Lord Lindfield had carried out Jeannie's instructions to the letter, and
after the women had left the dining-room had relapsed into a state of
supreme boredom. It had not been a difficult task; his boredom was quite
genuine, for he did not in the least wish to talk to Victor Braithwaite
or to listen to Jim Crowfoot, or pass the wine to two or three other
men. He wanted to tell Daisy how impossible it had been to get down
earlier in the day; he wanted also to tell Mrs. Halton what a jolly
drive they had had together. It had been jolly; there was no question
whatever about it. She had been so delightful, too, about the breakdown
of that wretched motor car. Other women might have been annoyed, and
audibly wondered when it was going to start again. But she had not been
the least annoyed. She had said, "Oh, I hope it will take a long time to
mend! Isn't it heavenly sitting by the roadside like tramps?"
They had sat like tramps for an hour or two. She did not look
particularly like a tramp, for she had a huge fur cloak on at first,
designed originally to defeat the cold wind occasioned by the speed at
which they hoped to travel, which up till then had been about three
miles an hour. This she had taken off, and sat on a rug taken from the
disgraceful car, and treated the whole affair like a huge joke. There
never was such a good comrade; if she had been a boy, out on a motor for
the first time, she could not have adopted a franker air of amused
enjoyment at these accidents of the road. They had made periodic visits
to the car and the hammering chauffeur, and then the Great Hunger, about
which she had already spoken, had begun. She had confessed to an awful
inanition, and had suggested things to eat, till the fact that other
people were already sitting down to dine, having had tea, became
absolutely unbearable. Then suddenly she had stopped the nonsense and
said, "I am so glad that this has happened. Being left in the Bath Road
like this makes one know a man better, doesn't it? I always wanted to
know you better. Oh, the compliment is ambiguous. I haven't told you yet
whether you improve on acquaintance."
And then, just as they stopped at the door and the motor hooted its
apologies, she turned to him.
"What a pity!" she had said. "I hate nice things coming to an end."
That particular nice thing had certainly come to an end, but he was
firmly determined that there were a quantity of nice things not yet
begun. He was genuinely attached to Daisy; he fully intended to ask her
to be his wife, and contemplated, in case he was so fortunate as to
obtain a "yes" from her, many serene and happy years. And, indeed, he
was no coxcomb; he did not fancy that any girl he saw was willing to
marry him if he wished to marry her, but at the same time he did not
feel that it was in the least likely that Daisy would refuse him. And as
he came out after dinner that night, after so successfully looking bored
in the dining-room, he had not altered his mind in the least; his
intentions were still all fully there. But that was no reason why he
should not talk to Mrs. Halton. He was quite capable even of talking to
her about Daisy.
It was then that the action of the tragic little farce really began.
Daisy had heard the sound of his voice before they turned the corner of
the house, and by design moved away from her aunt's side to the far end
of the verandah, from where a path led down to the edge of the river.
The verandah was well lit; there could be no question that when he came
round the corner he would see her. There was no question, moreover, in
her own mind, that he would join her.
Jeannie was sitting at the end of the verandah near to the corner round
which they came. Victor Braithwaite stopped on one side of her chair,
Lord Lindfield stopped on the other. The latter had looked up, and,
Daisy felt sure, had seen her. Then, after a few minutes' chat, Daisy
saw her aunt get out of her chair and heard her laugh.
"But I challenge you, Lord Lindfield," Daisy heard her say; "and, apart
from all chivalrous instincts, if you don't accept my challenge it will
be because you know you will be beaten. We will have a game of pool
first, and then, when everybody else is tired, you and I will play a
serious hundred. You probably think that because I am a woman I can't
play games. Very well. I say to that, 'Let us put it to the proof.'--Mr.
Braithwaite, come and play pool first, won't you?--Dear Alice, may we go
and play pool? Is nobody else coming? Let us begin at once."
All this Daisy heard; and once again she saw Lord Lindfield look up
towards the end of the verandah where she was standing, and then call
some laughing reply after Mrs. Halton, who was already just vanishing
indoors. For a couple of steps he followed her, then turned round and
came up the verandah towards Daisy.
"Mrs. Halton has arranged a regular night of it, Miss Daisy," he said,
"and has challenged me to a game of billiards in such a way that I can't
refuse. We're going to have a game of pool first. Won't you come and
take a hand? You and I will play Mrs. Halton and Braithwaite."
"Sides at pool?" asked Daisy.
"Why shouldn't we? But probably you think it's stupid to go indoors
on such a night. So it is. I would much sooner stroll about or go on
the river, but, you see, I can't help myself. Let's go in the punt
to-morrow. Please keep a punt for you and me. Put a label on--'You
and Me.'"
Daisy smiled. She would not have allowed that she needed cheering up at
all, but it is a fact that this cheered her up.
"Yes, do let us spend all day on the river to-morrow," she said. "But
you must go and play your pool now. I don't think I shall come in; it is
so heavenly out here."
Lord Lindfield wavered; the girl looked enchantingly pretty. "Upon my
word, so it is," he said; "and you look just like a summer evening
yourself, Miss Daisy. Wonder if I could get some one to take my place
at pool before I play a single with Mrs. Halton, and stop out here
with you?"
Pleasant though the deed would have been to Daisy, his wish and his
desire were more essential. She could without struggle forgo the
pleasure of being with him, now that he had said that it was this that
he preferred.
"But indeed you mustn't do anything of the kind," she said. "Aunt
Jeannie wants you to play; she asked you. You must go in at once."
The fact that Mrs. Halton had carried off two men to the billiard-room
left the rest of the party out of the square; but Daisy, quite willing
to be the odd unit, strolled very contentedly out along the path that
led to the river. The moon had not long risen and shone very large and
low in the east, burning dimly and red through the heat haze and vapours
from the Thames. The air was very windless, and the river lay like a
sheet of grey steel at her feet, save where a little spreading feather
of black ripple showed the course of some water-rat. Bats wheeled and
dipped like some company of nocturnal swallows, pursuing their minute
prey, and uttering their little staccato cries so high in the scale that
none but the acute ear could hear them.
From the garden, as an occasional whisper of wind lifted the
down-dropping leaves of aspen and ash, the air came laden with the
scent of damp earth (for since sunset the gardeners had been busy) and
the spilt fragrance of sleeping flowers. Or occasionally a little
draught would draw from the river itself, and that to Daisy's nostril
was of even a more admirable quality, for it smelt of cool running water
and nought besides. On the far bank the mists lay in wisps and streamers
above the low-lying meadow, and the dark bulk of cattle and horses
loomed through them like rocks in a vaporous sea. But a fathom from the
ground the air was dry and clear; it was but in a shallow sea that these
rocks were submerged, and on this side of the river where Daisy walked
the banking-up of the path to form a protection to the garden against
the spring and winter floods raised her above these damp breathings of
the fruitful earth, and she moved in the clearness and austerity of
starshine and moonlight. And not her body only, but her mind and soul
walked in a light that was very romantic and wonderful, and seemed
somehow to be attuned to this pale mysterious flame of the moon that
flooded the heavens.
All the dim, intense happiness she first experienced two nights before
had blazed up within her into a conflagration, the nature of which there
was no mistaking, while the dim and almost intenser doubts and miseries
of two nights before she saw now to be but the shadows cast by the first
kindling of the other light. Now, as it blazed higher and more
triumphantly, the shadows vanished. And though her consciousness of this
was so vivid and alert, self-consciousness was almost altogether
banished. She no longer made plans for herself in the future, as she had
always done till now, seeing herself as the mistress of a great house,
and filling that position, as, indeed, she was fitted to do, so well, or
seeing herself always kind, always pleasant, always ready to smile on
her adorer. Nor did she even see herself as mother of his children. She
lost sight of herself altogether just now, and saw him only, but in
that different light in which he had appeared so suddenly, so
disconcertingly, at the ball two nights ago.
And he had wished, had preferred to come out here with her rather than
go indoors and play billiards. Daisy, in a sudden mood of that exquisite
humbleness which goes with love, blushed with pleasure that it should be
so, but told herself that it was an incredible thing. Yet so it was. He
would sooner have come out here (for he had said it) and talked to this
goose of a girl than be with anybody else, even Aunt Jeannie. Daisy
wished she had told Aunt Jeannie on the afternoon of her arrival what
was the state of things between her and Lord Lindfield, for it was
really rather too much of a good thing that Aunt Jeannie (the darling)
should all innocently monopolize him the whole afternoon, drive down
with him alone (taking hours and hours over it), and as soon as dinner
was over (at which meal she sat next him) take him away to play
billiards. But she had let that opportunity slip, and though she had
hoped to tell Jeannie about it to-night she would not be able, since her
aunt had cried off a bedroom talk on the plea of tiredness.
And then, quite suddenly, a thought occurred to Daisy of the most
disagreeable kind. Aunt Jeannie had been too tired to talk to her, had
meant to slip away and tumble into bed as soon as possible, yet within
five minutes of her having made that declaration she had engaged herself
to play pool and to follow that up by having a single with Lord
Lindfield--an odd programme for a woman who was so fatigued that she was
going to slip away and go to bed as soon as possible.
Then, almost without pause, Daisy pulled herself together again, banging
the door of her mind, so to speak, on that unpleasant thought, and
refusing to give it entrance or to hold parley with it. There were fifty
explanations, if explanations were required, but for a loyal friend
they were not, and Daisy refused to think more of the matter. But all
the time some small prying denizen of her subconscious mind was
wondering what these explanations could possibly be.
This unpleasant little moment, though she had dealt with it as loyally
and speedily as she could, had rather spoilt the moonlight saunter--or,
at any rate, Daisy was afraid of other similar intrusions, and she went
back to the house. There she found the whole party engaged, for the
bridge tables had been made up, one in the far end of the billiard-room,
one out on the verandah, while the remaining three were still at their
pool. Without more than half-conscious intention, Daisy strolled on
round the house, meaning to look in at the billiard-room.
She had meant to go into the room in the natural, ordinary way, entering
by the long French window, which gave on to the path, and would be sure
on this warm evening to be open. But she did not do that, and instead,
paused opposite the window, but at some little distance from it, so that
she herself was probably invisible to eyes looking from that bright
light inside into the dusk in which she stood. She wanted, in fact, to
see what was going on without being seen. She saw.
Aunt Jeannie and Lord Lindfield were standing together by the
marking-board, talking about some point which might or might not have
been connected with billiards. The pool apparently was over, for Victor
Braithwaite had put down his cue and had strolled over to the bridge
table. And at that moment Jeannie raised her hand and laid it, just for
a second, on the sleeve of Lindfield's shirt, for he was coatless. The
action was infinitesimal and momentary, but it looked rather intimate.
And then poor Daisy had once more to take herself in hand. Whatever
polite name might be found for her present occupation (you could call it
strolling in the garden or looking at the moon, if you chose), there
was a very straightforward and not very polite name that could be found
for it, and that was "spying." She discontinued it, and entered the
billiard-room, whistling, like a proper person.
The usual thing happened, and everybody became so stupidly and
obstinately unselfish that it looked as if there would be no more
billiards at all.
Lord Lindfield, without pause, said: "By Jove! how lucky, Miss Daisy.
You've come in the nick of time. Just finished our pool. Now you and
Mrs. Halton shall play a single and I shall mark for you."
But it appeared also that if there was a thing Mrs. Halton really
enjoyed doing it was marking for other people, and she insisted that
Daisy and Lord Lindfield should have a game. Daisy, of course, was
equally altruistic, firmly refused to interfere with their previous
arrangement, and eventually, a rubber just coming to an end, cut into
the bridge table in the far corner of the room.
The rubber was fairly rapid, but before the end of it a footman had
appeared with the bed-time tray of soda and whisky and lemons, followed
by another man with bedroom candles. Mrs. Beaumont, the only other woman
in the room besides Daisy and Mrs. Halton, and who had been yawning in a
strangled manner during the course of the last two hands, instantly took
her candle and departed, and Daisy, with more deliberation, drank some
soda-water and looked on at the game for a few minutes.
"Daisy dear," said Jeannie, "is it too dreadful and wicked and fast of
me to go on playing? I don't care if it is. I must finish the game, and
I'm going to win.--Oh, Lord Lindfield, what a fluke! Do you mean to say
you are going to count it?"
"By Jove! yes; charge three for that.--Miss Daisy, your aunt's giving me
an awful hiding! There, I've left them again!"
Jeannie, as a matter of fact, was what may be called a very decent
country-house player, quite capable of making her twenty-five break more
than once in the course of a game. She selected this moment to do it
now, and from seventy-six ran out. The other men had strolled out on to
the terrace, and Daisy, after congratulations, lit a couple of candles,
one for herself, one for her aunt.
"I say, Mrs. Halton, we might have one more game," said Lord Lindfield;
"it's only half-past ten. Couldn't sleep if I had to finish up with such
a whacking."
Jeannie's eyes were a-sparkle with enjoyment and triumph.
"Have a game with Daisy," she said. "Let me rest on my laurels."
Daisy shook her head.
"Not to-night," she said. "I really would rather not. Do play again,
Aunt Jeannie. I am going to bed; I am, really."
"Fifty, then, Lord Lindfield," said Jeannie.
Daisy went straight up to her room, still making an effort to banish
the thought that Aunt Jeannie had said she was tired, and slowly the
house grew quiet. The steps of men going to their rooms tapped along the
polished boards of the corridor outside, with now and then the rustle of
a dress. Then all was still, and she sat, half-undressed, with a book on
her lap that she was not reading, while a couple more quarters chimed
from the clock above the stables. At last came the sound of steps again
outside; the tap of a rather heavy tread, and with it the rustle of a
dress. Then came Lindfield's laugh, merry and unmistakable.
"Good-night, Mrs. Halton," he said. "I've had a perfectly ripping time!
Never enjoyed a day more."
Apparently she had gone down the passage some way, for her voice sounded
more distant.
"And I also," she said. "Good-night."
Then came the sound of two doors shutting.