect to go if
you tell lies? To the front."'
Miss Clay gave a little laugh. Then she started. A bell was heard
ringing rather loudly.
'I'll tell him you're coming tomorrow, then,' she said.
They returned to Aylmer's room.
He was looking a little sulky. He said as Edith came in:
'I thought you'd gone without saying good-bye. What on earth were you
doing?'
'Only talking to Miss Clay,' said Edith, sitting down by him. 'How sweet
she is.'
'Charming,' said Madame Frabelle. 'Wonderfully pretty, too.'
'She's a good nurse,' said Aylmer briefly. 'She's been awfully good to
me. But I do hope I shan't need her much longer.' He spoke with
unnecessary fervour.
'Oh, Mr Ross!' exclaimed Madame Frabelle. 'I'm sure if I were a young
man I should be very sorry when she had to leave me!'
'Possibly. However, you're not a young man. Neither am I.'
There was a moment's silence. This was really an exceptional thing when
Madame Frabelle was present. Edith could not recall one occasion when
Eglantine had had nothing to say. Aylmer must have been excessively
snubbing. Extraordinary I Wonder of wonders! He had actually silenced
Madame Frabelle!
All Aylmer's natural politeness and amiability returned when they rose
to take their leave. He suddenly became cordial, cheery and charming.
Evidently he was so delighted the visitor was going that it quite raised
his spirits. When they left he gave Edith a little reproachful look. He
did not ask her to come again. He was afraid she would bring
Madame Frabelle.
'Well, Edith, I thoroughly understand your husband's hero-worship for
that man,' said Madame Frabelle (meaning she thoroughly misunderstood
it). 'I've been studying his character all this afternoon.'
'Do tell me what you think of him!'
'Edith, I'm sorry to say it, but it's a hard, cold, cruel nature.'
'Is it really?'
'Mr Aylmer Ross doesn't know what it is to feel emotion, sentiment, or
tenderness. Principle he has, perhaps, and no doubt he thinks he has
great self-control, but that's only because he's absolutely incapable of
passion of any kind.'
Edith smiled.
'I see you're amused at my being right again. It is an odd thing about
me, I must own. I never make a mistake,' said Madame Frabelle
complacently.
As they walked home, she continued to discourse eloquently on the
subject of Aylmer. She explained him almost entirely away.
There was nothing Madame Frabelle fancied herself more on than
physiognomy. She pointed out to Edith how the brow showed a narrow mind,
the mouth bitterness. (How extraordinarily bored Aylmer must have been
to give that impression of all others, thought her listener.) And the
eyes, particularly, gave away his chief characteristic, the thing that
one missed most in his personality.
'And what is that?'
'Can't you see?'
'No, I don't think I can.'
'He has no sense of humour!' said Madame Frabelle triumphantly.
After a few moment's pause, Edith said:
'What do you think of Miss Clay?'
'She's very pretty--extremely pretty. But I don't quite like to say what
I think of her. I'd rather not. Don't ask me. It doesn't concern me.'
'As bad as that? Oh, do tell me. You're so interesting about character,
Eglantine.'
'Dear Edith, how kind of you. Well, she's very, very clever, of course.
Most intellectual. A remarkable brain, I should say. But she's deep and
scheming; it's a sly, treacherous face.'
'Really, I can't see that.'
Madame Frabelle put her hand on Edith's shoulder. They had just reached
the house.
'Ah, you don't know so much of life as I do, my dear.'
'I should have said she is certainly not at all above the average in
cleverness, and I think her particularly simple and frank.'
'Ah, but that's all put on. You'll see I'm right some day. However, it
doesn't matter. No doubt she's a very good nurse.'
'Don't abuse her to Bruce,' said Edith, as they went in.
'Certainly not. But why do you mind?'
'I don't know; I suppose I like her.'
Madame Frabelle laughed. 'How strange you are!'
She lowered her voice as they walked upstairs, and said:
'To tell the real truth, she gave me a shiver down the spine. I believe
that girl capable of anything. That dark skin with those pale blue eyes!
I strongly suspect she has a touch of the tarbrush.'
'My dear! Nonsense. You can't have looked at her fine little features
and her white hands.'
'Why is she so dark?'
'There may have been Italian or Spanish blood in her family,' said
Edith, laughing. 'It's not a symptom of crime.'
'There may, indeed,' replied Madame Frabelle in a tone of deep meaning,
as they reached the door of her room. 'But, mark my words, Edith, that's
a dangerous woman!'
* * * * *
An event had occurred in the Ottley household during their absence.
Archie had brought home a dog and implored his mother to let him
keep it.
'What sort of dog is it?' asked Edith.
'Come and look at it. It isn't any particular _sort_. It's just a dog.'
'But, my dear boy, you're going to school the day after tomorrow, and
you can't take it with you.'
'I know; but I'll teach Dilly to look after it.'
It was a queer, rough, untidy-looking creature; it seemed harmless
enough; a sort of Dobbin in _Vanity Fair_ in the canine world.
'It's an inconsistent dog. Its face is like a terrier's, and its tail
like a sort of spaniel,' said Archie. 'But I think it might be trained
to a bloodhound.'
'You do, do you? What use would a bloodhound be to Dilly?'
'Well, you never know. It might be very useful.'
'I'm afraid there's not room in the house for it.'
'Oh, Mother!' both the children cried together. 'We _must_ keep it!'
'Was it lost?' she asked.
Archie frowned at Dilly, who was beginning to say, 'Not exactly.'
'Tell me how you got it.'
'It was just walking along, and I took its chain. The chain was dragging
on the ground.'
'You stole it,' said Dilly.
Archie flew at her, but Edith kept him back.
'Stole it! I didn't! Its master had walked on and evidently didn't care
a bit about it, poor thing. That's not stealing.'
'If Master Archie wants to keep a lot of dogs, he had better take them
with him to school,' said the nurse. 'I don't want nothing to do with no
dogs, not in this nursery.'
'There's only one thing to be done, Archie; you must take care of it for
the next day or two, and I shall advertise in the paper for its master.'
'Oh, mother!'
'Don't you see it isn't even honest to keep it?'
Archie was bitterly disappointed, but consoled at the idea of seeing the
advertisement in the paper.
'How can we advertise it? We don't know what name it answers to.'
'It would certainly be difficult to describe,' said Edith.
They had tried every name they had ever heard of, and Dilly declared it
had answered to them all, if answering meant jumping rather wildly round
them and barking as if in the very highest spirits, it certainly had.
'It'll be fun to see my name in the paper,' said Archie thoughtfully.
'Indeed you won't see your name in the paper.'
'Well, I found it,' said Archie rather sulkily.
'Yes; but you had no right to find it, and still less to bring it home.
I don't know what your father will say.'
Bruce at once said that it must be taken to Scotland Yard. Dilly cried
bitterly, and said she wanted it to eat out of her hand, and save her
life in a snowstorm.
'It's not a St Bernard, you utter little fool,' said her brother.
'Well, it might save me from drowning,' said Dilly.
She had once seen a picture, which she longed to realise, of a dog
swimming, holding a child in its mouth. She thought it ought to be
called Faithful or Rover.
All these romantic visions had to be given up. Madame Frabelle said the
only thing to do was to take it at once to the Battersea Dogs' Home,
where it would be 'happy with companions of its own age'. Immediately
after dinner her suggestion was carried out, to the great relief of most
of the household. The nurse said when it had gone that she had 'known
all along it was mad, but didn't like to say so.'
'But it took such a fancy to me,' said Archie.
'Perhaps that was why,' said Dilly.
* * * * *
The children were separated by force.