After all, Jim Herrick's introduction to Mrs. Rose came about in an
unexpected fashion.
Although he had only seen her two or three times, Herrick felt a decided
interest in Rose's young wife. From what Barry had told him he concluded
that there were breakers ahead for the young couple; and since his own
matrimonial misfortunes had made him very pitiful, he determined to try
to hold out a helping hand to the girl should the occasion arise.
The occasion arose, indeed, almost before he expected it; but luckily
Herrick was a man of action and grappled with the opportunity thus
presented.
One sunny afternoon he was returning from a pull up the river in his
skiff, when he saw a punt gliding towards him, the pole manipulated,
rather unskilfully, it must be confessed, by the girl of whom his
thoughts had been full; and he stayed in his mooring to watch her pass.
To Toni the guiding of a punt was so serious a matter that she had no
eyes for anything else, and she never even saw the man in the boat. The
river took rather a curve here, and Toni found it a little difficult to
negotiate the bend. Becoming somewhat flurried, she directed her punt
into the middle of the stream, where it hung for a moment as though
undecided whether or no to swing round in the disconcerting manner
peculiar to such craft; but Toni, becoming impatient, put fresh vigour
into her task, and sent the punt triumphantly forward with a masterful
push.
Her triumph was, however, short-lived. With the treacherous suddenness
which invariably marks this catastrophe her pole snapped as she drove it
downwards; the punt glided away immediately, and Toni, clinging
desperately to the broken pole, went down with it into the river itself.
With an exclamation Herrick sculled his boat strongly to the spot where
she had gone down, reaching it just as she came to the surface, gasping
and spluttering, and with an expression of wild terror in her face.
He guessed that she could not swim, and called out to her reassuringly.
"You're all right--hang on to my boat, and I'll get you out!"
She heard him, even in the midst of her terror, and made a frantic grab
at the side of the boat, only to miss by inches and go down again with
an involuntary cry.
Hastily shipping his oars, Herrick bent over the boat, causing it to
heel to one side rather dangerously; and when next Toni came to the
surface he gripped her strongly by the shoulder, bidding her keep quite
still, and then lifted her, by sheer force of muscle, into the boat,
where she collapsed in a dripping little heap at his feet.
"That's all right!" He seized the oars and with a dozen vigorous strokes
propelled the boat back to the landing-place, where he proceeded to tie
her up, and then turned his attention to his passenger.
"Hard luck, Mrs. Rose," he said cheerily. "But there's no harm done, is
there? Now you must come into the house and let me find you some dry
things to put on. Don't delay--the punt will be rescued somewhere, I've
no doubt, and you really must get out of those wet garments."
Shivering, dripping, and feeling more than half inclined to cry, Toni
let him help her out of the boat; and seeing that she was really
suffering from shock Herrick put his arm round her shoulders in
fraternal fashion, and led her up the little sloping lawn on to the
verandah of the bungalow.
Here Toni stopped in some embarrassment.
"I ... I don't think I can come in like this." In spite of the sun her
teeth were chattering. "I--I shall spoil your carpets!"
"Oh, they're beyond spoiling," he assured her, with a laugh. "Don't
worry about them! I think, though, you had better come into the kitchen,
if you don't mind. There happens to be a fire there, and you can get
warm."
She followed him obediently through the long window into the shabby
sitting-room, which for all its shabbiness had an oddly harmonious
effect; and from there he took her into the small, cosy kitchen, which
was scrupulously tidy and spotlessly clean.
"Now"--he looked at her a little dubiously--"obviously, the thing to do
is to get off those wet clothes, have a hot bath, and put on something
dry. Well, if I bring my tub in here and fill it from the boiler, would
you mind having it in the kitchen? You see, I don't want you to get
cold."
"Oh, I don't think I need do that," said Toni, between laughing and
crying. "If you lent me a mackintosh or a big coat I could get home
quite well."
"What--as you are?" He smiled at her, but so kindly that she could not
take offence. "Well, to begin with, your punt is miles away by now, and
anyway you are much too wet to leave this house. Now"--he went briskly
to the door--"I'm going to fetch my bath and I'll have it filled in a
jiffy. You'll feel all right after a hot soak."
He went out, leaving Toni, very wet and uncomfortable, in the middle of
the floor. In a minute he returned, dragging after him a good-sized
bath, filled to the brim with towels of every description.
"Now, I'll put it here, in front of the fire." He worked as he spoke.
"And if I fill these two big cans there'll be enough water. What a
blessing Mrs. Swastika kept a good fire to-day."
"Mrs. Swastika?" In the midst of her discomfiture Toni thought the name
odd.
"Oh, that's not her real name." He filled the cans vigorously. "She is
really Swanson or Swanage or something like that--but I never know what
it is, so I call her Swastika. She is rather like the individual in the
'Hunting of the Snark,' who 'answered to Hi or to any loud cry,' but
it's handy having a name to call her by sometimes."
He broke off in his nonsense and disappeared abruptly, leaving Toni
wondering whether she was intended to begin her ablutions or no. Luckily
she decided to wait a moment, and was glad she had done so when her host
returned, bearing in his arms some garments, which he put down on a
chair rather apologetically.
"I'm really most awfully sorry, Mrs. Rose, but I've no feminine
fripperies of any sort! But if you can possibly make these things do for
a bit, I'll send a boy on a bicycle down to your place and tell them to
put together some clothes for you."
"Oh, will you?" Toni was beginning to find her soaked garments rather
unpleasantly chilly. "I live at Greenriver--oh, you know?--and if you
tell the housekeeper to send me everything, she'll know what I want."
"Very well." He had been busying himself with a little saucepan over the
fire as she spoke, and now he handed her a glass containing some mulled
wine.
"I'll dispatch a lad at once--in the meantime please drink this--it's
quite harmless, I assure you!"
As she took the glass he hurried to the door, and went out, pulling it
carefully to after him.
"Pull down the blind and lock the door," he commanded her through the
keyhole. "The back door is locked already, so you are quite safe."
As soon as he was gone, and her privacy assured, Toni lost no time in
doing as he bade her; and it certainly was a relief to slip out of her
clinging garments and plunge into the hot water waiting for her. She did
not waste time, remembering his commands; but when it came to a question
of re-dressing, and she examined the clothes he had brought, Toni gave
way and burst into a fit of irrepressible laughter.
He had apologized for the lack of feminine garments, but Toni had not
been prepared for the substitute he had given her. There, beneath the
heavy dressing-gown, was a pair of silk pyjamas immaculately got up and
folded; and at the sight of their purple and white glories Toni laughed
and laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks.
At first she determined that nothing in the world would persuade her to
don the resplendent pyjamas. Then a glance at her own soaked and now
steaming clothing gave her courage; and giggling softly to herself she
got into the silken garments, which by dint of much turning up of hems
and shortening of sleeves were given some semblance of a fit. Next came
the dressing-gown, an eminently masculine affair of brown camel's hair,
with red collar and cuffs, and when she had tied the girdle round her
waist, and, scorning the evening socks which lay ready, had slipped her
bare feet into a pair of capacious slippers, Toni was so overcome by her
own bizarre appearance that once more she burst out laughing gaily.
A knock at the door made her stop short, and she called out in a rather
quavery voice:
"Yes? Who's there?"
"Only I--Herrick," came the answer. "When you're ready will you come
into the other room? The sun's blazing in, but I can easily light a fire
if you feel chilly."
Toni cast a doubtful look at herself in this queer garb, and then
determined, very sensibly, that it was no good being prudish and silly.
After all, the dressing-gown wrapped her up completely; and at any rate
her own clothes would presently arrive to deliver her from this rather
absurd situation.
"I'm coming in a minute," she called out gaily. "I'm just going to let
my hair down--it's rather wet, but it will dry in the sun."
She pulled out her hair-pins recklessly, and the black waves tumbled
wetly on to her shoulders. A few minutes' vigorous drying before the
fire met with success, and presently Toni found courage to unlock the
door and sally forth into the little hall.
Mr. Herrick was waiting for her by the sitting-room door, and he bit his
lip quickly at sight of the funny little figure emerging from the
kitchen.
He spoke quite gravely, however, and Toni, who had glanced at him rather
sharply, felt reassured.
"That's right. Now, come and sit down, will you? See, if you take this
chair, you're in the sun, and it will warm you. You're sure you're not
cold?"
"Oh, no, I'm quite warm," Toni assured him. "It's only my hair that's
wet, and it won't take long to dry."
While her eyes wandered casually round the room, Herrick took the
opportunity of observing his guest more closely; and his scrutiny
pleased him oddly.
In spite of her ludicrous garb Toni looked quaintly attractive. Her
youth triumphed, as youth always will, over minor drawbacks, and now
that she was warm and dry the colour was coming back to her lips and her
complexion recovering its creamy tone. Even her hair curled bewitchingly
when damp; and Herrick owned that Barry's description of her as a
"pretty kid" had not been wrong.
As for Toni, she was much interested in this sunny, shabby room. The
carpet might be old, beyond spoiling, as its owner described it, but it
was a feast of soft, harmonious colours all the same, and although
faded, its very dimness of hue was a charm. The curtains which hung at
the long windows were of a queer, Persian-looking fabric; and on the
mantelpiece were a dozen little bits of pottery of a greeny-blue tint
which harmonized excellently with the grey-papered walls.
Books there were in plenty, on shelves and tables, even on two of the
chairs; and as she looked about her Toni caught sight of the last number
of the _Bridge_ lying on the low divan as though thrown there by a
reader disturbed in his reading.
Herrick's eyes had followed the direction of hers.
"You recognize your husband's review? You've seen it, of course, this
last number?"
"Yes." She had seen it, though it is to be feared that she had paid it
scant attention.
"It's better than ever this month." He sat down and took up the paper.
"There's a little poem--'Pan-Shapes'--which simply delighted me. Did it
take your fancy, I wonder?"
"I ... I don't think I have read it," she said, wishing suddenly that
she had not been forced to make the admission.
"No? Well it has not been out long." He was turning the pages as he
spoke. "There's something else here--another special article on
Mysticism by Father Garland, which is oddly fascinating. Of course such
a subject, treated by one of the greatest mystics who ever lived, was
bound to be of the highest interest; but I never expected anything quite
so arresting, so satisfying, when I began to read."
He paused, evidently waiting for her to speak; but Toni sat tongue-tied,
miserably conscious that in her mind no answering enthusiasm could be
born, since she had neither read nor wished to read a single word of the
article in question.
A hint of her mental discomfort probably reached the man on the sofa by
some telepathic means, for he suddenly tossed away the review and spoke
in a lighter tone.
"How long have you been punting, Mrs. Rose?"
"Oh, a very short time," she said rather apologetically. "My husband has
given me some lessons since we came down here. He doesn't know I
sometimes go out alone," she added ingenuously. "I don't go very often,
because I know I'm not much good. But to-day I saw some people coming to
call and I ran out of the house and jumped into the punt so that I could
escape."
Herrick smiled.
"What--are you like me? Do you avoid your fellow-creatures on
principle?"
She looked a little puzzled.
"Oh no, I don't avoid people when I know them. But I've had such heaps
of callers, and it's such a waste of time making conversation over tea
when one wants to be out in the sunshine."
"In fact you prefer nature to human nature?"
"I suppose I do." She frowned rather thoughtfully. "At least I would
always rather be out of the house than in it. And it's so lovely by the
river in the summer. I go for walks before breakfast with my dog, and
the world is so beautiful in the early morning before the mists have all
vanished in the sun."
"Ah! That reminds me!" Herrick rose. "You haven't seen _my_ dog! I'll go
and bring her in; she's lying in the shade at the back at present."
He went out, returning in a moment with the stately Olga, who had been,
as he suggested, sleeping in the shade. He kept his hand on her silver
collar as she advanced, fearing that Toni's queer mixture of garments
might upset her canine mind; but Olga apparently took her master's
friends on trust, and presently strolled over to Toni and laid one long
paw tentatively upon her knee.
Toni, delighted, stroked the beautiful creature affectionately, and
Herrick said to himself cheerfully:
"Come, she's got one thing in her favour anyway! If she can't appreciate
good literature she understands dogs--and after all they are worth more
as humanizers of the race, than any amount of books."
"She's lovely, Mr. Herrick!" Toni lifted delighted eyes. "What do you
call her? Something nice, I hope."
"Her name is Olga," he returned. "Not very original for a Russian dog, I
confess, but she was already christened when she came to me. You like
her?"
"I think she's a darling, and Olga is quite a nice name. A friend of
mine at school had a dog like her, and we used to take her into
Kensington Gardens for a run on Saturday afternoons. Her name was Pearl.
It's a pretty name for a white wolfhound, isn't it? They're like pearls,
somehow, so smooth and shining."
She was stroking the dog's satiny head as she spoke, and did not notice
the change in the man's face; but when he remained silent she looked up
as though to see why he did not respond.
"Oh, Mr. Herrick, what's the matter?" Toni was frightened by his pallor.
"Nothing--nothing!" He shook off his mental disturbance with a strong
effort. "I ... I sometimes have a sort of pain--in my heart--but it's
gone, quite gone, now."
Toni was not altogether satisfied with the explanation and asked herself
remorsefully what she had said to vex him; but she could not think of
anything which would be likely to give offence to her host, and decided,
finally, that he had spoken truthfully.
She could not know how intimately the tragedy of Herrick's life was
bound up with the thought of a string of shining pearls; and her very
unconsciousness served to show the man she had spoken in all innocence.
"Your husband must be very busy with this review in hand," he said
presently, remembering Barry's entreaty to him to examine the situation
for himself. "Does he work at home or has he to spend much time in
town?"
"Oh, he does both," she said, relieved by his return to his former
manner. "He is in town to-day, but he has been at home a good deal
lately."
"I see. It must be rather dull for you when he is shut up writing," he
went on tentatively. "Writers and men of letters generally like to be
left to themselves pretty much."
"Oh, I don't think my husband does," said Toni blithely. "I often go in
and sit with him while he works, and if I promise to go to bed early he
sometimes brings his papers into the drawing-room at night."
Herrick felt a sudden spasm of amusement, mingled with a distinct
impulse of sympathy for the unfortunate writer.
"Oh! I should have thought it would be too disturbing to work in the
room with anyone else--even one's wife," he added with a smile.
"Why should it be?" Toni opened eyes of amazement. "I sit quite still--I
hardly ever speak--and Jock and I--my dog--play little games together
ever so quietly."
"You don't help him in his work?"
"No." She shook her head. "I'm not clever enough for that. I do typing
for him sometimes, but even then I'm not really much use."
"You are not an expert, perhaps?"
"Oh, I can use the typewriter all right--I've had heaps of practice. But
when it comes to revising things, sort of making up an article out of
rough notes, I'm no good. To begin with I can never understand what the
things are about, and I always get quotations hopelessly mixed."
"I see." In spite of himself Herrick laughed. "You are not a great
reader, then?"
"No--I hate books," she replied frankly. "Somehow it seems a waste of
time to read when you can be doing nicer things. Besides, my husband
doesn't like to see me reading what he calls trash, and I simply can't
get through the things he gives me!"
"Well, after all life's the most interesting book of all--when one's
young," he said indulgently. "But I'm afraid you'll wish you'd developed
a taste for reading when you get like me, middle-aged and dull."
"But you aren't dull----" she was beginning eagerly, when a loud knock
at the back door of the bungalow interrupted her sentence, and she broke
off hastily.
"That'll be my messenger back," said Herrick, rising. "With garments for
you, I suppose. I'll go and see."
He went out, returning presently with a neatly-strapped suit-case which
he held up with a smile.
"Your maids have packed you a change of raiment," he said, "and have,
moreover, sent a car for you to return in. I gather from the boy that
two of your people squabbled as to which of them should have the
privilege of bringing your things to you, but in the middle of the
discussion the chauffeur, thinking, no doubt, that you were still
wearing your wet garments, got impatient and started off without either
of them!"
Toni had risen, and now stood hesitating a little with her hand on the
suit-case.
"You'll like to change at once, I daresay." He spoke in a business-like
tone. "Will you come into my little guest-chamber? There's a glass
there, and you'll be able to dress comfortably."
She assented, and he took her into yet another of the rooms in his tiny
domain, a small, bare little place which had a rather pathetically
unused look about it.
Here she made a rapid toilet, finding everything she required with the
exception of a hat, which had evidently been forgotten. A brush and comb
had been tucked into a corner, however, and she thankfully brushed her
hair and made it into two thick plaits, which for want of hair-pins she
was forced to leave hanging over her shoulders.
When she sallied forth once more she found Herrick waiting for her with
a tiny tea-tray.
"You must have a cup of tea before you go." He poured it out as he
spoke. "And a biscuit--one of Mrs. Swastika's specialities. She's an
excellent cook, and proud of her cakes, so do try one--to please me--and
her!"
Toni drank the tea gratefully and found both it and the little cakes
delicious. The next thing to do was to collect her soaked clothes, and
in spite of Herrick's protests that Mrs. Swastika would see to their
safe return she crammed them ruthlessly into the suit-case before going
out to the waiting motor.
As she shook hands with Herrick, after thanking him very prettily for
his kindness, Toni ventured a shy invitation.
"Will you come to see us at Greenriver, Mr. Herrick? I'm sure my husband
will wish to thank you for fishing me out of the river."
"Thanks," he said quietly. "I will certainly come. It will give me great
pleasure to meet Mr. Rose."
He tucked her into the car, shook hands again, and then stood
bare-headed in the sunshine watching the motor spin round the white and
dusty road.
At the bend Toni turned and waved her hand to him gaily, and he
responded with a smile, which faded as the car vanished from sight.
Somehow his meeting with the girl had saddened him oddly. There was
something rather pathetic about Toni at this moment of her existence,
though it would have been hard to say exactly wherein the pathos lay. In
spite of himself Herrick was haunted by the little picture she had drawn
of her life with Owen Rose. He could fancy the two sitting together at
night in the lamp-lit drawing-room, the man writing, or trying to write,
as though alone, the young wife sitting silently by doing nothing, or
playing quiet little games with her dog to relieve the monotony of an
evening uncheered by any interesting book or engrossing study.
A worker himself, Herrick knew very well the deadening influence exerted
by an unoccupied companion during working hours; and the fact that Toni
did not care for books, and confessed to non-comprehension of her
husband's work, struck Herrick as unfortunate, to say the least.
To this man, forced by circumstance into a more or less secluded state
of life, Toni's lack of social experience weighed very lightly. She had
not, perhaps, the manner or style of the girls one met in Mayfair or
Belgravia, but she was simple and natural and unaffected; and Herrick
found himself hoping that Mr. Rose knew how to value the traits of
simplicity and straightforwardness at their true worth.
Then it was possible that the marriage might be a success in spite of
the evident disparity of tastes between the two; but remembering Barry's
gloomy forebodings, Herrick was bound to admit that the prospect of
happiness seemed rather doubtful.
At present, however, he could do nothing; and with a resolve to call at
Greenriver at the first available opportunity he went back into his
little bungalow, which seemed strangely lonely as the twilight fell over
the river-banks.