THE PHANTOM
Without Noel she would have found that State dinner as dreary as it was
pompous. The Rajah was occupied with discussing the laws of British
sport with Colonel Bradlaw who regarded himself as an authority on such
matters, and expressed his opinions ponderously and at extreme length.
Nick was far away down the long table, seated beside Daisy Musgrave,
obviously to their mutual satisfaction. A bubbling oasis of gaiety
surrounded them. Evidently the general atmosphere of state and ceremony
was less oppressive in that quarter.
"Where would you be without me to take care of you?" said Noel, boldly
intercepting her glance in their direction.
"I am not at all bad at taking care of myself," she told him.
"I say--forgive me--I don't believe that," said Noel, with calm
effrontery. "You would simply fall a prey to the first ogre who came
along."
Olga elevated her chin slightly. "That shows how much you know about
me."
"I know a great deal," said Noel, with an ardent glance. "And that's
what makes me want to know much more. You know, you're horribly
tantalizing, if you will allow me to say so."
"In what way?" She spoke coolly; there was a hint of challenge in the
grey eyes she turned upon him.
He laughed without embarrassment. "I can't quite explain. There's
something so elusively attractive--or do I mean attractively
elusive?--about you. I call you 'the will-o'-the-wisp girl' to my own
private soul."
"I hope your own private soul is too sensible to encourage such
nonsense," said Olga severely.
He looked at her, sheer mischief dancing in his Irish eyes. "Come and
see it some day and judge for yourself!" he said. "I can fix up a
_séance_ any time. It would always be at home to you. I'm sure you would
get on together."
It was hard to restrain a smile; Olga permitted herself one of strictly
limited proportions.
"I will show you a glimpse presently if you would care to see it,"
proceeded Noel.
"Oh, please don't trouble!" said Olga.
"Afraid of being bored?" he asked.
She laughed. "Perhaps."
He leaned towards her. Her laugh was reflected in his eyes, but she did
not hear it in his voice as he said, "Do you mean that? Do I really bore
you?"
She met his look for a moment, and her heart quickened a little. Quite
suddenly she realized that this man, young though he was, possessed a
wonderful power of attraction. She wondered if he himself were aware of
it, and rapidly decided that he had made the discovery in his cradle. Of
one thing she was certain. She did not want to fall in love with him. He
drew her indeed, but it was against her will.
"Well?" he said. "Have you made up your mind yet?"
She smiled. "Oh, no, you don't bore me," she said.
"Thanks awfully! It's not generally considered a family failing of the
Wyndhams. Every other rascality under the sun, but not that."
"What a fascinating family you seem to be!" said Olga.
He made a wry face. "In a sense. Did you find Max fascinating?"
He put the question carelessly; yet she suspected he had a reason for
asking it. She felt the tell-tale blood rising in her face.
"You don't like him?" said Noel.
She hesitated.
"I don't mind your saying so in the least," he assured her. "He's a
queer chap--a bit of a genius in his own line; but geniuses are trying
folk to live with. How did he get on with your father?"
"Oh, Dad likes him," she said.
"He's not much of a ladies' man," remarked Noel. "I suppose he has
chucked that job by this time, and gone back to Sir Kersley Whitton.
Lucky beggar! He seems to be able to do anything he likes."
"I didn't know he was going to leave," said Olga quickly.
"No? I believe he said something about it in his letter to me. He is
always rather sudden," said Noel. "Too much beastly electricity in his
composition for my taste."
"Do you often hear from him?" Olga asked abruptly.
"Once in a blue moon. Why?" His dark eyes interrogated her, but she
would not meet them.
"I just wondered," she said.
"No. I scarcely ever hear," said Noel. "He wrote, I suppose, to tell me
of your good uncle's advent. He had probably heard from my sister that
some of us were stationed here. Anyhow I lost no time in getting myself
transferred for the pleasure of making his acquaintance. I was inclined
to regret the move just at first. It's rather a hole, isn't it? But the
moment I saw you--" Olga stiffened slightly, and he at once passed on
with the agility of a practised skater on thin ice: "I say, what a
ripping little sportsman your uncle is! He is actually talking of
taking up polo again. Did you know?"
"Polo!" Olga stared at him. "Nick! How could he?"
"Heaven knows! I suppose he would hang on with his knees, and swipe when
he got the chance. He'd need some deuced intelligent ponies though."
"He couldn't possibly do it!" Olga declared. "He mustn't try."
"Think you can prevent him?" asked Noel curiously.
"He won't if I beg him not to," she said.
"Oh, that's how you manage him, is it? Does he always come to heel that
way?"
Olga's eyes flashed a loving glance down the table towards her hero.
"There is no one in the world like Nick," she said softly.
"It's good to be Nick," remarked Noel, with his impudent smile. "It's
quite evident that he can do no wrong."
She laughed and turned the subject. Nick was too near and dear to
discuss with an outsider.
They began to talk of polo. A match had been arranged for Boxing Day.
Noel was a keen player, and had plenty to say about it.
The Rajah was also a keen player, and after a little he disengaged
himself from Colonel Bradlaw's endless reminiscences and joined in the
conversation, which speedily became general.
A display of fireworks had been provided for the entertainment of the
guests, and when the long State dinner was over they repaired to a
marble balcony that overlooked some of the Palace gardens.
Will Musgrave came and joined Olga as she stepped out between the carved
pillars. She greeted him with a smile of welcome. They were old friends.
As a child she had known him before his marriage, though she had seen
nothing of him since. There was something in the quiet strength of the
man that appealed to her. He gave her confidence.
"Well, Olga," he said, "how do you like India?"
They stood together by the fretted marble balustrade, looking down upon
the illuminated gardens that stretched away dim and mysterious into the
night.
Olga did not directly answer the question. "I am not really acquainted
with her yet," she said.
He uttered a short sigh. "She is a hard mistress. I don't advise you to
get too intimate. She has a way of turning and rending her slaves, which
is ungrateful, to say the least of it."
"But you are not sworn to her service for ever," said Olga.
He laughed with a touch of sadness. "Until she kicks me out. Like
Kipling's Galley Slave, I'm chained to the oar. It's all very well so
long as one remains in single blessedness, but it's mighty hard on the
married ones. Take my advice, Olga; never marry an Indian man!"
"I'm never going to marry anyone," said Olga, with quiet decision.
"Really!" said Will Musgrave.
She turned her head towards him. "You sound surprised."
He smiled a little. "I beg your pardon. I was only surprised at the way
in which you said it--as if you had been married for years, and knew the
best and the worst."
There was a slight frown on Olga's face. She looked as if she were
trying to remember something. "Oh, no, it wasn't like that," she said.
"But somehow I don't feel as if I could ever like a man well enough to
marry him. I don't want to fall in love."
"Too much trouble?" suggested Will.
She nodded, the frown still between her eyes. "It doesn't seem worth
while," she said rather vaguely. "It's such a waste."
Will looked at her with very kindly eyes. "I see," he said gently.
She met the look and read his thought. Almost involuntarily she answered
it. "I've never been in love myself," she told him simply. "But somehow
I know just what it feels like. It's a wonderful feeling, isn't it? Like
being caught up to the Gates of Paradise." She paused, and the puzzled
frown deepened. "But one comes back again--nearly always," she said.
"That's why I don't think it seems worth while."
"I see," Will said again. He was silent for a moment while a great green
rocket rushed upwards with a hiss and burst in a shower of many-coloured
stars. Then as they watched them fall he spoke very kindly and
earnestly. "But it is worth while all the same--even though one may be
turned back from Paradise. Remember--always remember--that it's
something to have been there! Not everyone gets so far, and those who do
are everlastingly the richer for it." He paused a moment, then added
slowly, "Moreover, those who have been there once may find their way
there again some day."
Another rocket soared high into the night and broke in a golden rain.
From a few yards away came Nick's cracked laugh and careless speech.
"Here comes the _chota-bursat_, Daisy! It's high time you went to the
Hills."
Daisy Musgrave's answer was instant and very heartfelt. "Oh, not yet,
thank Heaven! We have three months more together, Will and I."
"You must make him leave his beastly old reservoir to the sub when the
hot weather comes," said Nick, "and go for a honeymoon with you."
"If he only could!" said Daisy.
A sombre smile crossed Will's face as he turned it towards his wife.
"I'm listening, Daisy," he said.
She came quickly to his side, and in the semi-darkness Olga saw her hand
slip within his arm. "I'm feeling sentimental to-night," she said, in a
voice that tried hard to be gay. "It's Nick's fault. Will, I want
another honeymoon."
"My dear," he made answer in his deep, quiet voice, "you shall have
one."
The rattle of squibs drowned all further speech, and under cover of it
Olga made her way to Nick.
"They're awfully fond of each other, those two," she confided to him.
"Bless their hearts! Why shouldn't they?" said Nick tolerantly. "Are you
getting tired, my chicken? Do you want to go home to roost?"
She was a little tired, but he was not to hurry on her account. "It's
quite restful out here," she said.
He put his arm about her. "What did the infant Don Juan talk about all
dinner-time?"
She laughed with a touch of diffidence. "He is quite a nice boy, Nick."
"What ho!" said Nick. "I thought he was making the most of his time."
She pinched his fingers admonishingly. "Don't be a pig, Nick! We--we
talked of Max--part of the time."
"Oh, did we?" said Nick.
"Yes. Did you know he was thinking of leaving Dad?"
"I did," said Nick.
There was a moment's silence; then: "Dear, why didn't you tell me?" she
asked, her voice very low.
"Dear, why should I?" said Nick.
She did not answer, though his flippant tone set her more or less at her
ease.
"Any more questions to ask?" enquired Nick, after a pause.
With an effort she overcame her reticence. "He has actually gone then?"
"Bag and baggage," said Nick.
"Nick, why?"
"I understand he never was a fixture," said Nick.
"No. I know. But--but--I didn't think of his going so soon," she
murmured.
"You don't seem pleased," said Nick.
"You see, I had got so used to him," she explained. "He was like a bit
of home."
"I'm sure he would be vastly flattered to hear you say so," said Nick.
She laughed rather dubiously. "Has Dad got another assistant then?"
"I don't know. Very likely. You had better ask him when you write."
"And he has gone back to Sir Kersley Whitton?" she ventured.
"My information does not extend so far as that," said Nick.
She turned her attention to the blaze of coloured fire below them, and
was silent for a space.
Suddenly and quite involuntarily she sighed. "Nick!"
"Yours to command!" said Nick.
She turned towards him resolutely. "Be serious just a moment! I want to
know something. He didn't leave Dad for any special reason, did he?"
"I've no doubt he did," said Nick. "He has a reason for most of his
actions. But he didn't confide it to me."
She gave another sharp sigh, and said no more.
Colonel Bradlaw came up and joined them, and after a little the Rajah
also. He stationed himself beside Olga, and began to talk in his smooth
way of all the wonders in the district she had yet to see.
She wished he would not take the trouble to be gracious to her, but he
was always gracious to European ladies and there was no escape. The
British polish over the Oriental suavity seemed to her a decidedly
incongruous mixture. She infinitely preferred the purely Oriental.
"My _shikari_ has told me of a man-eater at Khantali," he said
presently. "You have not seen a tiger-hunt yet? I must arrange an
expedition, and you and Captain Ratcliffe will join?"
Olga explained that she had never done any shooting.
"But you will like to look on," he said.
She hesitated. "I am afraid," she said, after a moment, "I don't like
seeing things killed."
"No?" said the Rajah politely.
She wondered if the dusky eyes veiled contempt, and felt a little
uncomfortable in consequence of the wonder.
"You have never killed--anything?" he asked, in a tone of courteous
interest.
"Nothing bigger than a beetle," said Olga.
"Really!" said the Rajah.
This time she was sure he was feeling bored, and she began to wish that
Noel would reappear and lighten the atmosphere.
As if in answer to the wish, there came the sudden tinkle of a stringed
instrument in one of the marble recesses behind them, and almost
immediately a man's voice, very soft and musical, began to sing:
"O, wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.
Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'."
The voice ceased; the banjo thrummed on. Olga's hands were fast gripped
upon the marble lattice-work. She stood tense, with white face upraised.
The Rajah was wholly forgotten by her, and he stepped silently away to
join another of his guests. The new English girl presented an enigma to
him, but it was one in which he did not take much interest. All her
fairness notwithstanding, she was not even pretty, according to his
standard, and he had seen a good many pretty women.
Again through the dimness the clear voice came. It held a hint--a very
carefully restrained hint--of passion.
"Or were I in the wildest waste,
Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,
The desert were a paradise
If thou wert there, if thou wert there.
Or were I monarch o' the globe,
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my crown
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen."
The song was ended; the banjo throbbed itself into silence. Olga's hands
went up to her face. She wanted to keep the silence, to hold it fast,
while she chased down that elusive phantom that dodged her memory.
Ah! A voice beside her, Nick's arm through hers! She raised her face.
The phantom had fled.
"After that serenade, I move that we take our departure," said Nick.
"The youngster has a decent voice, so far as my poor judgment goes. Are
you ready?"
Yes, she was ready. She longed to be gone, to get away from the
careless, chattering crowd, to work out her problem in solitude and
silence.
With scarcely a word she went with him, and they made their farewells
together.
At the last moment Noel, his eyes very bright and coaxingly friendly,
caught her hand and boldly held it.
"Did you catch it?" he asked.
She looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Catch what?"
He laughed. The pressure of his fingers was intimately close. "That
glimpse I promised you," he said.
"Ah!" Understanding dawned in Olga's eyes, and in the same instant she
removed her hand. "No, I'm afraid I didn't. I was thinking of something
else. Good-bye!"
"Oh, I say!" protested Noel, actually crest-fallen for once.
Nick swallowed a chuckle, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good-night,
minstrel boy! Mind you bring the harp along to my Christmas picnic! We
are not all so unappreciative as Olga."
Noel looked for a second as if he were on the verge of losing his
temper, but the next he changed his mind and laughed.
"You bet I will, old chap!" he said, and wrung Nick's hand with
cordiality.
Nick's chuckle became audible as they drove away. "He can't accuse you
of encouraging him anyhow, Olga _mia_," he remarked. "If you keep it up
at this pace, you'll soon choke him off."
Olga's answer was to draw very close to him, and to utter a great sigh.
"Wherefore?" whispered Nick.
She was silent for a moment, then: "I sometimes wish you were the only
man in the world, Nick," she said, with quivering emphasis.
"Gracious heaven!" said Nick. "Don't make me giddy!"
She laughed a little, but there was a sound of tears behind. "Men are
so silly," she said.
"Abject fools!" said Nick. "There's never more than one worth crying
about."
"What do you mean, Nick?"
"Nothing--nothing!" said Nick. "I was just demonstrating my foolishness,
that's all."
Whereat she laughed again in a somewhat doubtful key, and asked no more.