A TALK IN THE OPEN
Noel dined with the Musgraves that night. His mood was hilarious
throughout, but he seemed for some reason unwilling to discuss the
adventure he had shared with Olga in the temple, and of their rescuer he
scarcely spoke at all. He seemed in fact to have practically dismissed
the whole matter from his mind, and when he bade them farewell at the
end of the evening Daisy acknowledged to her husband that she was
disappointed.
"I felt so sure he had begun to care for Olga," she said. "He doesn't
often miss his opportunities, that boy."
"Perhaps Olga doesn't chance to care for him," suggested Will, with his
arm round his wife's waist. "That does happen sometimes, you know."
She smiled, her cheek against his shoulder. "I can't imagine any girl
resisting Noel's charms if he were the first comer--as I fancy he must
be," she said.
"I wonder if he is," said Will. "She told me the other night she had
never been in love, but she seemed to know so much about the disease
that I rather doubted her veracity."
"Fancy your living to call it a disease!" said Daisy, with a faint sigh.
He stooped and kissed her. "Oh, I'm not a cynic, my dear," he said.
"Shall we call it an incurable affection of the heart instead?"
"That's almost as bad," she protested.
"I said incurable," pleaded Will. "I ought to know, for I fell a victim
to it long ago."
She laughed softly against his shoulder. "Well, if you will have it so,
it's very infectious, you know. And I am a victim too."
His arm tightened. "Mine was always a hopeless case, Daisy," he murmured
half wistfully.
She turned her lips up to his. "When it attacks old folks--like you and
me, dear--it always is," she said.
He kissed her again, lingeringly and in silence. There had been a time
of which neither ever spoke when Will's love for his wife had been to
her a thing of little value. He had not been the first comer. That time
had passed long since, and with it the last of their youth. But though
for them romance was no more, they had become lovers in a sense more
true. Their lives were bound up together and woven into one by the Loom
of God.
Whatever opportunities Noel might have missed that day, he certainly did
not permit the thought of them to depress him. With his customary
jauntiness, he took his departure; but he did not return straight to his
quarters at the cantonments. He turned his steps in the direction of the
_dâk_-bungalow, whistling in the starlight as he went.
A chilly wind was blowing, and the dust swirled about his feet. The road
gleamed white and deserted before him. He swung along it, erect and
British, caring nothing for dust or cold. From far away, in the
direction of the jungle, there came the desolate cry of a jackal; but
near at hand there was no sound but the rush of the wind past his ears
and the swish of the dust along the way.
He came at length within sight of the _dâk_-bungalow and saw beyond it
the lights of the native city. Nick's bungalow, tucked away amongst its
trees, was not visible.
"They're horribly near that treacherous hound," he murmured to himself,
as he strode along. "I wonder if Nick realizes the risk. They might be
murdered in their beds any night, and none of us down at the cantonments
any the wiser. The Rajah and old Kobad Shikan would be horrified of
course. It's so easy to be horrified--afterwards."
Unconsciously he quickened his steps. Somehow the danger had always
seemed remote until that night. Had the day's adventure unsettled his
nerves, or had he hitherto always underrated it? How ghastly it would be
if--His thoughts broke off short. A figure had detached itself from the
vagueness in front of him, and a whiff of rank tobacco smoke came
suddenly to his nostrils.
Noel straightened himself and quickened his stride. He had the soldier's
instinct for making the most of his height. The square, lounging figure
that sauntered towards him looked almost short by comparison.
They met about fifty yards from the _dâk_-bungalow. "Hullo!" said Max.
His tone was coolly fraternal, but his hand came out at the same time
and Noel remembered the grip of it for some minutes after.
"What on earth have you come out here for?" he said.
Max smoked a pipe in one corner of his mouth and smiled with the other.
"Like the girls," he said, "I've come out to get married."
"You're not going to marry Olga!" said Noel quickly and fiercely.
"That's just what I want to talk to you about," said Max. "Shall we
walk?" He took his brother by the arm and led him forward. "I thought a
talk in the open would be preferable. My hutch in this beastly little
inn is not precisely inviting. I go to Nick's bungalow to-morrow."
"The devil you do!" said Noel.
The hand on his arm was not removed. It closed very slowly and surely.
"Look here, old chap," Max said, "say what you like to me and welcome,
if it does you any good. But there is no actual necessity for you to
express your feelings. For I know what they are; and--I'm infernally
sorry."
The words were quietly uttered, but they sent a shock of amazement
through Noel. He stood still and stared. He had never heard anything of
the kind from Max before.
Steadily Max drew him on. "When I wrote you that letter in the autumn, I
meant you to do exactly what you have done. I didn't of course
anticipate playing such a heathen trick on you as cutting you out. I
regarded myself at that time as out of the running. Circumstances which
there is no need to discuss had set dead against me, and I had reason to
believe that she might need an able-bodied man's protection. Nick is all
very well as a moral force, but physically he is a negligible quantity.
I didn't fancy the idea of her coming out here with the chance of the
aforementioned danger cropping up."
"What danger?" said Noel, abruptly.
Max hesitated a moment. "It's rather a long story. There was another
fellow--a great hulking bounder. I was half afraid he might follow her
out here and make himself objectionable. I thought you would probably
get friendly with her, and she might turn to you for help if she needed
it. You're the sort of chap a woman would turn to. And anyhow, I know
you're sound fundamentally."
"Do you?" murmured Noel.
Max went on. "At that time I never thought of coming out here myself. It
was Nick who first suggested it at a time when I believed my chances to
be _nil_. And gradually the idea took hold of me. We had been almost
engaged before. And though I didn't believe in my luck any longer, I
thought I would have one last shot. Kersley backed me as usual. I am to
go into partnership with him when I get back. He urged me to come, even
said I owed it to her. I wasn't so sure of that myself, but events have
proved him justified. I thought in any case I should only hurt myself
and that wouldn't matter much. Afraid I behaved like a selfish ass. But
I didn't know how far matters had gone, or even if they were likely to
move at all. She isn't the sort of girl that attracts at first sight. It
never occurred to me to be attracted till I found out how badly she
disliked me. Then I used to bait her, and I liked her spirit. After
that--" an odd, tender note had crept into his voice; he stopped
abruptly.
Noel set his teeth and tramped along in dogged silence.
For a few seconds Max followed his example; then took up his discourse
at the final point. "So I chanced a final throw and came out here; I
thought at the worst she could only send me away again, and I should be
no more badly off than I was before. Well, I got here, and the first
thing. I heard was that Nick was giving a picnic at Khantali, and that
there was a man-eater there. My informant was a native groom at the inn.
He seemed to believe in the man-eater, and as I had equipped myself with
a Winchester with the idea of solacing myself with big game when I had
been given my _congé_, I armed myself and went to have a look for him.
You know the rest. I must admit I was nearly as staggered as she was
when I saw her come out of the temple. As soon as I had a moment for
thought, it occurred to me that I should be probably one too many if I
presented myself then. It was your chance, not mine; so I decided with
your connivance to lie low. This evening I called to see the result. I
fully expected to be told that you and she were engaged, and I went
prepared to congratulate. But directly I saw her, I knew that it was
otherwise. And I realized that my luck had turned."
"She accepted you?" Curt and straight came the words.
"She did." Calmly and deliberately Max made answer. "I had sent her a
ring earlier in the day, which little attention, it seems, she had
attributed to you."
"Yes; she tried to return it this morning." Noel spoke with his eyes
fixed straight ahead.
"She is wearing it to-night," said Max.
Noel tramped on again in silence.
Suddenly he stopped, facing round upon his brother with a gesture that
was openly passionate. "Damn it, Max! You're deuced cool, I must say!
Aren't there girls enough in England without your posting out here to
take the one I want? She's half in love with me already. I'd have won
her over in another week--in less! Very likely to-morrow!"
Max stood still. They had nearly reached the gate that led into Nick's
compound. The rustle of the cypresses in the night-wind came to them as
they faced each other. Noel's hands were clenched, Max's well out of
sight in the depths of his pockets.
He did not speak at once, but there was no hint of irresolution in his
attitude.
"Yes," he said, after a moment. "You jolly nearly died for her, and if
anyone has a right to her, you have. But, my dear chap, you can't get
away from the fact that she was mine before you ever met her. I know
that now. I didn't before to-night, though so far as I am concerned, she
has been the only girl in the world for a very long time. Not knowing
it, I'd have been quite ready--I'd be ready now--for you to have her;
glad even. But knowing it--well, it rather alters the case, doesn't it?
You see," his mouth twisted a little in the old cynical curve, "we can't
hand her about and barter for her like a bale of goods. She's a woman;
and--whether we like it or not--in these things the woman must have the
casting vote."
"It's so beastly unfair!" Noel broke in hotly, boyishly. "Why the devil
couldn't you stay away a little longer?"
"And suppose I had!" For the first time Max spoke sternly. "Suppose I
had!" he repeated, with eyes that suddenly shot green in the starlight.
"Suppose you had won her before I came--suppose you'd been engaged, and
I had come along afterwards! What then?"
"You'd have been too late," said Noel, the dogged note in his voice.
"You wouldn't have set her free?" Max flung the question with brief
contempt.
"No!" Noel flung back the answer fiercely.
"Not if you had known she cared for me first?" Max's voice was suddenly
quiet and chill. It expressed a cold curiosity, no more.
Noel writhed before it. "Confound you, no!" he cried violently.
There fell a sudden deep silence. Max stood quite motionless during the
passage of seconds, watching, waiting, while Noel stood before him,
fiercely threatening.
Then, very abruptly, as if he had suddenly discovered that there was
nothing to wait for, he turned on his heel.
"Good-night!" he said, and walked away.
He went with his customary, sauntering gait, but there was absolute
decision in his movements. It was quite obvious that he had no intention
of returning.
And Noel made no attempt to call him back. He stood with his black brows
drawn, and dumbly watched him go.
At the end of thirty seconds, he wheeled slowly round, and turned his
sullen face towards Nick's bungalow. As he did so, there was a slight
movement near the gate as of someone stealthily retreating.
Instantly suspicion leaped, keen-edged with anxiety, into his brain. In
a flash his former fears rushed back upon him. They were so horribly
near the native city, so horribly undefended. He remembered the bomb on
the parade-ground, and felt momentarily physically sick.
In another instant he was speeding to the open gate. He turned sharply
in between the cypresses, and was met by a white-clad, cringing figure
that bowed to the earth at his approach.
Noel stopped dead in sheer astonishment. So sudden had been the
apparition that he scarcely restrained himself from running into it.
Then, being in no pacific mood, his astonishment passed into a blaze of
anger.
"What the devil are you sneaking about here for?" he demanded. "What are
you doing?"
The muffled figure before him made another deep salaam. "Heaven-born, I
am but a humble seller of moonstones. Will his gracious excellency be
pleased to behold his servant's wares?"
It was ingratiatingly spoken--the soft answer that should have turned
away wrath; but Noel's tolerance was a minus quantity that night.
Moreover, he had had a severe fright, and his Irish blood was up.
"You may have moonstones," he said, "but you didn't come here to sell
them. The city's full of you infernal _budmashes_. It's a pity you can't
be exterminated like the vermin you are. Be off with you, and if I ever
catch you skulking round here again, I'll give you a leathering that
you'll never forget for the rest of your rascally life!"
The moonstone-seller bowed again profoundly. "Yet even a rat has its
bite," he murmured in a deferential undertone into his beard.
He turned aside, still darkly muttering, and shuffled past Noel towards
the road.
Noel swung round on his heel as he did so, and administered a flying
kick by way of assisting his departure. Possibly it was somewhat more
forcible than he intended; at least it was totally unexpected. The
moonstone-seller stumbled forward with a grunt, barely saving himself
from falling headlong.
A momentary compunction pricked Noel, for the man was obviously old,
and, by the peculiar fashion in which he recovered his balance, he
seemed to be crippled also. But the next moment he was laughing, though
his mood was far from hilarious. For, with an agility as comical as it
was surprising, the moonstone-seller gathered up his impeding garment
and fled.
He was gone like a shadow; the garden lay deserted; Noel's bitterness of
soul returned. He glanced towards the darkness of the cypresses where
they had walked only that morning, and a great misery rose and engulfed
his spirit. A second or two he stood hesitating, irresolute. Should he
go in and see her? Vividly her pale face came before him, but glorified
with a radiance that was not for him. No, he could not endure it. By
to-morrow he would have schooled himself. To-morrow he would wish her
joy. But to-night--to-night--he drained the cup of disappointment for
the first time in his gay young life and found it bitter as gall.
With a fierce gesture he flung round and tramped away.