Just before Archie went back to school he made a remark that impressed
Edith strangely. Quite dressed and ready to start, as he was putting on
his gloves, he fell into one of his reveries. After being silent for
some time he said:
'Mother!'
'Yes, darling?'
'Why doesn't father fight?'
'I told you before, darling. Your father is not very strong.'
'Mother!'
'Yes, dear?'
'Is Aylmer older than father?'
'Yes. Aylmer's four years older. Why?'
'I don't know. I wish I had a father who could fight, like Aylmer. And
I'd like to fight too, like Teddy.'
'Aylmer hasn't any wife and children to leave. Teddy's eighteen; you're
only ten.'
'Mother!'
'Yes, dear?'
'I wish I was old enough to fight. And I wish father was stronger.... Do
you think I shall ever fight in this war?'
'Good heavens, dear! I hope it isn't going to last seven years more.'
'I wish it would,' said Archie ferociously. 'Mother!'
'Yes, darling?'
'But what's the matter with father? He seems quite well.'
'Oh, he isn't very well. He suffers from nerves.'
'Nerves! What's nerves?'
'I think, darling, it's time for us to start. Where's your coat?'
She drove him to the station. Most of the way he was very silent As she
put him in the train he said.
'Mother, give my love to Aylmer.'
'All right, dear.'
He then said:
'Mother, I wish Aylmer was my father.'
'Oh, Archie! You mustn't say that.'
* * * * *
But she never forgot the boy's remark. It had a stronger influence on
her action later than anything else. She knew Archie had always had a
great hero-worship for Aylmer. But that he should actually prefer him
to Bruce!
She didn't tell Aylmer that for a long time afterwards.
* * * * *
Before returning to the front Teddy had become so violently devoted to
Miss Clay that she was quite glad to see him go. She received his
attentions with calm and cool friendliness, but gave him not the
smallest encouragement. She was three years older, but looked younger
than her age, while Teddy looked much older, more like twenty-two. So
that when on the one or two occasions during his ten days' leave they
went out together, they didn't seem at all an ill-assorted couple. And
whenever Aylmer saw the two together, it created the greatest irritation
in him. He hardly knew which vexed him more--Dulcie for being attractive
to the boy, or the boy for being charmed by Dulcie. It was absurd--out
of place. It displeased him.
A day or two after Teddy's departure Dulcie went to see Lady Conroy, who
immediately declared that Dulcie was extraordinarily like a charming
girl she had met at Boulogne. Dulcie convinced her that she was the
same girl.
'Oh, how perfectly charming!' said Lady Conroy. 'What a coincidence!
_Too_ wonderful! Well, my dear, I can see at a glance that you're the
very person I want. Your duties will be very, _very_ light. Oh, how
light they will be! There's really hardly anything to do! I merely want
you to be a sort of walking memorandum for me,' Lady Conroy went on,
smiling. 'Just to recollect what day it is, and what's the date, and
what time my appointments are, and do my telephoning for me, and write
my letters, and take the dog out for a walk, and _sometimes_ just hear
my little girls practise, and keep my papers in order. Oh, one can
hardly say exactly--you know the sort of thing. Oh yes! and do the
flowers,' said Lady Conroy, glancing round the room. 'I always forget my
flowers, and I won't let Marie do them, and so there they are--dead in
the vases! And I do like a few live flowers about, I must say,' she
added pathetically.
Dulcie said she thought she could undertake it.
'Well, then, won't you stay now, and have your things sent straight on?
Oh, do! I do wish you would. I've got two stalls for the St James's
tonight. My husband can't come, and I can't think of anybody else to
ask. I should love to take you.'
Dulcie would have enjoyed to go. The theatre was a passion with her, as
with most naïve people. She made some slight objection which Lady Conroy
at once waved away. However, Dulcie pointed out that she must go home
first, and as all terms and arrangements absolutely suited both parties,
it was decided that Dulcie should go to the play with her tonight and
come the next day to take up her duties.
She asked Lady Conroy if she might have her meals alone when there were
guests, as she was very shy. A charming little sitting-room, opening out
of the drawing-rooms, was put at her disposal.
'Oh, certainly, dear; always, of course, except when I'm alone. But
you'll come when I ask you, now and then, won't you? I thought you'd be
very useful sometimes at boring lunches, or when there were too many
men--that sort of thing. And I hear you sing. Oh, that will be
delightful! You'll sing when we have a few tedious people with us? I
adore music. We'll go to some of those all-British concerts, won't we?
We must be patriotic. Do you know it's really been my dream to have a
sweet, useful, sympathetic girl in the house. And with a memory too!
Charming!'
Dulcie went away fascinated, if slightly bewildered. It was a pang to
her to say good-bye to Aylmer, the more so as he showed, in a way that
was perfectly obvious to the girl, that he was pleased to see her go,
though he was as cordial as possible.
She had been an embarrassment to him of late. It was beginning to be what
is known as a false position, since Headley the butler could now look
after Aylmer. Except for a limp, he was practically well.
Anyone who has ever nursed a person to whom they are devoted, helped him
through weakness and danger to health again, will understand the curious
pain she felt to see him independent of her, anxious to show his
strength. Still, he had been perfect. She would always remember him with
worship. She meant never to love anyone else all her life.
When she said good-bye she said to him:
'I do hope you'll be very happy.'
He laughed, coloured a little, and said as he squeezed her hand warmly:
'You've been a brick to me, Miss Clay. I shall certainly tell you if I
ever am happy.'
She wondered what that meant, but she preferred to try to forget it.
* * * * *
When Dulcie arrived, as she had been told, at a quarter to eight,
dressed in a black evening dress (she didn't care to wear uniform at the
theatre), she found Lady Conroy, who was lying on the sofa in a
tea-gown, utterly astonished to see her.
'My dear! you've come to dine with me after all?'
'No, indeed. I've dined. You said I was to come in time to go to the
play.'
'The play? Oh! I forgot. I'm so sorry. I've sent the tickets away. I
forgot I'd anyone to go with me. I'm afraid it can't be helped now. Are
you very disappointed? Poor child. Well, dear, you'll dine with me,
anyhow, as you've come, and I can tell you all about what we shall have
to do, and everything. We'll go to the theatre some other evening.'
Dulcie was obliged to decline eating two dinners. She had not found it
possible to get through one--her last meal at Aylmer's house. However,
as she had no idea what else to do, she remained with Lady Conroy. And
she spent a very pleasant evening.
Lady Conroy told her all about herself, her husband, her children and
her friends. She told her the history of her life, occasionally
branching off on to other subjects, and referring to the angel she had
met on a boat who was in the Black Watch, and who, Dulcie gathered, was
a wounded officer. Lady Conroy described all the dresses she had at
present, many that she had had in former years, and others that she
would like to have had now. She gravely told the girl the most
inaccurate gossip about such of her friends as Dulcie might possibly
meet later. She was confidential, amusing, brilliant and inconsequent.
She appeared enchanted with Dulcie, whom she treated like an intimate
friend at sight. And Dulcie was charmed with her, though somewhat
confused at her curious memory. Indeed, they parted at about eleven the
best possible friends; Lady Conroy insisting on sending her home in
her car.
Dulcie, who had a sensitive and sensible horror of snobbishness, felt
sorry to know that her father would casually mention that his daughter
was staying with the Conroys in Carlton House Terrace, and that her
stepmother would scold her unless she recollected every dress she
happened to see there. Still, on the whole she felt cheered.
She had every reason to hope that she would be as happy as a companion,
in love without hope of a return, could be under any circumstances.