Katrine's efforts to bring Bedford and Keith together seemed doomed to
failure. She managed the introduction indeed, but the attempts at
conversation which followed were not promising for future relationships,
and for the rest of the day the two men avoided each other sedulously.
It was duty, pure and simple, which made Katrine waylay Keith after
dinner, and appear to take it for granted that he would give her his
society for the customary half-hour's promenade round the deck, when in
reality her only longing was to escape, and enjoy a continuation of her
talk with the newer friend. Keith was in a black mood also; grim,
unsmiling. His haggard eyes surveyed her with a scrutiny that was the
reverse of friendly.
"Still busy at your Reform Bill, I see! I had no idea you could be so
persistent!"
"Don't be nasty!"
"Nasty!" he laughed harshly. "What a bread-and-butter Miss it is, with
her `nice' and `nasty,' and little cut-and-dried maxims and beliefs!
One can just see the English village where you have lived, and the
worthy Victorians who have lived around. You knew about six families in
all, I presume, and lived in terror of what they would say; and they
also lived in terror of you. There is no monarchy so absolute as the
Mrs Grundy of a country town. And you went on Sunday to the Church--
rather a low church I should say, breathing forth enmity equally against
ritualism and dissent--went twice a day--"
"_And_ Sunday School! Don't forget Sunday School."
"Ah! Sunday School. I'd forgotten the existence of Sunday Schools.
That revives old memories. I went to one myself in prehistoric times.
Seems odd, doesn't it? Can you imagine me a small, curled darling in a
Sunday School class? It was a dank, underground cellar of a place,
shaped like an amphitheatre, with seats rising one above another. We
infants sat bunched together in a corner, and the teacher stood before
us on the flat. She was a plain soul, with three large warts on one
cheek. I used to gaze at them fascinated, and ponder what could be
done. The warts interested me more than her words, but I made gallant
attempts at attention. We were bribed to attend,--one little card with
an illuminated text for good behaviour and attention; so many cards, one
small book; so many small books, a prize at Christmas. I actually won
one prize. Can you imagine me gaining a Sunday School prize?"
Katrine regarded him thoughtfully with her deep blue eyes. The
slighting, almost contemptuous tone in which he spoke seemed to hurt her
more for his sake than for her own, as proving the invariable bitterness
of his mind. She was the only soul on board who had sought his
friendship, and even to her--
"Do you ever think--?" she stammered, confused and shy, yet possessed by
a gallant resolve to improve the occasion. "Do you ever remember the
things you heard?"
"Bible stories!" He laughed again, his harsh, unmirthful laugh. "My
good girl, is it possible to _forget_? They are too terribly true.
I've _seen_ them acted before my eyes. I've lived through them myself.
Heavens! how many of those old stories I've lived through! I've eaten
of the fruit of knowledge--a liberal repast, and as a result been turned
out of my Eden; I've wandered in far lands; I've defrauded my neighbour,
and sold my birthright for, not gold, not silver, not even a mess of
pottage--for a foaming poison which has killed body and soul! I've sung
my penitential psalms--and, _gone on sinning_! I've sung my Song of
Solomon, also, I must not forget that!"
He met Katrine's eyes, widely questioning, and replied with a defiant
flash. "You are astonished! You did not associate romance with such a
death's head of a man! Nevertheless it is true. There was a woman:
_one_ woman, only one! I worshipped her for five long years; I worship
her still, but all the same I did her to death. Oh, let me explain! It
was nothing actionable. I am not a prisoner fleeing from justice.
There is no escape from the court before which I shall be tried. I
would have killed myself a thousand times over sooner than have lifted a
hand against her. She was my wife, you see, and I loved her, but I
broke her heart. I believed that in the joy of her I could break loose
from the devil which possessed me. I _did_ go free for a few months,
and she married me, poor child! knowing nothing. Then, _He_ came back,
mightier than before. The first time she saw me--I may live through a
thousand hells, and know nothing more awful than the memory of those
eyes! She told me herself, weeping in my arms the next day, that she
could not love, she could not even endure, `_that man_!' If he came
back--if she saw him again.--I promised; I swore. A hundred times over
I promised and a hundred times over I failed, and her love changed to
fear, fear and dread, and a shrinking of flesh. She was a frail thing,
and she lived in terror of `_that man_.' In terror of him she died.
When she drew her last breath he was drunk, lying helpless downstairs--"
"Oh, don't!" gasped Katrine painfully. "_Don't_ tell me! I didn't
ask.--I don't want to hear... Don't remind yourself--"
"_Remind_! Do you think I can forget? I am not harrowing myself by
conjuring up sleeping ghosts. That kind of ghost never sleeps. It
makes no difference to me whether I speak of it, or am silent. I have
told you for--" he turned towards her with a twisted smile, "_your own
sake_! You are a good girl, but crude. When you have had time to think
for yourself, you'll make a fine woman. You've been living in a shell.
_Let yourself go_! Forget what you've been taught, and think things out
for yourself. Meantime, I appreciate your good intentions, but--_leave
me alone_!" Suddenly his eyes blazed. "Great Heavens! If She couldn't
help me, what can _you_ do!"
He wheeled round and strode away, leaving Katrine to pass through some
of the most poignant moments of her life. Never before had she come
into such intimate touch with human misery. Compared with this anguish
of remorse, Martin's grief over the loss of his girl wife seemed a
sacred and beautiful thing. Never before had she realised at once so
overpowering a longing to help, and so profound a conviction of
helplessness. To be of use to a soul in such straits, one must needs
have suffered also, have struggled, and overcome: have risen to a height
far beyond that on which she now stood. Katrine knew it, acknowledged
it to her own soul, with a humility which was in itself a prayer.
She made her way to the quietest part of the deck, and leaned over the
rail, trembling with emotion. Twenty-six years of placid, uneventful
existence, of calm looking on at life, and then suddenly here she was,
in the maelstrom, each new day bringing with it some new and poignant
emotion! She felt dazed, bewildered; filled with humiliation.
When presently Bedford strolled up nonchalant and smiling, a cigarette
in his mouth, his expression changed swiftly as he saw her, and Katrine
flinched before his glance. Could she have seen herself she would have
been astonished, as he was, at the beauty of the pale, tremulous face.
To her relief he asked no questions, but averting his eyes talked easily
on matter-of-fact subjects, not waiting for replies, but content simply
to fill in the time till self-possession returned. Katrine divined as
much, and did not trouble to listen. She also was waiting for
self-possession, but only so as to be able to confide and be comforted.
That Bedford could invariably find the right panacea for a wound was a
fact already acknowledged with delight, and to-night the need of him was
pressing. Her inattention grew increasingly obvious, until at length he
ceased speaking, and looked down at her with questioning eyes.
"You don't want to talk! Shall I stay, and be quiet, or would you
rather I went away, and left you alone?"
"Stay, please, _and_ talk--only, for the moment my mind is so full of
one thing, that I can't think of anything else. That poor man! he's
been telling me his story.--I can't repeat it, but he has also been
scorching me for my interference. I deserved it, I suppose, for my
self-sufficiency, but--it hurt! Growing pains! Do you remember?"
"Poor little girl!" he said simply; so simply, so kindly, that there
could be no offence in the familiarity. "I was afraid you had given
yourself a stiff road to hoe. I've had experience in these cases, and
know something about the difficulties. The trouble is that like many
reformers you are beginning at the wrong end, trying to doctor his mind,
whereas it's his body that is sick. Drink is a physical disease, and
it's hard luck on its victims that public opinion refuses to realise the
fact. Imagine a fellow being called a beast--a degraded beast,
disgraceful, disgusting--all the usual terms, because he was suffering
from tuberculosis or heart disease! It's unthinkable, but a poor wretch
who has to fight against a physical craving as fierce as the claws of a
wild beast, tearing him, literally tearing, not to be quenched except by
the very poison which is going to set him craving again,--for one
kindly, pitying thought, he gets a hurricane of abuse! You and I know
better. We don't judge; we pity the poor fellow from the bottom of our
hearts, but I say--" suddenly his voice changed to a crisp, boylike
note, "don't let's talk about him to-night! It's such a ripping night.
We can do him no good. Then why spoil our own time? Let's talk about
happy things!" He threw away his cigarette as he spoke, leaned his arms
on the rail, and turned his face towards hers with a twinkling appeal.
They were close together, and the smiling interchange of glance seemed a
good and pleasant thing. Katrine was almost ashamed of the speed with
which the mental load slipped away, and disappeared; one glance into the
keen grey eyes, and it had vanished into space.
It was good to stand in the warm night, looking out at the glory of the
star-lit heavens, at the ripple of phosphorous on the water, but the
beauties of nature were but a secondary cause for the content which
enfolded her. The primary cause was the presence of the man by her
side, the big man with the grave face, and the clear, boylike eyes.
Katrine was not given to hasty friendships, but in this case there
seemed no preliminary stages to live through, for the moment of meeting
had acclaimed a mental understanding, which years of intimacy might have
failed to ensure. She forgot that she had been unhappy, and laughed a
soft, girlish little laugh, the tinkle of which struck strangely on her
own ears. Such a girlish laugh!
"Oh, yes! Let's! That will be nice... What shall we talk about?"
"Ourselves, of course," he said promptly; and at that they laughed
again. Katrine tilted her head, and met his eyes with a frank, gay
glance.
"Wasn't it Isabel Carnaby who said that there was really no other
subject to talk about but ourselves, just as there was really no other
dish than bacon for breakfast?"
"What about Lloyd George?"
They laughed gaily, laughed into each other's eyes with a sense of
intimacy which sent the spirits racing upwards with a mysterious
intoxication.
"Oh, well," Katrine allowed, "that's true! But Isabel lived before his
days. Did you ever play a game of making up Isabel Carnaby
conversations? It's rather fun."
"Not I... Couldn't to save my life... Far too difficult."
"Oh, it's easy enough, given the right people, and the right hour. It
would be no use starting it at the beginning of an evening when every
one is stiff and strained, but it goes splendidly after supper. Isabel
begins by giving a definition of some well-known term, and invites every
one else to follow suit. It is a favourite game of Grizel's, my
sister-in-law. We always make her Isabel for she is such a beguiling
little thing that she is not only witty herself, but spurs up every one
else to be witty too. One night we took `_Bores_' for a subject, and
she said: `A bore is a person who remembers all that I say on Sunday,
chews a mental cud over it, and throws up masticated morsels of my own
conversation to confound my inconsistency on Wednesday.' Then we all
said: `That is quite true!' and `Quite so!' and she addressed each of us
and asked: `And what is your idea of a bore, Mrs Seaton? Johanna, give
us your definition of the term?' and we each scintillated to the best of
our ability, and then mentally adjourned into the kitchen and
interviewed the old servant in her turn."
"I should be so devoured with anxiety thinking out my own sally that I
shouldn't be able to appreciate my neighbour's brilliance... Bores are
a pretty prolific subject. I should like, just for curiosity, to hear
_your_ definition."
"`Katrine! let us now have your definition of the term,'" quoted Katrine
mockingly. "There, you see, you are already starting the game on your
own account. Why do you want to know?"
"So that I may act contrariwise, of course."
"It is true... Isabel was right. Here you are already, back at our
bacon! I am afraid, Captain Bedford, that you are very much absorbed in
yourself."
"Devoted to him! Of course. Why shouldn't I be? Know him so well,
don't you know--understand his ways! Capital fellow, when you know
him.--A woman asked me once whom I loved best in the world. I said:
`Myself, of course.' It was the bed-rock truth; it is the truth about
most solitary people, if they would only admit it, but she was shocked."
"I'm shocked, too. Even if it were true, I don't think one should
admit--"
"I don't say it now. It would not be true. That was some time ago."
Katrine's thoughts flew back with instant recollection to the day
before, to the quiet pocketing of the tortoise-shell trifle. She waited
silently, holding her breath in the intensity of her anxiety, but no
explanation was vouchsafed. She tossed her head with a restless
gesture, and said tentatively:
"You--you are not in the least what I expected."
"What precisely did you expect?"
"N-othing precisely, but everything different! I thought you'd be older
for one thing, and would look more worn. Captain Blair said you were
shy and silent."
"Blair would say anything but his prayers. As a matter of fact I _was_
paralysingly shy at dinner that night! Glad I concealed it so well. It
was rather a formidable occasion meeting an--"
"Unknown girl! Was I?" Katrine hesitated on the verge of a question,
eager yet bashful, and her companion concluded the sentence with
mischievous assurance.
"What _I_ had expected? Well! to an extent. I had seen your
photographs, and they are as good as photographs can be, but the
original always comes as a surprise. You look younger, and--there's
some red in your hair, isn't there? It pretends to be dark, but this
morning when you were sitting in the sun, I'll swear it was red! And--
if you'll forgive me--your nose isn't quite so classic as it was
represented! I suspect that photographer of fakes."
"He filled in the dips," said Katrine tracing with a finger tip the
delicate irregularities of her nose.
"I like dips," said Bedford, and they laughed again. Katrine wondered
if he also approved of the ruddy lights which the sun had revealed in
her hair. She had noticed them once or twice as she stood before her
mirror on bright spring mornings, but no one else had commented on the
peculiarity. She herself had admired the dull-red gleam, she hoped he
had done the same, but it was with an air of forced resignation that she
spoke again:
"Very well, then, it is settled that I have red hair, and a bobbley
nose. Please observe that I remain serene and unruffled. That proves
that I have a sweet and modest disposition, and don't care a pin how I
look!"
"Or what you wear, or whether that gauzy thing round your head is
arranged at a becoming angle or not! Can I help in any way? It seems
troublesome to arrange!" said Bedford coolly as for the third time
Katrine's hand went up to pull forward the chiffon hood. She flushed in
the moonlight, and pushed it back with an impetuous jerk.
"Now my hair will get rough. It's not my fault if it blows into ends."
"I like ends," said Bedford once more.
Katrine thanked Providence that _her_ ends curled, and did not blow over
her face in lanky streaks as did the ends of other women. Sometimes
when she had been out in the wind she had felt it a pity to brush them
back. She felt a glow of thankfulness for her own fair looks, which was
inimitably removed from an ordinary conceit. To look pleasant in the
eyes of others--that gave one joy. To-morrow she would wear a blue
dress...
"It's against my upbringing to be untidy," she said demurely. "At home
I have walked between a double fire. The vicar's wife on one side, and
my Sunday School girls on the other. Both would have been scandalised
by `ends,' both expected me to be a model of neatness and decorum." She
heaved a great sigh of relief. "Oh, I'm so thankful not to be a model
any more! It's lovely to begin life again, away from criticism, to be
free to do and think what I like!"
He stared at her, his eyes intent and searching beneath puckered brows.
It was a handsome, almost a beautiful face into which he looked: the
softened light, the happy mood, even the floating ends of hair combined
to give it an air of unusual youth. Nevertheless there were lines
written thereon which told their own tale. Katrine noticed his
scrutiny, and questioned him thereon:
"What are you thinking about?"
"You," he said simply. "We are talking about ourselves. You are so
young in many ways, younger than your years, but you look--"
"Older?"
"Yes," he said again, serenely unconscious of offence. "It's not a
girl's face. There are the marks of trouble, of suffering..."
Katrine sighed. On her lips flickered a smile which was strangely
pathetic.
"Or of lack of trouble!" she corrected. "Oh, I mean it. It sounds
incomprehensible to a man, but a woman would understand. Trouble would
be easier to bear than the grey, monotonous routine month after month,
year after year, which women have to live in small country towns.
Trouble is educational and ennobling; monotony cramps growth at the
roots. I am twenty-six, but there were women ten years older, still
young, still pretty, jogtrotting along the same path, year after year,
year after year. _Nothing had happened to them_! No man can understand
all that that means. _Nothing had happened_!"
Bedford straightened himself significantly.
"They should _make_ things happen!"
"Perhaps in time to come they may, when they are more developed--they,
and their parents! Many well-to-do parents think that their daughters
ought to be contented to stay peacefully at home and arrange the
flowers. I _had_ a real duty, but in some families nearby there were
three or four women-girls _pottering_! I went to see one of them on her
birthday last year. When I wished her many happy returns she shrank, as
if I had hurt her. `Another year!' she said. `Three hundred and
sixty-five days... _And all alike_!' It was fear that she felt, poor
soul; fear of the blank! You can't understand."
"Personally, no. Monotony has not been my cross. When a man is
knocking about the world he is inclined to envy the people who can
vegetate peacefully at home, but thirty-six years of stagnation is a
killing business!" He looked down at her with steady scrutiny. "I am
glad _you_ had courage to cut yourself free before it came to that
point."
"But I am different... I told you so. I had my work," protested
Katrine, flushing, "and moreover something _did_ happen. Fate came to
my aid, and practically forced me away!"
"Yes?"
Once more Bedford leaned his elbows on the rail, and bent towards her
with a keen interrogative glance. "Is it permissible to ask in what
form?"
Why on earth need she blush? Katrine mentally railed at herself, but
the more she fumed the hotter blazed the colour in her cheeks. Plying
such a flag of betrayal it seemed obviously absurd to reply by a prim:
"My brother married, and no longer required my services," and in
Bedford's equally prim "Quite so," the scepticism seemed thinly veiled.
There was silence for several moments, while both gazed fixedly ahead.
Without looking in his direction Katrine knew exactly the expression
which her companion's face would wear. The lips closed tight, drooping
slightly to one side. The chin dropped, the eyes unnaturally grave.
Strange how clearly his changes of expression had already stamped
themselves upon her mental retina! She knew how he would look, what she
could not guess was what he would _think_ ... What _would_ he think!
That preposterous blush would surely suggest a reason more personal than
a brother's marriage. A love affair, a lover, but mercifully a lover in
England, since she had already explained that Jack Middleton and his
wife were her sole friends in India. Yes! that would be the
explanation, a persistent lover--a lover who had been refused, a lover
left behind to recover at his ease. Katrine's self-possession was
restored by this assurance. Certainly she had had lovers... She
adopted what was evidently intended to be an "Isabel Carnaby air," and
demanded lightly:
"And now, Captain Bedford, it is your turn to confess your troubles."
"I have none," he said instantly. He looked full into her face with his
twinkling eyes. "Or if I had--I have forgotten."