A woman's prejudice
The evening was marked for ever in Olga's calendar as the merriest of
her life. She was positively giddy with happiness, and she danced as she
had never danced before. No one deemed her colourless or insignificant
that night. She was radiant, and all who saw her felt the glow.
The only flaw in her joy was a slight dread of Noel; but this he very
quickly dispelled, singling her out at once to plead for dances.
"You've saved a few for me, I know," he said, in his wheedling Irish
way, and she saw at once that, whatever his inner feelings, he had no
intention of wearing his heart on his sleeve.
She showed him her programme. "Yes, I've kept quite a lot for you to
choose from," she said.
He flashed her a glance from his dark eyes that made her drop her own.
"All right then," he said coolly. "I'll take 'em all."
She raised no protest though she had not quite expected that of him. She
felt she owed it to him--as if in short she ought to give him anything
he asked for to make up for what she had been compelled to withhold.
Max, sauntering up a little later, took her programme and looked at it
with brows slightly raised. He gave it back to her, however, without
comment.
Noel was the best dancer in the room, and Olga fully appreciated the
fact. She loved Nick's dancing also, but it always brought to notice his
crippled state, a fact which he never seemed to mind, but which she had
never wholly ceased to mourn.
It was a great surprise to her to see Will Musgrave on the scene. When
he came to her side her programme was full.
"Oh, knock off one of Nick's!" he said. "I owe him one."
But she would not do this till Nick's permission had been obtained and
Nick had airily secured Daisy as a substitute.
Her dances with Max were spent chiefly in a very dark corner of the
verandah, as he maintained that she was in a highly feverish condition
and rest and quiet were essential. There was certainly some truth in the
assertion though she indignantly denied it, and the intervals passed
thus undoubtedly calmed her and kept her from reaching too high a pitch
of excitement.
Max was exceedingly composed and steady. He danced with Daisy Musgrave,
and provoked her to exasperation by his _sang-froid_.
"He is quite detestable," she told her husband later. "What on earth
Olga can see to like in him is a puzzle I can never hope to solve. Noel
is worth a hundred of him."
At which criticism Will laughed aloud. "There is no accounting for
woman's fancies, my dear Daisy. And I must say I think young Noel would
prove something of a handful."
"Anyhow he is human," retorted Daisy. "But this young man of Olga's is
as self-contained and unapproachable as a camel. I'd rather deal with a
sinner than a saint any day."
"Is Dr. Wyndham a saint?" questioned Will.
She laughed with just a touch of hardness. "A very scientific one, I
should say. He has the most merciless eyes I ever saw."
She expressed this opinion a little later to Nick who took her in to
supper, and for once found him in disagreement with her.
"Dearest Daisy," he said, "you can't expect a genius to look and behave
like an ordinary mortal. That young man is already one of the most
brilliant members of his profession. He has practically the world at his
feet, and he'd be a fool if he didn't know it. I quite admit he may be
merciless, but he is magnetic too. He can work with his mind as well as
his hands, and he is never at a loss. Now that is the sort of man I
admire. I think Olga has shown excellent taste."
"I don't!" declared Daisy emphatically. "I simply can't understand it,
Nick. He may be an excellent match for her from a worldly point of view,
but from a romantic standpoint--" She broke off with an expressive
gesture--"I suppose it is a love-match?"
Nick laughed, blinking very rapidly as her eyes sought his. "Look at the
kiddie's face if you want to know! She is as happy as a lark. Also, I
seem to remember someone once saying to me that there wasn't a man in
the universe that some woman couldn't be fool enough to love."
Daisy smiled in spite of herself. "I know I did. But some attachments
are quite unaccountable all the same. I suppose if you are satisfied, I
ought to be; but, you know, there is something about that young man that
puts me in mind of a destroying angel. There's a tremendous power for
shattering things hidden away in him somewhere. He may be a genius. I
daresay he is. But one feels he wouldn't stick at anything that came in
his way. If he failed he would simply trample his failure underfoot
without scruple and go on. He is ruthless, Nick, or he couldn't have cut
out poor Noel so overwhelmingly. I always thought till yesterday that
Noel's chances were very good."
"I never favoured Noel's addresses," said Nick lightly. "He wants more
ballast, to my mind. Whatever Max may be, at least he's solid. He
wouldn't capsize in a gale."
Daisy laughed. "I see you are not to be influenced by a woman's
prejudice. I daresay you are right, but there is also something in what
I say or my instinct is very seriously at fault."
"On that point," said Nick politely, "chivalry does not permit me to
express an opinion. Also, you are far too lovely to thwart, if I may use
an old friend's privilege to tell you so."
She laughed carelessly enough though her cheeks flushed a little. "You
are a gross flatterer, Nick."
"On the contrary," he said, "I worship at the shrine of Truth. You are
more beautiful to-night than I have ever before seen you."
She laughed again with a hint of something that was not careless. "I'm
glad you think so." She paused a moment; then: "Nick," she said softly,
"dear old friend, Will and I are going for our second honeymoon this
year!"
Carefully subdued though it was Nick heard the note of exultation in her
voice. His own magic smile flashed across his face. Under the table his
hand gripped hers.
"Thanks for telling me, dear!" he said, in a rapid whisper. "Long life
and happiness to you both!"
For the rest of his time with her, he was gay and inconsequent. Very
thorough was the understanding between them. They had been pals for many
years.
When he left her, it was to go in search of Olga whose name was the only
one left on his programme.
He found her with Noel on the verandah whither they had just betaken
themselves for some air after the heat of the supper-room. He broke in
upon them without ceremony.
"Look here, Olga _mia_! I've got to go. I'm afraid I shall have to
cut our dance. You can give it to Max with my love. Daisy will take care
of you here, and he can bring you home."
"Got to go, Nick! Why?" She turned to him in surprise. "You're not going
to the Palace at this time of night surely! Why, the Rajah is still
here, isn't he?"
"Great Lucifer, no!" said Nick. "But I've got some business to see to
that won't keep. You'll be all right with Max to take care of you.
Good-night!" He kissed her lightly. "See you in the morning! Don't
overtire yourself, and don't get up early! Good-night, Noel!"
He would have departed with the words, but Noel detained him. "I say,
Nick! I've been wanting a word with you all day, but couldn't get it in.
If I lived where you do, I should keep a pretty sharp look-out. I caught
an old brute of a moonstone-seller (at least that's what he called
himself) prowling about your place only last night, and kicked him off
the premises."
Nick stood still. His eyes flickered very rapidly as he faced Noel in
the dimness. "Awfully obliged to you, my son," he said, and in his
cracked voice there sounded a desire to laugh. "But that poor old seller
of moonstones happens to be a very particular friend of mine. You
needn't kick him again."
"What?" said Noel. "That mangy old cur a friend of yours?"
"He isn't mangy," said Nick. "And he's been very useful to me in one way
and another; will be again, I daresay."
"My dear chap," Noel protested, "you don't mean to say you trust those
people? You shouldn't really. It's madness. They are treachery
incarnate, one and all."
Nick laughed flippantly. "Even treachery is a useful quality
sometimes," he declared, as he turned to go. "Don't you worry yourself,
my boy. I can walk on cat's ice as well as anyone I know."
He was gone, humming his favourite waltz as he departed; and Noel turned
back to his partner with a grunt of discontent.
"He'll play that game once too often if he isn't careful," he said.
"Is there really any danger?" Olga asked.
"I should say so," he answered, "but it seems I am of no account."
"Oh, he didn't mean that," she said quickly.
He looked at her. "He is not the only person who thinks so, Olga."
She slipped a friendly hand on to his arm. "Noel," she said, "you don't
think I think so, do you?"
He laid his hand on hers and pressed it silently. They stood together in
the semi-darkness, isolated for the moment, very intimately alone.
"Noel," Olga whispered at length, a tremor of distress in the words,
"you mustn't think that; please--please, you must never think that!"
He moved a little, stooped to her. "Olga," he said, speaking quickly,
"I'm not blaming you. You couldn't help it. It's just my damned luck.
But--if I'd met you--first--I'd have won you!"
The words came hot and passionate. His hand gripped hers with
unconscious force. She made no attempt to free herself. Neither did she
contradict him, for she knew that he spoke the truth.
Only, after a moment, she said, looking up at him, "I'm so dreadfully
sorry."
"You couldn't help it," he reiterated almost savagely. "Anyhow you're
happy; so I ought to be satisfied. I should be too, if I didn't have a
sort of feeling that you'd have been happier with me. P'raps I'm a cad
to tell you, but it's hit me rather hard."
He broke off, breathing heavily. She drew nearer to him, stroking his
shoulder softly with her free hand. "Dear Noel, I love you for telling
me," she said. "I feel dreadfully unworthy of your love. But I'm very,
very grateful for it. You know that, don't you? And I--I'd marry you if
my heart would let me, but,--dear, it won't."
He forced a laugh. "I know you would. That's just the damnable part of
it. Life is an infernal swindle, isn't it? It's brimful of this sort of
thing." He stood up with a jerk, and pulled himself together. "Forgive
me, Olga! I didn't mean to let off steam in this way. I'm a selfish
hound. Forget it! Only promise me that if you ever want a friend to turn
to, you'll turn to me."
"Indeed I will!" she said very earnestly.
He held her hands very tightly for a moment and let them go; but they
clung to his. She looked up at him appealingly.
"Noel," she said, with slight hesitation, "please--for my sake--be
friendly with Max!"
He drew back instantly with a boyish gesture of distaste. "Oh, all
right," he said.
She saw that he would not endure pressure on this point, and refrained
from pursuing it; but his reception of her request was a disappointment
to her. Somehow she had come to expect greater things from Noel.
The rest of the evening slipped away magically. She danced a great many
dances without any sense of fatigue; but when it was all over at last a
great weariness descended upon her. She drove back with Max, so utterly
spent that she could hardly speak.
Yet, as they entered Nick's bungalow, she roused herself and turned to
him with her own quick smile. "It's been the happiest evening of my
life," she said.
"Really!" said Max.
She slipped the cloak from her shoulders and went close to him. The love
in her eyes gave them a glory that was surely not of earth. She took him
by the shoulders, those clear, shining eyes raised to his.
"I'm afraid you've had a dull time," she said. "I hope you haven't hated
it."
"Not at all," said Max.
Yet a hint of cynicism still lingered about him as he said it. He stood
passive within her hold.
She pressed a little nearer to him. "Max, you didn't mind my giving all
those dances to Noel? You--understood?"
He began to smile. "My dear girl, yes!"
"You are sure?" she insisted.
He took her upraised face between his hands. "I have always understood
you," he said.
"I can't help being sorry for him, can I?" she said wistfully.
He bent and kissed her. "It's a wasted sentiment, my child; but if it
pleases you to be sorry, I have no objection."
"He is much nicer than you think," she pleaded.
He laughed at that. "I've known him from his cradle. He's a typical
Wyndham, you know. They are all charming in one sense, and all rotten in
another."
"Oh, Max!" she protested.
"I'm an exception," he said; "neither charming nor rotten. Now, my dear,
since your estimable little chaperon has deserted you it's up to me to
send you to bed. Do you want a drink before you go?"
She leaned her head against his shoulder. "No, I don't want anything. I
feel as if I had had too much already. I don't want to go to bed, Max. I
don't want to end this perfect day."
"There is always to-morrow," he said.
"No; but to-morrow won't be the same. And the time goes so fast. Very
soon you will be going too."
"It will soon be Midsummer Day," smiled Max.
She gave a sudden, sharp shiver. "Lots of things may happen before
then."
He held her closely to him for a moment, and in the thrilling pressure
of his arms she felt his love for her vibrate; but he made no verbal
answer to her words.
Slowly at length she released herself. "Well, I suppose I must say
good-night. I hope you will be comfortable. You are sure you have all
you want?"
"Quite sure," he said.
"Then good-night!" She went back for a moment into his arms. "I wonder
Nick isn't here. Do you think he can have gone to bed?"
"Haven't an idea," said Max. "Anyhow I don't want him. And it's high
time you went. Good-night, dear!"
Again closely he held her; again his lips pressed hers. Then, his arm
about her, he led her to the door.
They parted outside, she glancing backward as she went, he standing
motionless to watch her go. At the last she kissed her hand to him and
was gone.
He turned back into the room with an odd, unsteady smile twitching the
corner of his mouth.
The hand with which he helped himself to a drink shook slightly, and he
looked at it with contemptuous attention. His favourite briar was lying
in an ash-tray, where he had left it earlier in the day. He took it up,
filled and lighted it. Then he sauntered out on to the verandah, drink
in hand.
The night was dark and chill. He could barely discern the cypresses
against the sky. He sat down in a hammock-chair in deep shadow and
proceeded to smoke his pipe.
From far away, in the direction of the jungle, there came the haunting
cry of a jackal, and a little nearer he heard the weird call of an owl.
But close at hand there was no sound. He lay in absolute stillness,
gazing along the verandah with eyes that looked into the future.
Minutes passed. His pipe went out, and his drink remained by his side
forgotten. He wandered in the depths of reverie....
Suddenly from the compound immediately below him there came a faint
rustle as of some living creature moving stealthily, and in a second Max
was back in the present. He sat up noiselessly and peered downwards.
The faint rustle continued. His thoughts flashed to the tiger he had
slain the day before at Khantali. Could this be another prowling in
search of food? He scarcely thought so, yet the possibility gave him a
sensation of bristling down the spine. He remained motionless in his
chair, however, alert, listening.
Softly the intruder drew near. He heard the tamarisk bushes part and
close again. But he heard no sound of feet. It was a cat-like advance,
slow and wary.
He wondered if the creature could see him there in the dark, wondered if
he were a fool to remain but decided to do so and take his chances. Max
Wyndham's belief in his own particular lucky star was profound.
Nearer and nearer drew the unseen one, came close to him, seemed to
pause,--and passed. Max was holding his breath. His hands were clenched.
He was strung for vigorous resistance.
But as he realized that the danger--if danger there had been--was over,
his muscles relaxed. A moment later with absolute noiselessness he rose
and leaned over the verandah-rail, intently watching.
Seconds passed thus and nothing happened. The rustling sound grew
fainter, faded imperceptibly at length into the stillness of the night.
Could it have been a jackal, Max asked himself?
He stood up and looked once more along the verandah. Nick's room was
just round the corner of the bungalow. The nocturnal visitor had gone in
that direction. With noiseless tread he followed.
He reached the corner. The soft glow of a night-lamp lay across the
verandah. The window was open. He paused a second, then strode softly up
and looked in.
A bamboo-screen was pulled across the room, hiding the bed. The lamp was
burning behind it. As Max stood at the window, a turbaned figure came
silently round the screen. It was the figure of an old man,
grey-bearded, slightly bent, clad in a long native garment. For a moment
he stood, then stepped to the window and closed it swiftly in Max's
face. So sudden and so noiseless was the action that Max was taken
wholly by surprise. He did not so much as know whether his presence had
been observed.
Then the blind came down with the same noiseless rapidity, and he was
left in darkness.
Mindful of the mysterious visitor in the compound, he turned about and
felt his way back to the corner of the bungalow, deciding that the
lighted drawing-room was preferable to the dark verandah.
Reaching the corner and within sight of the lamplight, he stopped again
and listened. But the compound was still and to all appearance deserted.
He waited for a full minute, but heard no sound beyond a faint stirring
of the night-wind in the cypresses. Slowly at length he turned and
retraced his steps, contemptuously wondering if the mysterious East had
tampered with his nerves.
It was evident that his host had retired for the night with the
assistance of his bearer, and he decided to follow his example. He
closed and bolted the windows and went to his own room.