IN THE ROSE GARDEN
"How lovely this place must look at dawn!"
"By Jove! That's an idea, Gillie," said Harry. "It must look glorious."
They were sitting in the rose garden with Valentia. It was still quite
light, though the sunset glow had nearly faded. There was a rich mellow
tone in the sky, a promise of peace, a feeling that it was the end of
the day, which, combined with the almost cloyingly sweet scent of the
roses, was enough to make any one feel poetical.
"To think we've never seen the sun rise here!" exclaimed Valentia.
Romer here joined them, smoking a cigarette.
"Hasn't Romer ever seen the sun rise here?" Vaughan asked.
"Never," said Romer.
"Why not?"
"I don't know. I suppose because it always happens after I've gone to
bed," he answered drily.
"Let's sit up all night and see it to-morrow," suggested Valentia.
"Yes. Capital! Do let us!" said Harry.
Romer did not appear much taken with this scheme.
"Oh no, you mustn't _sit_ up," said Vaughan. "That's not the way to see
it."
"Is there so much difference between staying up and getting up then?"
Val asked.
"Yes, indeed, all the difference in the world. You must get up fresh,
with the birds."
"What time do birds get up? Is it _very_ early?"
"It would do if you were out at three this time of the year, or even at
four."
"Well, let's do it!"
"Oh, I don't think I shall," said Harry.
He looked at Valentia.
She answered--
"You might make a sketch, you know, of the early birds getting up to
catch the worms. But--I don't think I shall. Anyhow, not _to-morrow_ at
_half-past three_."
"All right," said Harry with a nod, "we won't. Don't tell Daphne, or
she'll be out at 3.15 to the tick, to take a snapshot of the dawn."
"A snapshot of the dawn! Wouldn't that be sacrilege?"
"Young girls are always inclined to that. They're so prosaic," said
Harry, getting up. "I must go and see what Van is doing."
He walked away with his usual quick, supple step and casual bearing.
They watched his slim figure as he went. Then Romer followed him,
slowly.
Vaughan turned to Valentia and said: "I shouldn't if I were you."
"Wouldn't what?"
"Why, meet Harry at half-past three to-morrow morning in the rose
garden."
"Good gracious! I never thought of doing such a thing. Besides, it was
your idea.... As a matter of fact, I really assure you it wouldn't be
here. It would be in the orchard if anywhere. There is the loveliest
cherry-tree there, with a seat all round it."
"How jolly! I'd like to see it. Will you give me the key?"
"Who told you it was kept locked?"
She looked rather annoyed.
"You did, but not intentionally."
"I don't see that you have really any right to suppose----Why
shouldn't I go in my own orchard, at any hour I like?"
"But, Val--of course you ought to go in your own orchard. But why don't
you meet Romer there?"
"Oh, Gillie, really!..."
"He is so straight, so good-looking, and, under all that manner, he's
exactly like Vesuvius. Yes. Fancy, you're living with a volcano and you
don't appreciate it!"
"Gillie, it's really rather stupid of you to put things like that. It
isn't a question of liking either one person _or_ another. If Romer were
ill, or anything like that, don't you _know_----"
"I know you'd devote yourself to him, like a sister or a mother. You'd
put Harry aside for a time as a pleasure that mustn't be indulged in.
Now that's just where you're wrong. No! _I_ want to see you being ever
so good and kind to dear Harry as a duty to a ne'er-do-well of a cousin;
and regarding Romer----"
She did not answer.
"My point is," he went on, "that it's really too distressingly
conventional of you to suppose that because you happen to be legally
married there can be no sort of romance. Only comradeship, or perhaps
affectionate sentiment? That's what you believe."
"Isn't it always so?"
"Most often, I grant. That's generally through the man's point of view.
But Romer is an exception. He's as much in love as if he had no hope of
ever being within a mile of you."
She seemed rather flattered. "Do you really think so? But even that
isn't everything."
"Oh, there's a great deal to be done with Romer," was Vaughan's reply.
He spoke with dreamy significance, and she was silent. Then she
exclaimed, turning round suddenly--
"I suppose what you really mean is that Harry doesn't care a bit about
me?"
"No, I don't. But he cares a bit about a lot of people, and things. He's
superficial, and he has no courage."
"No courage? _Harry!_"
"He'd crumble up in a crisis if a strong man took him in hand."
"That's all nonsense." She was growing angry. "Hasn't he been up in an
aeroplane, and done--oh, all sorts of things? I call Harry daring and
brave!"
"That's all vanity. All that is show and vanity. Oh, Valentia, do
forgive me."
"I'll try.... here he is."
He was seen coming towards them again. Her anger flickered out at once.
"I suppose he thinks we've been here long enough," she said, smiling as
women do at such symptoms.
"Of course he does. Vanity--just vanity." Vaughan strolled away.
"Look here! What were you two talking about?"
"Nothing. About you, Harry."
"Rubbish. What was he talking about?"
"You, only you."
"I can't see that that chap's so brilliant! It seems to me he's just
like anybody else. And his work shows it too, really. No soul, no real
heart in it. All from the outside."
"Nonsense, Harry, nobody is more kind-hearted, more----"
"Look here, Val, I won't have it. Do you hear?"
"Have what, Harry?"
He lowered his voice. "I won't have it. You must go back. It isn't that
_I_ mind. But Romer will soon think it extraordinary, your sitting out
alone so long."
"No, he won't."
"All right then, he won't. He must be an ass," said Harry angrily. "I
don't know what he's thinking of. Hasn't he got eyes?"
"Yes, of course he has."
"And eyelids too," said Harry. "I dare say he pretends not to see that
Vaughan admires you. Too indolent to bother about it."
"Really. Harry--you go too far. Are you thinking of pointing it out?"
She got up.
"One second," said Harry pleadingly. "It's cruel of you to go now."
"I thought you said we'd better get back?"
"Your hands look so lovely by this light," he spoke in his softest
voice.
"We really must go."
"Then at half-past three. I'll bring my sketchbook. Do you know where
the key is? Perhaps you've lost it. You are so dreadfully careless." He
now spoke in the tone of a reproving husband.
"I've got it. Do you think we'd better? I'm rather tired. Shall you be
able to wake?"
Harry turned away.
"All right, it doesn't matter, Val. I shall be going soon, and then----"
She followed him quickly.
"No, no, Harry. Of course."
He gave her a grateful look. They joined the group on the little
verandah in front of the house. Van Buren was sitting in the corner and
seemed in the depths of depression. From the windows could be heard once
more strains of music. Daphne was playing an accompaniment. Muir had
again begun the song, and got a little further into it--"_It is not
because thy heart is mine, mine only, mine alone._" But Vaughan came up
promptly and stopped it.