THE SECOND SUMMONS
When they went down the hill again to the hotel, Dinah felt as if she
were treading on air. The whole world had magically changed for her.
Fears still lurked in the background, such fears as she did not dare to
turn and contemplate; but she herself had stepped into such a blaze of
sunshine that she felt literally bathed from head to foot in the glow.
Her dread of returning to the old home-life had dwindled to a mere
shadow. Sir Eustace's absolute confidence on the subject of his
desirability as a husband had accomplished this. There would be paens of
rejoicing, he told her, and she had actually begun to think that he spoke
the truth. She was quite convinced that her mother would be pleased. It
was Cinderella and the prince indeed. Who could be otherwise?
Her escapade of the night before had also shrunk to a matter of small
importance. Eustace in his grand, easy way had justified her, and she was
no longer tormented by the thought of the mute reproach she would
encounter in Scott's eyes. She was triumphantly vindicated, and no one
would dream of reproaching her now. Isabel too--surely Isabel would be
glad, would welcome her as a sister, though the realization of this
nearness of relationship made her blush in sheer horror at her
presumption.
She to be Lady Studley! She--little, insignificant, moneyless Dinah! The
thought of Rose's soft patronage flashed through her brain, and she
chuckled aloud. Poor dear Rose, waiting for him at the Court, expecting
every day to hear of his promised advent! What a shock for them all! Why,
she would rank with the County now! Even Lady Grace would scarcely be in
a position to patronize her! Again, quite involuntarily, she chuckled.
"What's the joke?" demanded Sir Eustace.
She blushed very deeply, realizing that she had allowed her thoughts to
run away with her.
"There isn't a joke really," she told him. "It wasn't important anyhow. I
was only thinking how--how surprised the de Vignes would be."
He frowned momentarily; then he laughed. "Proud of your conquest, eh?" he
asked.
She blushed still more deeply. "It's easy to laugh now, but I shall never
dare to face them," she murmured.
He took her hand as they walked, linking his fingers in hers with a
careless air of possession. "When you are Lady Studley," he said, "I
shall not allow you to knock under to anyone--except your husband."
She gave a faint laugh. "I--shall have to learn to swagger," she said.
"But I'm afraid I shall never do it as well as you do."
"What? Swagger?" He frowned again. "How dare you accuse me of that?"
"Oh, I didn't! I don't!" Hastily she sought to avert his displeasure.
"No, no! I only meant that you were born to it. I'm not. I--I'm very
ordinary; not nearly good enough for you."
His frown melted again. "You are--Daphne," he said. "Ah! Here is Scott,
coming to look for us! Who is going to break the news to him?"
She made a small, ineffectual attempt to release her hand. Then, under
her breath, "He--saw you kiss me last night," she whispered. "Don't you
think he may have guessed already?"
A very cynical look came into Eustace's face. "I wonder," he said
briefly.
They went on side by side down the white, shining track; but Dinah was no
longer treading on air. She could see the slight, insignificant figure
that awaited them close to the hotel-entrance, and her heart felt oddly
weighted within her. It was not the memory of the night before that
oppressed her. That episode had faded almost into nothingness. But the
ordeal of facing him, of telling him of the wonderful thing that had just
happened to her, seemed suddenly more than she could bear. Something
within her seemed to cry out against it. She had a curious feeling of
looking out at him across great billows of seething uncertainty that
rolled ever higher and higher between them, threatening to separate them
for all time.
Yet when she neared him, the tumult of feeling sank again as the
quietness of his presence reached her. Out of the tempest she found
herself drifting into a safe harbour of still waters.
He moved to meet them, and she heard his voice greet her as he raised his
cap. "So you have been for your farewell stroll!"
She did not answer in words, only she freed her hand from Eustace with a
resolute little tug and gave it to him.
Eustace spoke, a species of half-veiled insolence in his tone. "Like the
psalmist she went forth weeping and has returned bearing her sheaf with
her--in the form of a fairly substantial _fiancé_."
Dinah ventured to cast a lightning-glance at Scott to see how he took the
information and was conscious of an instant's shock. He looked so grey,
so ill, like a man who had received a deadly wound.
But the impression passed in a flash as she felt his hand close upon
hers.
"My dear," he said simply, "I'm awfully pleased."
The warm grasp did her good. It brought her swiftly back to a normal
state of mind. She drew a hard breath and met his eyes, reassuring
herself in a moment with the conviction that after all he looked quite as
usual. Somehow her imagination had tricked her. His kindly smile seemed
to make everything right.
"Oh, it is kind of you not to mind," she said impulsively.
Whereat Sir Eustace laughed. "He is rather magnanimous, isn't he? Well,
come along and tell Isabel!"
Scott's eyes came swiftly to him. He released Dinah, and offered his hand
to his brother. "Let me congratulate you, old chap!" he said, his voice
rather low. "I hope you will both have--all happiness."
"Thanks!" said Eustace. He took the hand, looking at the younger man with
keen, hawk-eyes. "We mean to make a bid for it anyway. Dinah is lucky in
one thing at least. She will have an ideal brother-in-law."
The words were carelessly spoken, but they were not without meaning.
Scott flushed slightly; even while for an instant he smiled. "I shall do
my best in that capacity," he said. "But before you go in, I want you to
wait a moment. Isabel has had a slight fainting attack. We mustn't take
her by surprise."
"A fainting attack!" Sharply Eustace echoed the words. "How did it
happen?" he demanded.
Scott raised his shoulders. "We were talking together. I can't tell you
exactly what caused it. It came rather suddenly. Biddy and I brought her
round almost immediately, and she declares that she will make the
journey. She did not wish me to tell you of it, but I thought it better."
"Of coarse." Sir Eustace's voice was short and stern; his face wore a
heavy frown. "But something must have caused it. What were you talking
about?"
Scott hesitated for a second. "I can't tell you that, old fellow," he
said then.
Eustace uttered a brief laugh. "Too personal, eh? Well, how did it
happen? Did she suddenly lose consciousness?"
"She suddenly gasped, and said her heart had stopped. She fell across the
table. I called to Biddy, and we lifted her and gave her brandy. That
brought her to very quickly. I left her lying down in her room. But she
says she feels much better, and she is very set upon leaving the
arrangements for the journey unaltered."
Scott spoke rather wearily. Dinah's heart went out to him in swift
sympathy which she did not know how to express.
"May I--could I--go to her?" she suggested, after a moment timidly.
Scott turned to her instantly. "Please do! I know she would like to see
you. We ought to be starting in another quarter of an hour. The sleigh
will be here directly."
"May I do as I like about--about telling her?" Dinah asked, pausing.
Scott's eyes shone with a very kindly gleam. "Of course, I know you will
not startle her. You always do her good."
The words followed her as she turned away. How good he was to her! How
full of understanding and human sympathy! Her heart throbbed with a
warmth that filled her with an odd desire to weep. She wished that
Eustace did not treat him quite so arrogantly.
And then, looking back, she reproached herself for the thought; for
Eustace had linked a hand in his arm, and she saw that they were walking
together in complete accord.
"But I will never--no, never--call him Stumpy!" she said to herself, as
she passed into the hotel.
She went up the stairs rapidly, and hastened to Isabel's room. That look
she had caught in Scott's face--that stricken look--had doubtless been
brought there by his sudden anxiety for his sister. That would fully
account for it, she was sure.
On the threshold of Isabel's room an overwhelming nervousness assailed
her. How was she going to tell her of the wonderful event that had taken
place in the last half-hour? On the other hand, how could she possibly
suppress so tremendous a matter? And again, the disquieting question
arose; could she be ill--really ill? Scott had looked so troubled--so
unutterably sad.
With an effort she summoned her courage, and softly knocked.
Instantly a low voice answered her, bidding her enter. She opened the
door and went in, feeling as though she were treading sacred ground.
But Isabel's voice spoke again instantly, greeting her; and
in a moment all her doubts, all her forebodings, were gone.
"Come in, little sweetheart!" Isabel said.
And she advanced with quickened steps to find Isabel lying propped on the
sofa, looking at her, smiling up at her, with such a glory on her wasted
face as made it "as it had been the face of an angel."
In an instant Dinah was on her knees beside her, with loving arms
clasping her close. "Oh, darling, I've only just heard. Are you better?
Are you better?" she said yearningly.
Isabel held her, and fondly kissed the upturned lips. "Why, I believe
Scott has been frightening you," she said. "Silly fellow! Yes, dear. I am
well--quite well."
"You are sure?" Dinah insisted. "You are really not ill?"
Isabel's smile had in it--had she but known it--a gleam of the Divine.
"My dearest, all is well with me," she said. "I lay down for a little to
please Scott. But I am going to get up now. Where have you been since
_dèjeuner_? I missed you."
Dinah clung closer, hiding her face.
Instantly Isabel's arms tightened. The passionate tenderness of them
thrilled her through and through. "Why, child, what has happened?" she
whispered. "Tell me! Tell me!"
But Dinah only hid her face a little deeper. "I don't know how," she
murmured.
There fell a silence. Then, under her breath, Isabel spoke. "My darling,
whisper--just whisper! Who--is it?"
And very, very faintly, at last Dinah made answer. "It--it is--Sir
Eustace."
There fell another silence, longer, deeper, than the first. Then Isabel
uttered a short, hard sigh, and, stooping, kissed the bowed, curly head.
"God bless and keep you always, dearest!" she said.
Something in the words--or was it the tone?--pierced Dinah. She turned
her face slightly upwards. "I--I was afraid you wouldn't be pleased," she
faltered. "Do--do forgive me--if you can!"
"Forgive you!" All the wealth of Isabel's love was in the words. "Why,
darling, I have been wanting you for my own little sister ever since I
first saw you."
"Oh, have you?" Eagerly Dinah lifted her head. Her eyes were shining, her
cheeks very flushed. "Then you are pleased?" she said earnestly. "You
really are pleased?"
Isabel smiled at her very sadly, very fondly. "My darling, if you are
happy, I am more than pleased," she said.
Yet Dinah was puzzled, not wholly satisfied. She received Isabel's kiss
with a certain wistfulness. "I feel--somehow--as if I've done wrong," she
said. "Yet--yet--Scott--" she halted over the name, uttering it
shyly--"said he was--awfully pleased."
"Ah! You have told Scott!" There was a sharp, almost a wrung, sound in
Isabel's voice; but the next moment she controlled it, and spoke with
steady resolution. "Then, my dear, you needn't have any misgivings. If
you love Eustace and he loves you, it is the best thing possible for you
both." She held Dinah to her again and kissed her; then very tenderly
released her. "You must run and get ready, dear child. It is getting
late."
Dinah went obediently, still with that bewildered feeling of having
somehow taken a wrong turning. She was convinced in her own mind that the
news had not been welcome to Isabel, disguise it how she would. And
suddenly through her mind there ran the memory of those words she had
uttered a few weeks before. "Never prefer the tinsel to the true gold!"
She had not fully understood their meaning then. Now very vividly it
flashed upon her. Isabel had compared her two brothers in that brief
sentence. Isabel's estimate of the one was as low as that of the other
was high. Isabel did not love Eustace--the handsome, debonair brother who
had once been all the world to her.
A little, sick feeling of doubt went through Dinah! Had she--by any evil
chance--had she made a mistake?
And then the man's overwhelming personality swung suddenly through her
consciousness, filling all her being, possessing her, dominating her. She
flung the doubt from her, as one flings away a poisonous insect. He was
her own--her very own; her lover, the first, the best,--Apollo the
Magnificent!
In Isabel's room old Biddy Maloney stood, gazing down at her mistress
with eyes of burning devotion.
"And is it yourself that's feeling better now?" she questioned fondly.
Isabel raised herself, smiling her sad smile. "Oh, Biddy," she said,
"for myself I feel that all is well--all will be well. The dawn draws
nearer--every hour."
Biddy shook her head with pursed lips. "Ye shouldn't talk so, mavourneen.
It's the Almighty who has the ruling. Ye wouldn't wish to go before your
time?"
"Before my time! Oh, Biddy! When I have lingered in the prison-house so
long!" Slowly Isabel rose to her feet. She looked at Biddy almost
whimsically. "I think He will take that into the reckoning," she said.
"Do you know, Biddy, this is the second summons that has come to me? And
I think--I think," her face was glorified again as the face of one who
sees a vision--"I think the third will be the last."
Biddy's black eyes screwed up suddenly. She turned her face away.
"Will we be getting ready to go now, Miss Isabel?" she asked after a
moment, in a voice that shook.
The glory died out of Isabel's face, though the reflection of it still
lingered in her eyes. "I am very selfish, Biddy," she said. "Can you
guess what Miss Dinah has just told me?"
"Arrah thin, I can," said Biddy, with a touch of aggressiveness. "I've
seen it coming for a long time past. And ye didn't ought to allow it at
all, Miss Isabel. It's a mistake, that's what it is. It's just a bad
mistake."
"Not if he loves her, Biddy." Isabel spoke gently, but there was a hint
of reproof in her voice.
Biddy, however, remained quite unabashed. "He love her!" she snorted. "As
if he ever loved anybody besides himself! Talk about the lion and the
lamb, Miss Isabel! It's a cruel shame to let her go to such as him. And
what'll poor Master Scott do at all? And he worshipping the little fairy
feet of her!"
"Hush, Biddy, hush!" Isabel spoke with decision. "I hope--I trust--that
he isn't very grievously disappointed. But if he is, it is the one thing
that neither you nor I must ever seem to suspect."
"Ah!" grumbled Biddy mutinously. "And isn't that just like Sir Eustace,
with all the world to pick from, to choose the one thing--the one little
wild rose--as Master Scott had set his heart on? He's done it from his
cradle. Always the one thing someone else wanted he must grab for
himself. But is it too late, Miss Isabel darlint?" Sudden hope shone in
the old woman's eyes. "Is it really too late? Couldn't ye drop a hint to
the dear lamb? Sure and she's fond of Master Scott! Maybe she'd turn to
him after all if she knew."
Isabel shook her head almost sternly. "Biddy, no! This is no affair of
ours. If Master Scott suspected for a moment what you have just said to
me, he would never forgive you."
"May I come in?" said Scott's voice at the door. "My dear, you are
looking better. Are you well enough to start?"
"Yes, of course." Isabel moved towards him, her hands extended in mute
affection.
He took and held them. "Dinah has told you? I am sure you are glad.
Eustace is waiting downstairs. Come and tell him how glad you are!"
His eyes, very straight and steadfast, met hers.
Isabel tried to speak in answer, but caught her breath in a sudden sob.
He waited a second. Then, "Isabel!" he said gently.
Sharply she controlled herself. "Yes. Yes. Let us go!" she said. "I
must--congratulate Eustace."
They went; and old Biddy was left alone.
She looked after them with a piteous expression on her wrinkled face;
then suddenly, with a wistful gesture, she clasped her old worn hands.
"I pray the Almighty," she said, with great earnestness, "to open the
dear young lady's eyes, before it is too late. And if He wants anyone to
help Him--sure it's meself that'll be only too pleased."
It was the most impressive prayer that Biddy had ever uttered.
PART II
CHAPTER I
CINDERELLA'S PRINCE
The early dusk of February was falling, together with a fine, drenching
rain. The trees that over-hung the muddy lane were beating their stark
branches together as though in despair over the general hopelessness of
the outlook. The west wind that raced across the brown fields had the
sharpness of snow in its train.
"We shall catch it before we've done," said Bathurst to his hunter.
Rupert the hunter, a dapple grey with powerful hindquarters, cocked a
knowing ear in a fashion that Dinah always described as "his smile."
It had not been a good day for either of them. The meet had been at a
considerable distance, there had been no run worth mentioning; and now
that it was over they were returning, thoroughly tired, from the kennels.
Bathurst's pink coat clung to him like a sack, all streaked and darkened
with rain. It had weathered a good many storms in its time, as its many
varieties of tint testified; but despite this fact, its wearer never
failed to look a sportsman and a gentleman. There was nothing of the
vagabond about Bathurst, but he had the vagabond's facility for making
himself at home wherever he went. He was never at a loss, never
embarrassed, never affronted. He took life easily, as he himself put it;
and on the whole he found it good.
Riding home at a jog-trot in that driving rain with the prospect of
having to feed and rub down Rupert at the end of it before he could
attend to his own needs was not a particularly entrancing prospect; but
he faced it philosophically. After today the little girl would be at
home, and she could do it for him again. She loved to wait on him hand
and foot, and it really was a pleasure to let her.
He whistled cheerily to himself as he wended his leisurely way through
the dripping lane that made the shortest cut to his home. It would be
nice to have the little girl home again. Lydia was all very well--a good
wife, as wives went--but there was no doubt about it that Dinah's
presence made a considerable difference to his comfort. The child was
quick to forestall his wants; he sometimes thought that she was even more
useful to him than a valet would have been. He had missed her more than
he would have dreamed possible.
Lydia had missed her too; he was sure of that. She had been peculiarly
short of temper lately. Not that he ever took much notice; he was too
used to her tantrums for that. But it certainly was more comfortable when
Dinah was at home to bear the brunt of them. Yes, on the whole he was
quite pleased that the little girl was coming back. It would make a
difference to him in many ways.
He wondered what time she would arrive. He had known, but he had
forgotten. He believed it was to be some time in the evening. Her grand
friends had arranged to stay at Great Mallowes, three miles, away for the
night, and one of them--the maid probably--was to bring Dinah home. He
had smiled over this arrangement, and Lydia had openly scoffed at it. As
if a girl of Dinah's age were not capable of travelling alone! But then
of course she had been ill, very ill according to all accounts; and it
was quite decent of them to bestow so much care upon her.
He fell to wondering if the child had got spoilt at all during her long
absence from home and the harsh discipline thereof. If so, there was a
hard time before her; for Lydia was never one to stand any nonsense. She
had always been hard on her first-born, unreasonably hard, he sometimes
thought; though it was not his business to interfere. The task of
chastising the daughter of the family was surely the mother's exclusive
prerogative; and certainly Lydia had carried it out very thoroughly. And
if at times he thought her over-severe, he could not deny that the result
achieved was eminently satisfactory. Dinah was always docile and active
in his service--altogether a very good child; and this was presumably due
to her mother's training. No, on the whole he had not much fault to find
with either of them. Doubtless Lydia understood her own sex best.
He was nearing the end of the long lane; it terminated close to his home.
Rupert quickened his pace. They were both splashed with mud from shoulder
to heel. They had both had more than enough of the wet and the slush.
"That's right, Rupert, my boy!" the man murmured. "Finish in style!"
They came out from beneath the over-arching trees, emerging upon the
high road that led from Great Mallowes to Perrythorpe. The hoot of a
motor-horn caused Rupert to prick his ears, and his master reined him
back as two great, shining head-lights appeared round a curve. They
drew swiftly near, flashed past, and were gone meteor-like into the
gloom.
"Whose car was that, I wonder?" mused Bathurst.
"The de Vignes's? It didn't look like one of the Court cars, but the old
bird is always buying something new. Lucky devil!"
The thought of the Colonel renewed his thoughts of Dinah. Certain hints
the former had dropped had made him wonder a little if the child were
always as demure as she seemed. Not that Colonel de Vigne had actually
found fault with her. He was plainly fond of her. But he had not spoken
as if Dinah had effaced herself as completely abroad as she did at home.
"Oh, yes, the little baggage enjoyed herself--was as gay as a lark--till
she got ill," he had said. "You may find her something of a handful when
she gets back, Bathurst. She's stretched her wings a bit since she left
you."
Bathurst shrugged his shoulders with the comforting reflection that he
would not have the trouble of dealing with her. If she had been giddy,
after all, it was but natural. Her mother had not been particularly
steady in the days of her wild youth. And anyhow he was sure her mother
would speedily break her in again. She had a will of iron before which
Dinah was _always_ forced to bend.
He rode on along the highroad. It was not more than half a mile farther
to his home on the outskirts of the village. Somewhere in the gloom ahead
of him church-bells were pealing. It was practice-night, he remembered.
Dinah loved the sound of the bells. She would feel that they were ringing
in her honour. Funny little Dinah! The child was full of fancies of that
sort. Just as well perhaps, for it was the only form of amusement that
ever came into her home life.
The gay peal turned into a deafening clashing as at length he neared his
home. The old church stood only a stone's throw further on. They were
ringing the joy-bells with a vengeance. And then very suddenly he caught
sight of the tail-lamp of a car close to his own gate.
Dinah had returned then. They had actually chartered that car to convey
her from Great Mallowes. He pursed his lips to a whistle. The little girl
had been in clover indeed.
"She certainly won't think much of the home crusts after this," he
murmured to himself.
He walked Rupert round to the tumble-down stable, and dismounted.
For the next quarter of an hour he was busy over the animal. He thought
it a little strange that Dinah did not spy the stable-lamp from the
kitchen and come dancing out to greet him. He also wondered why the car
lingered so long. It looked as if someone other than the maid had
accompanied her, and were staying to tea.
He never took tea after a day's hunting; hot whisky and water and a bath
formed his customary programme, and then a tasty supper and bed.
He supposed on this occasion that he would have to go in and show
himself, though he was certainly not fit to be seen. Reluctantly he
pulled the bedraggled pink coat on again. After all, it did not greatly
matter. Hunting was its own excuse. No sportsman ever returned in the
apple-pie order in which he started.
Carelessly he sauntered in by way of the back premises, and was instantly
struck by the sound of a man's voice, well-bred, with a slightly haughty
intonation, speaking in one of the front rooms of the little house.
"Dinah seemed to think that she could not keep it in till to-morrow," it
said, with easy assurance. "So I thought I had better come along with her
to-night and get it over."
The words reached Bathurst as he arrived in the small square hall, and he
stopped dead. "Hullo! Hullo!" he murmured softly to himself.
And then came his wife's voice, a harsh, determined voice, "Do I
understand that you wish to marry my daughter?"
"That's the idea," came the suave reply. "You don't know me, of course,
but I think I can satisfy you that I am not an undesirable _parti_. My
family is considered fairly respectable, as old families go. I am the
ninth baronet in direct succession; and I have a very fair amount of
worldly goods to offer my wife."
Mrs. Bathurst broke in upon him, a tremor of eagerness in her hard voice.
"If that is the case, of course I have no objection," she said. "Dinah
won't do any better for herself than that. It seems to me that she will
have the best of the bargain. But that is your affair. She's full young.
I don't suppose you want to marry her yet, do you?"
"I'd marry her to-night if I could," said Sir Eustace, with his careless
laugh.
But Mrs. Bathurst did not laugh with him. "We'll have the banns published
and everything done proper," she said. "Hasty marriages as often as not
aren't regular. Here, Dinah! Don't stand there listening! Go and see if
the kettle boils!"
It was at this point that Bathurst deemed that the moment had arrived to
present himself. He entered, almost running into Dinah about to hurry
out.
"Hullo!" he said. "Hullo!" and taking her by the shoulders, kissed her.
She clung to him for a moment, her sweet face burning. "Oh, Dad!" she
murmured in confusion, "Oh, Dad!"
With his arm about her, he turned her back into the room. "You come back
and introduce me to your new friend!" he said. "I've got to thank him,
you know, for taking such care of you."
She yielded, but not very willingly. She was painfully embarrassed,
almost incoherent, as she obeyed Bathurst's behest.
"This--this is Dad," she murmured.
Sir Eustace came forward with his leisurely air of confidence. His great
bulk seemed to fill the low room. He looked even more magnificent than
usual.
"Ah, sir, you have just come in from hunting," he said. "I hope I don't
intrude. It's a beastly wet evening. I should think you're not sorry to
get in."
Mrs. Bathurst, tall, bony, angular, with harsh, gipsy features that were
still in a fashion boldly handsome, broke in upon her husband's answering
greeting.
"Ronald, this gentleman tells me he wants to marry Dinah. It is very
sudden, but these things often are. You will give your consent of course.
I have already given mine."
"Easy, easy!" laughed Bathurst. "Why exceed the speed limit in this
reckless fashion? You are Sir Eustace Studley? I am very pleased to meet
you."
He held out his hand to Sir Eustace, and gave him the grasp of
good-fellowship. It seemed to Dinah that the very atmosphere changed
magically with the coming of her father. No difficult situation ever
dismayed him. He and Sir Eustace were not dissimilar in this respect.
Whatever the circumstances, they both knew how to hold their own with
absolute ease. It was a faculty which she would have given much to
possess.
Sir Eustace was laughing in his careless, well-bred way. "It's rather a
shame to spring the matter on you like this," he said. "I ought to have
waited to ask your consent to the engagement, but I am afraid I am not a
very patient person, and I wanted to make sure of your daughter before
we parted. We are staying at Great Mallowes--at the Royal Stag. May I
come over to-morrow and put things on a more business-like footing?"
"Oh, don't hurry away!" said Bathurst easily. "Sit down and have some tea
with us! It is something of a surprise certainly but a very agreeable
one. Lydia, what about tea? Or perhaps you prefer a whisky and soda?"
"Tea, thanks," said Sir Eustace, and seated himself with his superb air
of complete assurance.
Mrs. Bathurst turned upon her daughter. "Dinah, how many more times am I
to tell you to go and see if the kettle boils?"
Dinah started, as one rudely awakened from an entrancing dream. "I am
sorry," she murmured in confusion. "I forgot."
She fled from the room with the words, and her mother, with dark brows
drawn, looked after her for a moment, then sat down facing Sir Eustace.
"I should like to know," she said aggressively, "what you are prepared to
do for her."
Sir Eustace smiled in his aloof, slightly supercilious fashion. He had
been more or less prepared for Dinah's mother, but the temptation to
address her as "My good woman" was almost more than he could withstand.
"Will you not allow me," he said, icily courteous, "to settle this
important matter with Mr. Bathurst to-morrow? He will then be in a
position to explain it to you."
Mrs. Bathurst made a movement of fierce impatience. She had been put in
her place by this stranger and furiously she resented it. But the man was
a baronet, and a marvellous catch for a son-in-law; and she did not dare
to put her resentment into words.
She got up therefore, and flounced angrily to the door. Sir Eustace arose
without haste and with a stretch of his long arm opened it for her.
She flung him a glance, half-hostile, half-awed, as she went through. She
had a malignant hatred for the upper class, despite the fact that her own
husband was a member thereof. And yet she held it in unwilling respect.
Sir Eustace's nonchalantly administered snub was far harder to bear than
any open rudeness from a man of her own standing would have been.
Fiercely indignant, she entered the kitchen, and caught Dinah peeping at
herself in the shining surface of the warming-pan after having removed
her hat.
"Ah, that's your game, my girl, is it?" she said. "You've come back the
grand lady, have you? You've no further, use for your mother, I daresay.
She may work her fingers to the bone for all you care--or ever will care
again."
Dinah whizzed round, scarlet and crestfallen. "Oh, Mother! How you
startled me! I only wanted to see if--if my hair was tidy."
"And that's one of your lies," said Mrs. Bathurst, with a heavy hand on
her shoulder. "They've taught you how to juggle with the truth, that's
plain. Oh yes, Lady Studley that is to be, you've learnt a lot since
you've been away, I can see--learnt to despise your mother, I'll lay a
wager. But I'll show you she's not to be despised by a prinking minx like
you. What did I send you in here for, eh?"
"To--to see to the kettle," faltered Dinah, shrinking before the stern
regard of the black eyes that so mercilessly held her own.
"And there it is ready to boil over, and you haven't touched it, you
worthless little hussy, you! Take that--and dare to disobey me again!"
She dealt the girl a blow with her open hand as she spoke, a swinging,
pitiless blow, on the cheek, and pushed her fiercely from her.
Dinah reeled momentarily. The sudden violence of the attack bewildered
her. Actually she had almost forgotten how dreadful her mother could be.
Then, recovering herself, she went to the fire and stooped over it,
without a word. She had a burning sensation at the throat, and she was on
the verge of passionate tears. The memory of Isabel's parting embrace,
the tender drawing of her arms only a brief half-hour before made this
home-coming almost intolerable.
"What's that thing you're wearing?" demanded Mrs. Bathurst abruptly.
Dinah lifted the kettle and turned. "It is a fur-lined coat that--that he
bought for me in Paris."
"Then take it off!" commanded Mrs. Bathurst. "And don't you wear it again
until I give you leave! How dare you accept presents from the man before
I've even seen him?"
"I couldn't help it," murmured Dinah, as she slipped off the luxurious
garment that Isabel had chosen for her.
"Couldn't help it!" Bitterly Mrs. Bathurst echoed the words. "You'll say
you couldn't help him falling in love with you next! As if you didn't set
out to catch him, you little artful brown-faced monkey! Oh, I always knew
you were crafty, for all your simple ways. Mind, I don't say you haven't
done well for yourself, you have--a deal better than you deserve. But
don't ever say you couldn't help it to me again! For if you do, I'll
trounce you for it, do you hear? None of your coy airs for me! I won't
put up with 'em. You'll behave yourself as long as you're in this house,
or I'll know the reason why."
To all of which Dinah listened in set silence, telling herself with
desperate insistence that it would not be for long. Sir Eustace did not
mean to be kept waiting, and he would deliver her finally and for all
time.
She did not know exactly why her mother was angry. She supposed she
resented the idea of losing her slave. There seemed no other possible
reason, for love for her she had none. Dinah knew but too cruelly well
that she had been naught but an unwelcome burden from the very earliest
days of her existence. Till she met Isabel, she had never known what real
mother-love could be.
She wondered if her _fiancé_ would notice the red mark on her cheek when
she carried in the teapot; but he was holding a careless conversation
with her father, and only gave her a glance and a smile.
During the meal that followed he scarcely addressed her or so much as
looked her way. He treated her mother with a freezing aloofness that made
her tremble inwardly. She wondered how he dared.
When at length he rose to go, however, his attention returned to Dinah.
He laid a dominating hand upon her shoulder. "Are you coming to see me
off?"
She glanced at her mother in involuntary appeal, but failed to catch her
eye. Silently she turned to the door.
He took leave of her parents with the indifference of one accustomed to
popularity. "I shall be round in the morning," he said to her father.
"About twelve? That'll suit me very well; unless I wait till the
afternoon and bring my sister. I know she hopes to come over if she is
well enough. That is, of course, if you don't object to an informal
call."
He spoke as if in his opinion the very fact of its informality conferred
a favour, and again Dinah trembled lest her mother should break forth
into open rudeness.
But to her amazement Mrs. Bathurst seemed somewhat overawed by the
princely stranger. She even smiled in a grim way as she said, "I will be
at home to her."
Sir Eustace made her a ceremonious bow and went out sweeping Dinah along
with him. He closed the door with a decision there was no mistaking, and
the next moment he had her in his arms.
"You poor little frightened mouse!" he said. "No wonder--no wonder you
never knew before what life, real life, could be!"
She clung to him with all her strength, burying her face in the fur
collar of his coat. "Oh, do marry me, quick--quick--quick!" she besought
him, in a muffled whisper. "And take me away!"
He gathered her close in his arms, so close that she trembled again. Her
nerves were all on edge that night.
"If they won't let me have you in a month from now," he said, in a voice
that quivered slightly, "I swear I'll run away with you."
There was no echo of humour in his words though she tried to laugh at
them, and ever he pressed her closer and closer to his heart, till
panting she had to lift her face. And then he kissed her in his
passionate compelling way, holding her shy lips with his own till he
actually forced them to respond. She felt as if his love burned her, but,
even so, she dared not shrink from it. There was so much at stake. Her
mother's lack of love was infinitely harder to endure.
And so she bore the fierce flame of his passion unflinching even though
her spirit clamoured wildly to be free, choosing rather to be consumed by
it than left a beaten slave in her house of bondage.
His kisses waked in her much more of fear than rapture. That untamed
desire of his frightened her to the very depths of her being, but yet it
was infinitely preferable to the haughty indifference with which he
regarded all the rest of the world. It meant that he would not let her
go, and that in itself was comfort unspeakable to Dinah. He meant to have
her at any price, and she was very badly in need of deliverance, even
though she might have to pay for it, and pay heavily.
It was at this point, actually while his fiery kisses were scorching her
lips, that a very strange thought crept all unawares into her
consciousness. If she ever needed help, if she ever needed escape, she
had a friend to whom she could turn--a staunch and capable friend who
would never fail her. She was sure that Scott would find a way to ease
the burden if it became too heavy. Her faith in him, his wisdom, his
strength, was unbounded. And he helped everyone--the valiant servant
Greatheart, protector of the helpless, sustainer of the vanquished.
When her lover was gone at last, she closed the door and leaned against
it, feeling weak in every fibre.
Bathurst, coming out a few moments later, was struck by her spent look.
"Well, Dinah lass," he said lightly, "you look as if it had cost
something of an effort to land your catch. But he's a mighty fine one, I
will say that for him."
She went to him, twining her arm in his, forcing herself to smile. "Oh,
Dad," she said, "he is fine, isn't he?" But--but--she uttered the words
almost in spite of herself--"you should see his brother. You should
see--Scott."
"What? Is he finer still?" laughed Bathurst, pinching her cheek. "Have
you got the whole family at your feet, you little baggage?"
She flushed very deeply. "Oh no! Oh no! I didn't mean that. Scott--Scott
is not a bit like that. He is--he is--" And there she broke off, for who
could hope to convey any faithful impression of this good friend of hers?
There were no words that could adequately describe him. With a little
sigh she turned from the subject. "I'm glad you like Eustace," she said
shyly.
Bathurst laughed a little, then bent unexpectedly, and kissed her. "It's
a case of Cinderella and the prince," he said lightly. "But the luck
isn't all on Cinderella's side, I'm thinking."
She clung to him eagerly. "Oh, Daddy, thank you! Thank you! Do you
know--it's funny--Scott used to call me Cinderella!"
Bathurst crooked his brows quizzically. "How original of him! This Scott
seems to be quite a wonderful person. And what was your pet name for him
I wonder, eh, sly-boots?"
She laughed in evident embarrassment. There was something implied in her
father's tone that made her curiously reluctant to discuss her hero. And
yet, in justification of the man himself, she felt she must say
something.
"His brother and sister call him--Stumpy," she said, "because he is
little and he limps. But I--" her face was as red as the hunting-coat
against which it nestled--"I called him--Mr. Greatheart. He is--just like
that."
Mr. Bathurst laughed again, tweaking her ear. "Altogether an
extraordinary family!" he commented. "I must meet this Mr. Stumpy
Greatheart. Now suppose you run upstairs and turn on the hot water. And
when you've done that, you can take my boots down to the kitchen to dry.
And mind you don't fall foul of your mother, for she strikes me as being
a bit on the ramp tonight!"
He kissed her again, and she clung to him very fast for a moment or two,
tasting in that casual, kindly embrace all the home joy she had ever
known.
Then, hearing her mother's step, she swiftly and guiltily disengaged
herself and fled up the stairs like a startled bird. As she prepared his
bath for him, the wayward thought came to her that if only he and she
had lived alone together, she would never have wanted to get married at
all--even for the delight of being Lady Studley instead of "poor little
Dinah Bathurst!"
CHAPTER II
WEDDING ARRANGEMENTS
It was certainly not love at first sight that prompted Mrs. Bathurst to
take a fancy to Isabel Everard.
Secretly Dinah had dreaded their meeting, fearing that innate antagonism
which her mother invariably seemed to cherish against the upper class.
But within a quarter of an hour of their meeting she was aware of a
change of attitude, a quenching of the hostile element, a curious and
wholly new sensation of peace.
For though Isabel's regal carriage and low, musical voice, marked her as
one of the hated species, her gentleness banished all impression of
pride. She treated Dinah's mother with an assumption of friendliness that
had in it no trace of condescension, and she was so obviously sincere in
her wish to establish a cordial relation that it was impossible to remain
ungracious.
"I can't feel that we are strangers," she said, with her rare smile when
Dinah had departed to fetch the tea. "Your little Dinah has done so much
for me--more than I can ever tell you. That I am to have her for a sister
seems almost too good to be true."
"I wonder you think she's good enough," remarked Mrs. Bathurst in her
blunt way. "She isn't much to look at. I've done my best to bring her up
well, but I never thought of her turning into a fine lady. I question if
she's fit for it."
"If she were a fine lady, I don't think I should think so highly of her,"
Isabel said gently. "But as to her being unfit to fill a high position,
she is only inexperienced and she will learn very quickly. I am willing
to teach her all in my power."
"Aye, learn to despise her mother," commented Mrs. Bathurst, with sudden
bitterness, "after all the trouble I've taken to make her respect me."
"I should never teach her that," Isabel answered quietly. "And I am sure
that she would be quite incapable of learning it. Mrs. Bathurst, do you
really think that worldly position is a thing that greatly matters to
anyone in the long run? I don't."
It was then that a faint, half-grudging admiration awoke in the elder
woman's resentful soul, and she looked at Isabel with the first glimmer
of kindliness. "You're right," she said slowly, "it don't matter to those
who've got it. But to those who haven't--" her eyes glowed red for a
moment--"you don't know how it galls," she said.
And then she flushed dully, realizing that she had made a confidante of
one of the hated breed.
But Isabel's hand was on hers in a moment; her eyes, full of
understanding, looked earnest friendship into hers. "Oh, I know," she
said. "It is the little things that gall us all, until--until some
great--some fundamental--sorrow wrenches our very lives in twain. And
then--and then--one can almost laugh to think one ever cared about them."
Her voice throbbed with feeling. She had lifted the veil for a moment to
salve the other woman's bitterness.
And Mrs. Bathurst realized it, and was touched. "Ah! You've suffered,"
she said.
Isabel bent her head. "But it is over," she said. "I married a man who,
they said, was beneath me. But--God knows--he was above me--in every way.
And then--I lost him." Her voice sank.
Mrs. Bathurst's hand came down with a clumsy movement upon hers. "He
died?" she said.
"Yes." Almost in a whisper Isabel made answer. "For years I would not
face it--would not believe it. He went from me so suddenly--oh, God, so
suddenly--" a tremor of anguish sounded in the low words; but in a moment
she raised her head, and her eyes were shining with a brightness that no
pain could dim. "It is over," she said. "It is quite, quite over. My
night is past and can never come again. I am waiting now for the full
day. And I know that I have not very long to wait. I have not seen
him--no, I have not seen him. But--twice now--I have heard his voice."
"Poor soul! Poor soul!" said Mrs. Bathurst.
It was all the sympathy she could express; but it came from her heart.
She no longer regretted her own burst of confidence. The spontaneous
answer that it had evoked had had a magically softening effect upon her.
In all her life no one had ever charmed her thus. She was astonished
herself at the melting of her hardness.
"You've suffered worse than I have," she said, "for I never cared for any
man like that. I was let down badly when I was a girl, and I've never had
any opinion of any of 'em since. My husband's all right, so far as he
goes. But he isn't the sort of man to worship. Precious few of 'em are."
Whereat Isabel laughed, a soft, sad laugh. "That is why worldly position
matters so little," she said. "If by chance the right man really comes,
nothing else counts. He is just everything."
"Maybe you're right," said Mrs. Bathurst, with gloomy acquiescence.
"Anyhow, it isn't for me to say you're wrong."
And this was why when Dinah brought in the tea, she found a wholly new
element in the atmosphere, and missed the customary sharp rebuke from her
mother's lips when she had to go back for the sugar-tongs.
She had been disappointed that her friend Scott had not been of the
party. Isabel's explanation that he had gone home at Eustace's wish to
attend to some business had not removed an odd little hurt sense of
having been defrauded. She had counted upon seeing Scott that day. It was
almost as if he had failed her when she needed him, though why she seemed
to need him she could not have said, nor could he possibly have known
that she would do so.
Sir Eustace was in her father's den. She was sure that they were getting
on very well together from the occasional bursts of laughter with which
their conversation was interspersed. They were not apparently sticking
exclusively to business. And now that Isabel had won her mother, deeply
though she rejoiced over the conquest, she felt a little--a very
little--forlorn. They were all talking about her, but if Scott had been
there he would have talked to her and made her feel at ease. She could
not understand his going, even at his brother's behest. It seemed
incredible that he should not want to see her home.
She sat meekly in the background, thinking of him, while she drank her
tea; and then, just as she finished, there came the sound of voices at
the door, and her father and Sir Eustace came in. They were laughing
still. Evidently the result of the interview was satisfactory to both.
Sir Eustace greeted his hostess with lofty courtesy, and passed on
straight to her side.
She turned and tingled at his approach; he was looking more princely than
ever. Instinctively she rose.
"What do you want to get up for?" demanded her mother sharply.
Sir Eustace reached his little trembling _fiancée_, and took the eager
hand she stretched to him. His blue eyes flashed their fierce flame over
her upturned, quivering face. "Take me into the kitchen--anywhere!" he
murmured. "I want you to myself."
She nodded. "Don't you want any tea? All right. Dad doesn't either. I'll
clear away."
"No, you don't!" her mother said. "You sit down and behave yourself!
You'll clear when I tell you to; not before."
Sir Eustace wheeled round to her, the flame of his look turning to ice.
"With your permission, madam," he said with extreme formality, "Dinah and
I are going to retire to talk things over."
He had his way. It was obvious that he meant to have it. He motioned to
Dinah with an imperious gesture to precede him, and she obeyed, not
daring to glance in her mother's direction.
Mrs. Bathurst said no more. Something in Sir Eustace's bearing seemed to
quell her. She watched him go with eyes that shone with a hot resentment
under drawn brows. It took Isabel's utmost effort to charm her back to a
mood less hostile.
As for Dinah, she led her _fiancé_ back to her father's den in
considerable trepidation. To be compelled to resist her mother's will was
a state of affairs that filled her with foreboding.
But the moment she was alone with him she forgot all but the one
tremendous fact of his presence, for with the closing of the door he had
her in his arms.
She clung to him desperately close, feeling as one struggling in deep
waters, caught in a great current that would bear her swiftly,
irresistibly,--whither?
He laughed at her trembling with careless amusement. "What, still scared,
my brown elf? Where is your old daring? Aren't you allowed to have any
spirit at all in this house?"
She answered him incoherently, straining to keep her face hidden out of
reach of his upturning hand. "No,--no, it's not that. You don't
understand. It's all so new--so strange. Eustace, please--please, don't
kiss me yet!"
He laughed again, but he did not press her for the moment. "Your father
and I have had no end of a talk," he said. "Do you know what has come of
it? Would you like to know?"
"Yes," she murmured shyly.
He was caressing the soft dark ringlets that clustered about her neck.
"About getting married, little sweetheart," he said. "You want to get it
over quickly and so do I. There's no reason why we shouldn't in fact. How
about the beginning of next month? How about April?"
"Oh, Eustace!" She clung to him closer still; she had no words. But still
that sense of being caught, of being borne against her will, possessed
her, filling her with dread rather than ecstasy. Whither was she going?
Ah, whither?
He went on with his easy self-assurance, speaking as if he held the whole
world at his disposal. "We will go South for the honeymoon. I've crowds
of things to show you--Rome, Naples, Venice. After that we'll come back
and go for that summer trip in the yacht I promised you."
"And Isabel too--and Scott?" asked Dinah, in muffled accents.
He laughed over her head, as at the naïve prattling of a child. "What! On
our honeymoon? Oh, hardly, I think. I'll see to it that you're not bored.
And look here, my elf! I won't have you shy with me any more. Is that
understood? I'm not an ogre."
"I think you are--rather," murmured Dinah.
He bent over her, his lips upon her neck. "You--midget! And you
think I'm going to devour you? Well, perhaps I shall some day if you
go on running away. There's a terrible threat! Now hold up your head,
Daphne--Daphne--and let me have that kiss!"
She hesitated a while longer, and then feeling his patience ebbing she
lifted her face impulsively to his. "You will be good to me? Promise!
Promise!" she pleaded tremulously.
He was laughing still, but his eyes were aflame. "That depends," he
declared. "I can't answer for myself when you run away. Come! When are
you going to kiss me first? Isn't it time you began?"
She slipped her arms about his neck. Her face was burning. "I will now,"
she said.
Yet the moment her lips touched his, the old wild fear came upon her. She
made a backward movement of shrinking.
He caught her to him. "Daphne!" he said, and kissed her quivering throat.
She did not resist him, but her arms fell apart, and the red blush
swiftly died. When he released her, she fell back a step with eyes fast
closed, and in a moment her hands went up as though to shield face and
neck from the scorching of a furnace.
He watched her, a slight frown drawing his brows. The flame still
glittered in his eyes, but his mouth was hard. "Look here, child! Don't
be silly!" he said. "If you treat me like a monster, I shall behave like
one. I'm made that way."
His voice was curt; it held displeasure. Dinah uncovered her face and
looked at him.
"Oh, you're angry!" she said, in tragic accents.
He laughed at that. "About as angry as I could get with a piece of
thistledown. But you know, you're not very wise, my Daphne. You've got it
in you to madden me, but it's a risky thing to do. Now see here! I've
brought you something to make those moss-agate eyes of yours shine. Can
you guess what it is?"
His hand was held out to her. She laid her own within it with conscious
reluctance. He drew her into the circle of his arm, pressing her to him.
She leaned her head against him with a bewildered sense of self-reproach.
"I'm sorry I'm silly, Eustace," she murmured "I expect I'm made that way
too. Don't--don't take any notice!"
He touched her forehead lightly with his lips. "You'll get over it,
sweetheart," he said. "It won't matter so much after we're married. I can
do as I like with you then."
"Oh, I shan't like that," said Dinah quickly.
His arm pressed her closer. "Yes, you will. I'll give you no end of a
good time. Now, sweetheart, give me that little hand of yours again! No,
the left! There! I wonder if it's small enough. Rather a loose fit, eh?
How do you like it?"
He was fitting a ring on to the third finger. Dinah looked and was
dazzled. "Oh, Eustace,--diamonds!" she said, in an awed whisper.
"The best I could find," he told her, with princely arrogance. "I hunted
through Bond Street for it this morning. Will it do?"
"You went up on purpose? Oh, Eustace!" she laid her cheek with a winning
movement against his hand. "You are too good! You are much too good!"
He laughed carelessly. "I'm glad you're satisfied. It's a bond, remember.
You must wear it always--till I give you a wedding-ring instead."
She lifted her face and looked at him with shining eyes. "I shall love to
wear it," she said. "But I expect I shall have to keep it for best.
Mother wouldn't let me wear it always."
"Never mind what your mother says!" he returned. "It's what I say that
matters now. We're going to have you to stay at Willowmount in a few
days. Isabel is arranging it with your mother now."
"Your home! Oh, how lovely!" Genuine delight was in Dinah's voice. "Scott
is there, isn't he?"
He frowned again. "Bother Scott! You're coming to see me--no one else."
She flushed. "Oh yes, I know. And I shall love it--I shall love it!
But--do you think I shall be allowed to come?"
"You must come," he said imperiously.
But Dinah looked dubious. "I expect I shall be wanted at home now. And I
don't believe we shall get married in April either. I've been away so
long."
He laughed, flicking her cheek. "Haven't I always told you that where
there's a will there's a way? If necessary, I can run away with you."
She shook her head. "Oh no! I'd rather not. And if--if we're really going
to be married in April, I ought to stay at home to get ready."
"Nonsense!" he said carelessly. "You can do that from Willowmount. Isabel
will help you. It's less than an hour's run to town."
Dinah opened her eyes wide. "But I shan't shop in town. I shall have to
make all my things. I always do."
He laughed again easily, indulgently. "That simplifies matters. You can
do that anywhere. What are you going to be married in? White cotton?"
She laughed with him. "I would love to have a real grand wedding," she
said, "the sort of wedding Rose de Vigne will have, with bridesmaids and
flowers and crowds and crowds of people. Of course I know it can't be
done." She gave a little sigh. "But I would love it. I would love it."
He was laughing still. "Why can't it be done? Who's going to prevent it?"
Dinah had become serious. "Dad hasn't money enough for one thing. And
then there's Mother. She wouldn't do it."
"Ho! Wouldn't she? I've a notion she'd enjoy it even more than you would.
If you want a smart wedding you'd better have it in town. Then the de
Vignes and everyone else can come."
"Oh no! I want it to be here." Dinah's eyes began to shine. "Dad knows
lots of people round about--County people too. Those are the sort of
people I'd like to come. Even Mother might like that," she added
reflectively.
"You prefer a big splash in your own little pond to a small one in a
good-sized lake, is that it?" questioned Eustace. "Well, have it your own
way, my child! But I shouldn't make many clothes if I were you. We will
shop in Paris after we are married, and then you can get whatever you
fancy."
Dinah's eyes fairly danced at the thought. "I shall love that. I'll tell
Daddy, shall I, to keep all his money for the wedding, and then we can
buy the clothes afterwards; that is, if you can afford it," she added
quickly. "I ought not to let you really."
"You can't prevent me doing anything," he returned, his hand pressing her
shoulder. "No one can."
She leaned her head momentarily against his arm. "You--you wouldn't want
to do anything that anyone didn't like," she murmured shyly.
"Shouldn't I?" he said and for a moment his mouth was grim. "I am not
accustomed to being regarded as an amiable nonentity, I assure you. It's
settled then, is it? The first week in April? And you are to come to us
for at least a fortnight beforehand."
Dinah nodded, her head bent. "All right,--if Mother doesn't mind."
"What would happen if she did?" he asked curiously.
"It just wouldn't be done," she made answer.
"Wouldn't it? Not if you insisted?"
"I couldn't insist," she said, her voice very low.
"Why couldn't you? I should have thought you had a will of your own.
Don't you ever assert yourself?"
"Against her? No, never!" Dinah gave a little shudder. "Don't let's talk
of it!" she said. "Isn't it time to go back? I believe I ought to be
clearing away."
He detained her for a moment. "You're not going to work like a nigger
when you are married to me," he said.
She smiled up at him, a merry, dimpling smile. "Oh no, I shall just enjoy
myself then--like Rose de Vigne. I shall be much too grand to work.
There! I really must go back. Thank you again ever so much--ever so
much--for the lovely ring. I hope you'll never find out how unworthy I am
of it."
She drew his head down with quivering courage and bestowed a butterfly
kiss upon his cheek. And then in a second she was gone from his hold,
gone like a woodland elf with a tinkle of laughter and the skipping of
fairy feet.
Sir Eustace followed her flight with his eyes only, but in those eyes was
the leaping fire of a passion that burned around her in an ever-narrowing
circle. She knew that it was there, but she would not look back to see
it. For deep in her heart she feared that flame as she feared nothing
else on earth.
CHAPTER III
DESPAIR
"If I had known that this was going to happen, I would never have
troubled to cultivate their acquaintance," said Lady Grace fretfully. "I
knew of course that that artful little minx was running after the man,
but that he could ever be foolish enough to let himself be caught in such
an obvious trap was a possibility that I never seriously contemplated."
"It doesn't matter to me," said Rose.
She had said it many times before with the same rather forced smile. It
was not a subject that she greatly cared to discuss. The news of Dinah's
conquest had come like a thunderbolt. In common with her mother, she had
never seriously thought that Sir Eustace could be so foolish. But since
the utterly unexpected had come to pass, it seemed to her futile to talk
about it. Dinah had secured the finest prize within reach for the moment,
and there was no disputing the fact.
"The wedding is to take place so soon too," lamented Lady Grace. "That, I
have no doubt, is the doing of that scheming mother of hers. What shall
we do about going to it, Rose? Do you want to go, dear?"
"Not in the least, but I am going all the same." Rose was still smiling,
and her eyes were fixed. "I think, you know, Mother," she said, "that we
might do worse than ask Sir Eustace and his party to stay here for the
event."
"My dear Rose!" Lady Grace gazed at her in amazement.
Rose continued to stare into space. "It would be much more convenient for
them," she said. "And really we have no reason for allowing people to
imagine that we are other than pleased over the arrangement. We shall not
be going to town before Easter, so it seems to me that it would be only
neighbourly to invite Sir Eustace to stay at the Court for the wedding.
Great Mallowes is not a particularly nice place to put up in, and this
would be far handier for him."
Lady Grace slowly veiled her astonishment. "Of course, dear; if you think
so, it might be managed. We will talk to your father about it, and if he
approves I will write to Sir Eustace--or get him to do so. I do not
myself consider that Sir Eustace has behaved at all nicely. He was most
cavalier about the Hunt Ball. But if you wish to overlook it--well, I
shall not put any difficulty in the way."
"I think it would be a good thing to do," said Rose somewhat
enigmatically.
The letter that reached Sir Eustace two days later was penned by the
Colonel's hand, and contained a brief but cordial invitation to him and
his following to stay at Perrythorpe Court for the wedding.
He read it with a careless smile and tossed it over to Scott. "Here is
magnanimity," he commented. "Shall we accept the coals of fire?"
Scott read with all gravity and laid it down. "If you want my opinion, I
should say 'No,'" he said.
"Why would you say No?" There was a lazy challenge in the question, a
provocative gleam in Sir Eustace's blue eyes.
Scott smiled a little. "For one thing I shouldn't enjoy the coals of
fire. For another, I shouldn't care to be at too close quarters with the
beautiful Miss de Vigne again, if I had your very highly susceptible
temperament. And for a third, I believe Isabel would prefer to stay at
Great Mallowes."
"You're mighty clever, my son, aren't you?" said Eustace with a
supercilious twist of the lips. "But--as it chances--not one of those
excellent reasons appeals to me."
"Very well then," said Scott, with the utmost patience. "It is up to you
to accept."
"Why should Isabel prefer Great Mallowes?" demanded Sir Eustace. "She
knows the de Vignes. It is far better for her to see people, and there is
more comfort in a private house than in a hotel."
"Quite so," said Scott. "I am sure she will fall in with your wishes in
this respect, whatever they are. Will you write to Colonel de Vigne, or
shall I?"
"You can--and accept," returned Sir Eustace imperially.
Scott took a sheet of paper without further words.
His brother leaned back in his chair, his black brows slightly drawn, and
contemplated him as he did it.
"By the way, Scott," he said, after a moment, "Dinah's staying here need
not make any difference to you in any way. She can't expect to have you
at her beck and call as she had in Switzerland. You must make that clear
to her."
"Very well, old chap." Scott spoke without raising his head. "You're
going to meet her at the station, I suppose?"
"Almost immediately, yes." Eustace got up with a movement of suppressed
impatience. "We shall have tea in Isabel's room. You needn't turn up.
I'll tell them to send yours in here."
"Oh, don't trouble! I'm going to turn up," very calmly Scott made
rejoinder. He had already begun to write; his hand moved steadily across
the sheet.
Sir Eustace's frown deepened. "You won't catch the post with those
letters if you do."
Scott looked up at last, and his eyes were as steady as his hand had
been. "That's my business, old chap," he said quietly. "Don't you worry
yourself about that!"
There was a hint of ferocity about Sir Eustace as he met that steadfast
look. He stood motionless for a moment or two, then flung round on his
heel. Scott returned to his work with the composure characteristic of
him, and almost immediately the banging of the door told of his brother's
departure.
Then for a second his hand paused; he passed the other across his eyes
with the old gesture of weariness, and a short, hard sigh came from him
ere he bent again to his task.
Sir Eustace strode across the hall with the frown still drawing his
brows. An open car was waiting at the door, but ere he went to it he
turned aside and knocked peremptorily at another door.
He opened without waiting for a reply and entered a long, low-ceiled room
through which the rays of the afternoon sun were pouring. Isabel, lying
on a couch between fire and window, turned her head towards him.
"Haven't you started yet? Surely it is getting very late," she said in
her low, rather monotonous voice.
He came to her. "I prefer starting a bit late," he said. "You will have
tea ready when we return?"
"Certainly," she said.
He stood looking down at her intently. "Are you all right today?" he
asked abruptly.
A faint colour rose in her cheeks. "I am--as usual," she said.
"What does that mean?" Curtly he put the question. "Why don't you go out
more? Why don't you get old Lister to make you up a tonic?"
She smiled a little, but there was slight uneasiness behind her smile.
Her eyes had the remote look of one who watches the far horizon. "My dear
Eustace," she said, "_cui bono_?"
He stooped suddenly over her. "It is because you won't make the effort,"
he said, speaking with grim emphasis. "You're letting yourself go again,
I know; I've been watching you for the past week. And by heaven, Isabel,
you shan't do it! Scott may be fool enough to let you, but I'm not.
You've only been home a week, and you've been steadily losing ground ever
since you got back. What is it? What's the matter with you? Tell me what
is the matter!"
So insistent was his tone, so almost menacing his attitude, that Isabel
shrank from him with a gesture too swift to repress. The old pathetic
furtive look was in her eyes as she made reply.
"I am very sorry. I don't see how I can help it. I--I am getting old, you
know. That is the chief reason."
"You're talking nonsense, my dear girl." Impatiently Eustace broke in.
"You are just coming into your prime. I won't have you ruin your life
like this. Do you hear me? I won't. If you don't rouse yourself I will
find a means to rouse you. You are simply drifting now--simply drifting."
"But into my desired haven," whispered Isabel, with a piteous quiver of
the lips.
He straightened himself with a gesture of exasperation. "You are wasting
yourself over a myth, an illusion. On my soul, Isabel, what a wicked
waste it is! Have you forgotten the days when you and I roamed over the
world together? Have you forgotten Egypt and all we did there? Life was
worth having then."
"Ah! I thought so." She met his look with eyes that did not seem to see
him. "We were children then, Eustace," she said, "children playing on the
sands. But the great tide caught us. You breasted the waves, but I was
broken and thrown aside. I could never play on the sands again. I can
only lie and wait for the tide to come again and float me away."
He clenched his hands. "Do you think I would let you go--like that?" he
said.
"It is the only kindness you can do me," she answered in her low voice of
pleading.
He swung round to go. "I curse the day," he said very bitterly, "that you
ever met Basil Everard! I curse his memory!"
She flinched at the words as if they had been a blow. Her face turned
suddenly grey. She clasped her hands very tightly together, saying no
word.
He went to the door and paused, his back towards her. "I came in," he
said then, "to tell you that the de Vignes have offered to put us up at
their place for the wedding. And I have accepted."
He waited for some rejoinder but she made none. It was as if she had not
heard. Her eyes had the impotent, stricken look of one who has searched
dim distances for some beloved object--and searched in vain.
He did not glance round. His temper was on edge. With a fierce movement
he pulled open the door and departed. And behind him like a veil there
fell the silence of a great despair.
CHAPTER IV
THE NEW HOME
A small figure was already standing outside the station when the car Sir
Eustace drove whirled round the corner of the station yard. He was
greeted by the waving of a vigorous hand, as he dashed up, grinding on
the brakes in the last moment as was his impetuous custom. Everyone knew
him from afar by his driving, and the village children were wont to
scatter like rabbits at his approach.
Dinah however stood her ground with a confidence which his wild
performance hardly justified, and the moment he alighted sprang to meet
him with the eagerness of a child escaped from school.
"Oh, Eustace, it is fun coming here! I was so horribly afraid something
would stop me just at the last. But everything has turned out all right,
and we are going to have ever such a fine wedding with crowds and crowds
of people. Did you know Isabel wrote and said she would give me my
wedding dress? Isn't it dear of her? How is she now?"
"Where is your luggage?" said Eustace.
She pointed to a diminutive dress-basket behind her. "That's all there
is. I'm not to stay more than a week as the time is getting so short I
don't feel as if I shall ever be ready as it is. I've never been so
rushed before. I sometimes wonder if it wouldn't be almost better to put
it off a few weeks."
"Jump up!" commanded Eustace, with a curt sign to a porter to pick up his
_fiancée's_ humble impediments.
Dinah sprang up beside him and slipped a shy hand onto his knee. "You
look more like Apollo than ever," she whispered, awe-struck, "when you
frown like that. Is anything the matter?"
His brow cleared magically at her action. "I began to think I should have
to come down to Perrythorpe and fetch you," he said, grasping the little
nervous fingers. "I thought you meant to give me the slip--if you could."
"Oh no!" said Dinah, shocked at the suggestion. "I wanted to come;
only--only--I couldn't be spared sooner. It wasn't my fault," she urged
pleadingly. "Truly it wasn't!"
He smiled upon her. "All right,--Daphne. I'll forgive you this time," he
said. "But now I've got you, my nymph of the woods, I am not going to
part with you again in a hurry. And if you talk of putting off the
wedding again, I'll simply run away with you. So now you know what to
expect."
Dinah uttered her giddy little laugh. The excitement of this visit--the
first she had ever paid to anyone--had turned her head. "Do you know
Rose is actually going to be my chief bridesmaid?" she said. "Isn't
that--magnanimous of her? She is pretending to be pleased, but I know she
is frightfully jealous underneath. The other bridesmaid is the Vicar's
daughter. She is quite old, nearly thirty but I couldn't think of anyone
else, except the infant schoolmistress, and they wouldn't let me have
her. I shall feel rather small, shan't I? Even Rose is twenty-five. I
wonder if I shall feel grown up when I'm married. Do you think I shall?"
"Not till you cease to be--Daphne," said Sir Eustace enigmatically.
He started the car with the words, and they shot forward with a
suddenness that made Dinah hold her breath.
But in a few moments she was chattering again, for she was never quiet
for long. How was Scott? Was he at home? And Isabel--he hadn't told her.
She did hope dear Isabel was keeping better. Was she? Was she?
She pressed the question as he did not seem inclined to answer it, and
saw again the frown that had darkened his handsome face upon arrival.
"Do tell me!" she begged. "Isn't she so well?"
And at last with the curtness of speech which always denoted displeasure
with him, he made reply.
"No, she has gone back a good deal since she got home. She lies on a sofa
and broods all day long. I am looking to you to wake her up. For heaven's
sake be as lively as you can!"
"Oh, poor Isabel!" Quick concern was in Dinah's voice. "What is it, do
you think? Doesn't the place suit her?"
"Heaven knows," he answered gloomily, "I have a house down at
Heath-on-Sea where we keep the yacht, but I doubt if it would do her
much good to go there this time of the year. She and Scott might try
it later--after the wedding."
"Couldn't we all go there?" suggested Dinah ingenuously.
He gave her a keen glance. "For the honeymoon? No I don't think so," he
said.
"Only for the first part of it," said Dinah coaxingly; "till Isabel felt
better."
He uttered a brief laugh. "No, thanks, Daphne. We're going to be
alone--quite alone, for the first part of our honeymoon. I am going to
take you in this car to the most out-of-the-way corner in England,
where--even, if you run away--there'll be nowhere to run to. And there
you'll stay till--" he paused a moment--"you realize that you are all
mine for ever and ever, till in fact, you've shed all your baby nonsense
and become a wise little married woman."
Dinah gave a sudden sharp shiver, and pulled her coat closer about her.
He glanced at her again. "You'll like it better than being a
maid-of-all-work," he said, with his swift, transforming smile.
She smiled back at him with ready responsiveness. "Oh, I shall! I'm sure
I shall. I've always wanted to be married--always. Only--it'll seem a
little funny, just at first. You won't get impatient with me, will you,
if--if sometimes I forget how to behave?"
He laughed and abruptly slackened speed. They were running down a narrow
lane bordered with bare trees through which the spring sunshine filtered
down. On a brown upland to one side of them a plough was being driven.
On the other the ground sloped away to deep meadows where wound a
willow-banked river.
The car stopped. "How pretty it is!" said Dinah.
And then very suddenly she found that it was not for the sake of the view
that he had brought her to a standstill in that secluded place. For he
caught her to him with the hot ardour she had learned to dread and kissed
with passion the burning face she sought to hide.
She struggled for a few seconds like a captured bird, but in the end she
yielded palpitating, as she had yielded so often before, mutely bearing
that which her whole soul clamoured inarticulately to escape. When he let
her go, her cheeks were on fire. He was laughing, but she was on the
verge of tears.
He started on again without words, and in a very brief space they were
racing forward at terrific speed, seeming scarcely to touch the ground so
rapid was their progress.
Dinah sat with her two hands clutched upon her hat, thankful for the cold
rush of air that gave her relief after the fiery intensity of those
unsparing kisses. Her heart was beating in great thumps. Somehow the
fierceness of him always exceeded either memory or expectation. He was so
terribly strong, so disconcertingly absolute in his demands upon her. And
every time he seemed to take more.
She hardly noticed anything further of the country through which they
passed. Her agitation possessed her overwhelmingly. She felt exhausted,
unnerved, very curiously ashamed. It was good to have so princely a
lover, but his tempestuous wooing was altogether too much for her. She
wondered how Rose, the sedate and composed beauty, would have met those
wild gusts of passion. They would not have disconcerted her; nothing ever
did. She would probably have endured all with a smile. No form of
adoration could come amiss with her. She did not fancy that Rose's heart
was capable of beating at more than the usual speed. Her very blushes
savoured of a delicate complacency that enhanced her beauty without
disturbing her serenity. A great wave of envy went through Dinah. "Ah,
why had she not been blessed with such a temperament as that?"
His voice broke in upon her disjointed meditations. "Well, Daphne?
Feeling better?"
She glanced at him with the confused consciousness that she dared not
meet his eyes. She was glad that he was laughing, but the turbulent
feeling of uncertainty that his nearness always brought to her was with
her still. She was as one who had passed by a raging fire, and the
scorching heat of the flame yet remained with her. Breathlessly she
spoke. "I can't think--or do anything--in this wind. Are we nearly
there?"
"We are there," he made answer.
And she discovered that which in her distress of mind she had failed to
notice. They were running smoothly along a private avenue of fir-trees
towards an old stone mansion that stood on a slope overlooking the long
river valley.
She drew a hard breath. "But this is better--ever so much--than the
Court!" she said.
"Your future home, my queen!" said Sir Eustace royally.
She breathed again deeply, wonderingly. "Is it real?" she said.
He laughed. "I almost think so. You see that other house right away in
the distance, across that further slope? That is the Dower House where
Isabel and Scott are to live when we are married."
"Oh!" There was a quick note of disappointment in Dinah's voice. "I
thought they would live with us."
"I don't know why," said Sir Eustace with a touch of sharpness, and then
softening almost immediately, "It's practically the same thing, my sprite
of the woods. But I wish you to be mistress in your own home--when we do
settle down, which won't be at present. For we're not coming back from
our honeymoon till you have learnt that I am the only person in the world
that matters."
Again a slight shiver caught Dinah, but she repressed it instantly. "I
expect it won't take me very long to learn that, Apollo," she said, with
her shy, fleeting smile.
And then they glided up to the wide steps of his home and the door opened
to receive them, showing Scott--Scott her friend--standing in the
opening, awaiting her.
CHAPTER V
THE WATCHER
She sprang to meet him with a cry of delight, both hands extended.
"Oh, it is good to see you again! It is good! It is good!" she panted.
"Why didn't you come to Perrythorpe? I did want you there!"
He grasped her hands very tightly. His pale eyes smiled their welcome,
but--it came to her afterwards--he scarcely said a word in greeting. In a
second or two he set her free.
"Come and see Isabel!" he said.
She went with him eagerly, forgetful of Sir Eustace striding in her wake.
As Scott opened the door of Isabel's room, she pressed forward, and the
next moment she was kneeling by Isabel's side, gathered close, close to
her breast in a silence that was deeper than any speech.
Dinah's arms clung fast about the elder woman's neck. She was conscious
of a curious impulse to tears, but she conquered it, forcing herself
somewhat brokenly to laugh.
"Isn't it lovely to be together again?" she whispered. "You can't think
what it means to me. I lay in bed last night and counted the hours and
then the minutes. I was so dreadfully afraid something might happen to
prevent my coming. And, oh, Isabel, I had no idea your home was so
beautiful."
Isabel's hold slackened. "Sit on the sofa beside me, my darling!" she
said. "I am so glad you like Willowmount. Was Eustace in time for your
train?"
Dinah laughed again with more assurance. "Oh no! I got there first. He
came swooping down as if he had dropped from the clouds. We had a very
quick run back, and I'm blown all to pieces." She put up impetuous hands
to thrust back the disordered clusters of dark hair.
"Take off your hat!" said Scott.
She obeyed, with shining eyes upon him. "Now, why didn't you come over
to Perrythorpe? You haven't told me yet."
"I was busy," he answered. "I had to get home."
His eyes were shining also. She did not need to be told that he was
glad to see her. He rang for tea and sat down somewhere near in his
usual unobtrusive fashion. Eustace occupied the place of honour in an
easy-chair drawn close to the end of the sofa on which Dinah sat. He
was watching her, she knew but she could not meet his look as she met
Scott's. His very nearness made her feel again the scorching of the
flame.
She slipped her hand into Isabel's as though seeking refuge and as she
did so she heard Eustace address his brother, his tone brief and
peremptory,--the voice of the employer.
"You have finished that correspondence?"
"I shall finish it in time for the post," Scott made answer.
Eustace made a sound expressive of dissatisfaction. "You'll miss it sure
as a gun!"
Scott said nothing further, but his silence was not without a certain
mastery that sent an odd little thrill of triumph through Dinah.
Eustace frowned heavily and turned from him.
The entrance of Biddy with the tea made a diversion, for her greeting of
Dinah was full of warmth.
"But sure, ye're not looking like I'd like to see ye, Miss Dinah," was
her verdict. "It's meself that'll have to feed ye up."
"But I'm always thin!" protested Dinah. "It's just the way I'm made."
Biddy pursed her lips and shook her head. "It's not the sign of a
contented mind," she commented.
"I never was contented before I went to Switzerland," said Dinah; she
turned to Isabel. "Wasn't it all lovely? It's just like a dream to me
now--all glitter and romance. I'd give anything to have it over again."
"I'll show you better things than winter in the Alps," said Eustace in
his free, imperial fashion.
Her bright eyes glanced up to his for a moment. "Do you know I don't
believe you could," she said.
He laughed. "You won't say that six months hence. The Alps will be no
more than an episode to you then."
"Rather an important episode," remarked Scott.
Her look came to him, settled upon him like a shy bird at rest. "Very,
very important," she said softly. "Do you remember that first day--that
first night--how you helped me dress for the ball? Eustace would never
have thought of dancing with me if it hadn't been for you."
"I seem to have a good deal to answer for," said Scott, with his rather
tired smile.
"I owe you--everything," said Dinah.
"Stumpy has many debtors," said Isabel.
Eustace uttered a brief laugh. "Stumpy scores without running," he
observed. "He always has. Saves trouble, eh, Stumpy?"
"Quite so," said Scott with precision. "It's easy to be kind when it
costs you nothing."
"And it pays," said Eustace.
Dinah's green eyes went back to him with something of a flash. "Scott
would never have thought of that," she said.
"I am sure he wouldn't," said Eustace dryly.
Her look darted about him like an angry bird seeking some vulnerable
point whereat to strike. But before she could speak, Scott leaned forward
and intervened.
"My thoughts are my own private property, if no one objects," he said
whimsically. "Judge me--if you must--by my actions! But I should prefer
not to be judged at all. Have you told Dinah about the invitation to the
de Vignes's, Eustace?"
"No! They haven't asked you for the wedding surely!" Dinah's thoughts
were instantly diverted. "Have they really? I never thought they would.
Oh, that will be fun! I expect Rose is trying to pretend she isn't--" She
broke off, colouring vividly. "What a pig I am!" she said apologetically
to Scott. "Please forget I said that!"
"But you didn't say it," said Scott.
"A near thing!" commented Eustace. "I had no idea Miss de Vigne was so
smitten. Stumpy, you'll be best man. You'll have to console her."
"I believe the best man has to console everybody," said Scott.
"You are peculiarly well fitted for the task," said his brother, setting
down his cup and pulling out a cigarette-case. "Be quick and quench your
thirst, Dinah. I want to trot you round the place before dark."
Dinah looked at Isabel. "You'll come too?"
Isabel shook her head. "No, dear, I can't walk much. Besides, Eustace
will want you to himself."
But a queer little spirit of perversity had entered into Dinah. She shook
her head also. "We will go round in the morning," she said, with a
resolute look at her _fiancé_. "I am going to stay with Isabel to-night.
You have had quite as much of me as is good for you; now haven't you?"
There was an instant of silence that felt ominous before somewhat curtly
Sir Eustace yielded the point. "I won't grudge you to Isabel if she wants
you. You can both of you come up to the picture-gallery when you have
done. There's a fine view of the river from there."
He got up with the words and Scott rose also. They went away together,
and Dinah at once nestled to Isabel's side.
"Now we can be cosy!" she said.
Isabel put an arm about her. "You mustn't make me monopolize you,
sweetheart," she said. "I think Eustace was a little disappointed."
"I'll be ever so nice to him presently to make up," said Dinah. "But I do
want you now, Isabel!"
"What is it, dearest?"
Dinah's cheek rubbed softly against her shoulder. "Isabel--darling, I
never thought that you and Scott were going to leave this place because
Eustace was marrying me."
Isabel's arm pressed her closer. "We are not going far away, darling. It
will be better for you to be alone."
"I don't think so," said Dinah. "We shall be alone quite long enough on
our honeymoon." She trembled a little in Isabel's hold. "I do wish you
were coming too," she whispered.
"My dear, Eustace will take care of you," Isabel said.
"Oh yes, I know. But he's so big. He wants such a lot," murmured Dinah in
distress. "I don't know quite how to manage him. He's never satisfied.
If--if only you were coming with us, he'd have something else to think
about."
"Oh no, he wouldn't, dear. When you are present, he thinks of no one
else. You see," Isabel spoke with something of an effort, "he's in love
with you."
"Yes--yes, of course. I'm very silly." Dinah dabbed her eyes and began to
smile. "But he makes me feel all the while as if--as if he wants to eat
me. I know it's all my silliness; but I wish you weren't going to the
Dower House all the same. Shall you be quite comfortable there?"
"It is being done up, dear. You must come round with us and see it. We
shall move in directly the wedding is over, and then this place is to be
done up too, made ready for you. I believe you are to choose wall-papers
and hangings while you are here. You will enjoy that."
"If you will help me," said Dinah.
"Of course I will help you, dear child. I will always help you with
anything so long as it is in my power."
Very tenderly Isabel reassured her till presently the scared feeling
subsided.
They went up later to the picture-gallery and joined Eustace whom they
found smoking there. His mood also had changed by that time, and he
introduced his ancestors to Dinah with complete good humour.
Isabel remained with them, but she talked very little in her brother's
presence; and when after a time Dinah turned to her she was startled by
the deadly weariness of her face.
"Oh, I am tiring you!" she exclaimed, with swift compunction.
But Isabel assured her with a smile that this was not so. She was a
little tired, but that was nothing new.
"But you generally rest before dinner!" said Dinah, full of
self-reproach, "Eustace, ought she not to rest?"
Eustace glanced at his sister half-reluctantly, and a shade of concern
crossed his face also. "Are you feeling faint?" he asked her. "Do you
want anything?"
"No, no! Of course not!" She averted her face sharply from his look. "Go
on talking to Dinah! I am all right."
She moved to a deep window-embrasure, and sat down on the cushioned seat.
The spring dusk was falling. She gazed forth into it with that look of
perpetual searching that Dinah had grown to know in the earliest days of
their acquaintance. She was watching, she was waiting,--for what? She
longed to draw near and comfort her, but the presence of Eustace made
that impossible. She did not know how to dismiss him.
And then to her relief the door opened, and Scott came quietly in upon
them. He seemed to take in the situation at a glance, for after a few
words with them he passed on to Isabel, sitting aloof and silent in the
twilight.
She greeted him with a smile, and Dinah's anxiety lifted somewhat. She
turned to Eustace.
"Show me your den now!" she said. "I can see the rest of the house
to-morrow."
And with a feeling that she was doing Isabel a service she went away with
him, alone.
CHAPTER VI
THE WRONG ROAD
When Dinah descended to breakfast the next morning, she encountered Scott
in the hall. He had evidently just come in from an early ride, and he was
looking younger and more animated than his wont.
"Ah, there you are!" he said, coming to meet her. "I've got some shocking
news for you this morning. Eustace has had to go to town to see his
solicitor. An urgent telephone message came through this morning. He has
just gone up by the early train in the hope of getting back in good time.
He charged me with all sorts of messages for you, and I have promised to
take care of you in his absence, if you will allow me."
"Oh, that will be great fun!" exclaimed Dinah ingenuously, "I hope you
are not very busy. I'd like you to show me everything."
He laughed. "No, I can't do that. We must keep that for Eustace. But I
will take you to the Dower House, and show you that."
"I shall love that," said Dinah.
He took her into a room that overlooked terrace and river-valley and the
sunny southern slope that lay between.
Breakfast was laid for two, and a cheery fire was burning. "How cosy it
looks!" said Dinah.
"It does, doesn't it?" said Scott. "We always breakfast here in the
winter for that reason. Not that it is winter to-day. It is glorious
spring. You seem to have brought it with you. Take the coffee-pot end,
won't you? What will you have to eat?"
He spoke with a lightness that Dinah found peculiarly exhilarating. He
was evidently determined that she should not be dull. Her spirits rose.
She suddenly felt like a child who has been granted an unexpected
holiday.
She smiled up at him as he brought her a plate. "Isn't it a perfect
morning? I'm so glad to be here. Don't let us waste a single minute; will
we?"
"Not one," said Scott.
He went to his own place. He was plainly in a holiday mood also. She saw
it in his whole bearing, and her heart rejoiced. It was so good to see
him looking happy.
"Have you seen Isabel this morning?" he asked her presently.
"No. I went to her door, but Biddy said she was asleep, so I didn't go
in."
"She often doesn't sleep much before morning," Scott said. "I expect she
will be down to luncheon if you can put up with me only till then."
He evidently did not want to discuss Isabel's health just then, and Dinah
was quite willing also to let the subject pass for the time. It was a
morning for happy thoughts only. She and Scott would pretend that they
had not a care in the world.
They breakfasted together as if it were a picnic. She had never seen him
so cheery and inconsequent. It was as if he also were engaged in some
species of make-believe. Or was it the enchantment of spring that had
fallen upon them both? Dinah could not have said. She only knew that
she had never felt so happy in all her life before.
The walk to the Dower House was full of delight. It was all so exquisite,
the long, grassy slopes, the dark woods, the bare trees stark against the
blue. The path led through a birch copse, and here in sheltered corners
were primroses. She gathered them eagerly, and Scott helped her, even
forgetting to smoke.
She did not remember later what they talked about, or even if they talked
at all. But the amazing gladness of her heart on that spring morning was
to be a vivid memory to her for as long as she lived.
They reached the Dower House. Like Willowmount, it overlooked the river,
but from a different angle. Dinah was charmed with the old place. It was
full of unexpected corners and old-fashioned contrivances. Blue patches
of violets bloomed in the garden. Again with Scott's help, she gathered a
great dewy bunch.
There were workmen in one or two of the rooms, and she stood by or
wandered at will while Scott talked to the foreman.
They found themselves presently in the room that was to be Isabel's,--a
large and sunlit apartment that had a turret window that looked to the
far hills beyond the river. Dinah stood entranced with her eyes upon the
blue distance. Finally, with a sigh, she spoke.
"How I wish I were going to live here too!"
"What! You like it better than Willowmount?" said Scott.
She made a little gesture of the hands, as if she pleaded for
understanding. "I feel so small in big places. This is spacious, but it's
cosy too. I--I should feel lost alone at Willowmount."
"But you won't be alone," he pointed out, with his kindly smile. "You
will be very much the reverse, I can assure you."
She gave that sharp, uncontrollable little shiver of hers. "You mean
Eustace--" she said haltingly.
"Yes, Eustace, and all the people round who will want to know his bride,"
said Scott. "I don't think you will have much time to be lonely. If you
have, you can always come along to us, you know. We shall be only too
delighted to see you."
Dinah turned to him impulsively. "You are good!" she said. "I wonder you
don't look upon me as a horrid little interloper, turning you out of your
home where you have always lived! I do hate the thought of it! Really it
isn't my fault."
She spoke with tears in her eyes; but Scott still smiled. "My dear
child," he said, "such an idea never entered my head. Isabel and I have
often thought we should like to make this our home. We have always
intended to as soon as Eustace married."
"Did you never think of marrying?" Dinah asked him suddenly.
There was an instant's pause, and then, as he was about to speak, she
broke in quickly.
"Oh, please don't tell me! I was a pig to ask! I didn't mean to. It just
slipped out. Do forgive me!"
"But why shouldn't you ask?" said Scott gently. "We are friends. I don't
mind answering you. I've had my dream like the rest of the world. But it
was very soon over. I never seriously deluded myself into the belief that
anyone could care to marry a shrimp like me."
"Oh, Scott!" Almost fiercely Dinah cut him short. "How can you--you of
all people--say a thing like that?"
Scott looked at her quizzically for a moment. "I should have thought I
was the one person who could say it," he observed.
Dinah turned from him sharply. Her hands were clenched. "Oh no! Oh no!"
she said incoherently. "It's not right! It's not fair! You--you--Mr.
Greatheart!" Quite suddenly, as if the utterance of the name were too
much for her, she broke down, covered her face, and wept.
"Dinah!" said Scott.
He came to her and took her very gently by the arm. Dinah's shoulders
were shaking. She could not lift her face.
"Why--why shouldn't your dream come true too?" she sobbed. "You--who help
everybody--to get what they want!"
"My dear," Scott said, "my dream is over. Don't you grieve on my account!
God knows I'm not grieving for myself." His voice was low, but very
steadfast.
"You wouldn't!" said Dinah.
"No; because it's futile, unnecessary, a waste of time. I've other things
to do--plenty of other things." Scott braced himself with the words, as
one who manfully lifts a burden. "Cheer up, Dinah! I didn't mean to make
you sad."
"But--but--are you sure--quite sure--she didn't care?" faltered Dinah,
rubbing her eyes woefully.
"Quite sure," said Scott, with decision.
Dinah threw him a sudden, flashing glance of indignation. "Then she was a
donkey, Scott, a fool--an idiot!" she declared, with trembling vehemence.
"I'd like--oh, how I'd like--to tell her so."
Scott was smiling, his own, whimsical smile. "Yes, wouldn't you?" he
said. "And it's awfully nice of you to say so. But do you know, you're
quite wrong. She wasn't any of those things. On the other hand, I was all
three. But where's the use of talking? It's over, and a good thing too!"
Dinah slipped a quivering hand over his. "We'll always be friends, won't
we, Scott?" she said tremulously.
"Always," said Scott.
She squeezed his hand hard, and in response his fingers pressed her arm.
His steady eyes looked straight into hers.
And in the silence, there came to Dinah a queer stirring of
uncertainty,--the uncertainty of one who just begins to suspect that he
is on the wrong road.
The moment passed, and they talked again of lighter things, but the mood
of irresponsible light-heartedness had gone. When they finally left the
Dower House, Dinah felt that she trod the earth once more.
"I shall come and see you very often when we come back," she said rather
wistfully. "I hope Eustace won't want to be away a very long time."
"Aren't you looking forward to your honeymoon?" asked Scott.
"I don't know," said Dinah, and paused. "I really don't know. But,"
brightening, "I'm sure the wedding will be great fun."
"I hope it will," said Scott kindly.
It was not till they were nearing Willowmount that Dinah asked him at
length hesitatingly about Isabel.
"Do you mind telling me? Is she worse?"
Scott also hesitated a little before he answered. Then: "In one sense she
is much better," he said. "But physically," he paused, "physically she is
losing ground."
"Oh, Scott!" Dinah looked at him with swift dismay. "But why--why? Can
nothing be done?"
His eyes met hers unwaveringly. "No, nothing," he said, and he spoke with
that decision which she had come to know as in some fashion a part of
himself. His words carried conviction, and yet by some means they quieted
her dismay as well. He went on after a moment with that gentle philosophy
of his that seemed to soften all he said. "She is as one nearing the end
of a long journey, and she is very tired, poor girl. We can't grudge her
her rest--when it comes. Eustace wants to rouse her, but I think the time
for that is past. It is kinder--it is wiser--to let her alone."
Dinah drew a little nearer to him. "Do you mean--that you think she won't
live very long?" she whispered.
"If you like to put it that way," Scott answered quietly.
"Oh, but what of you?" she said.
She uttered the words almost involuntarily, and the next moment she would
have recalled them, for she saw his face change. For a second--only a
second--she read suffering in his eyes. But he answered her without
hesitation.
"I shall just keep on, Dinah," he said. "It's the only way. But, as I
think I've mentioned before, it's no good meeting troubles half-way. The
day's work is all that really matters."
They walked on for a space in silence; then as they drew near the house
he changed the subject. But that brief shadow of a coming desolation
dwelt in Dinah's memory with a persistence that defied all lesser things.
He was brave enough, cheery enough, in the shouldering of his burden; but
her heart ached when she realized how heavy that burden must be.
A message awaited her at the house that she would go to Isabel in her
sitting-room, and she went, half-eager, half-diffident. But as soon as
she was with her friend her doubts were all gone. For Isabel looked and
spoke so much as usual that it seemed impossible to believe that she was
indeed nearing the end of the journey.
She wanted to know all that Dinah had been doing, and they sat and
discussed the decorations of the Dower House till the luncheon-hour.
When luncheon was over they repaired to a sheltered corner of the
terrace, looking down over the garden to the river, while Scott went away
to write letters; and here they talked over the serious matter of the
trousseau with regard to which neither Dinah nor her mother had made any
very definite arrangements.
Perhaps Mrs. Bathurst had foreseen the possibility of Isabel desiring to
undertake this responsibility. Perhaps Isabel had already dropped a hint
of her intention. In any case it seemed the most natural thing in the
world that Isabel should be the one to assist and advise, and when Dinah
demurred a little on the score of cost she found herself gently but quite
effectually silenced. Sir Eustace's bride must have a suitable outfit,
Isabel told her. The question of ways and means was not one which need
trouble her.
So Dinah obediently put the matter from her, and entered into the
delightful discussion with keen zest. Isabel's ideas were so entrancing.
She knew exactly what she would need. Her taste also was so simple, and
so unerring. Dinah had never before pictured herself as possessing such
things as Isabel calmly proclaimed that she must have.
"We must go up to town to-morrow," Isabel said, "and get things started.
It will mean the whole day, I am afraid. Can you bear to be parted from
Eustace for so long?"
Dinah laughed merrily at the question. "Of course--of course! What fun it
will be! I always knew I should like to be married, but I never dreamt it
could be so exciting as this."
Isabel smiled at her with a touch of pity in her eyes. "Marriage isn't
only new clothes and wedding presents, Dinah," she said.
"No, no! I know!" Dinah spoke with swift compunction. "It is far more
than that. But I've never had such lovely things before. I can't help
feeling a little giddy about it. You do understand, don't you? I'm not
like that all through--really."
"My darling!" Isabel answered fondly. "Of course I know it. I sometimes
think that it would be better for you if you were."
"Isabel, why--why?" Dinah pressed close to her, half-curious,
half-frightened.
But Isabel did not answer her. She only kissed the vivid, upturned face
with all a mother's tenderness, and turned back in silence, to the
fashion-book on her knee.
CHAPTER VII
DOUBTING CASTLE
When Sir Eustace returned, he found his bride-elect awaiting him with a
radiant face. She sprang to greet him with an eagerness that outwent all
shyness.
"Oh, Eustace, I have had such a lovely time!" she told him. "It has been
a perfect day."