It was this certainty that he had got to make up his mind, whereas
till to-day he had believed that his mind was made up, that Lindfield
carried upstairs with his bedroom candle. But, unlike that useful
article, which could be put out at will, the question refused to be
put out, and burnt with a disconcerting and gem-like clearness. It
was perfectly true, and he confessed it to himself, that for the last
two days he had distinctly preferred to cultivate this wonderful
quick-growing friendship which had shot up between him and Jeannie,
rather than bring things to a head with Daisy.
He had meant while down here to ask her to marry him; now, if he
looked that intention in the face, he was aware that though it was
still there (even as he had begun to tell Mrs. Halton that afternoon),
it had moved away from the immediate foreground, and stood waiting at
a further distance. The cats and Jim Crowfoot, he told himself with
some impatience, were altogether at fault when they so charmingly said
that he had to make up his mind between aunt and niece. It was not
that at all; the only question with which the making up of his mind
was concerned was whether he was going to ask Daisy now, to-morrow, to
be his wife. And the moment he asked himself that question it was
already answered. But that he did not know.
As always, he was quite honest with himself, and proceeded ruthlessly
to find out what had occasioned the postponement of his intention.
That was not hard to answer; the answer had already been indirectly
given. It was the enchantment of this new friendship which had forced
itself into the foreground.
That friendship, however, was now agreed upon and ratified, and the
postponed intention should come forward again. But these last few hours
had made him feel uncertain about that friendship. There was no use in
denying it; she had been quite different since they came in from the
punt. How maddening and how intoxicating women were! How they forced you
to wonder and speculate about them, to work your brain into a fever with
guessing what was going on in theirs.
He turned over in bed with his face to the wall, and shut his eyes with
the firm and laudable intention of not bothering any more about it, but
of letting sleep bring counsel. He did intend to ask Daisy to marry him,
but he was not quite certain when he should do so. And then there
outlined itself behind the darkness of his closed lids Jeannie's face,
with its great dark eyes, its mass of hair growing low on the forehead,
the witchery of its smiling mouth.
So perhaps the cats and Jim Crowfoot, though a little "previous," were
not so wrong about the reality of the question on which he must make up
his mind.
* * * * *
Jeannie announced her intention of going to church next morning at
breakfast, and Victor Braithwaite, who was sitting by her, professed
similar ecclesiastical leanings. Jeannie had apparently completely
recovered from the piano mood of the evening before, and commented
severely on the Sunday habits of this Christian country. She personally
taxed every one who had at present come down with having had no
intention whatever of going to church, and her accusations appeared
particularly well founded. In the middle of this Lord Lindfield entered.
"Good-morning, Lord Lindfield," said Alice. "We are all catching it hot
this morning from Jeannie, who has been accusing us by name and
individually of being heathens."
"Worse than heathens," said Jeannie, briskly.--"Oh, good-morning, Lord
Lindfield. I didn't see you.--Worse than heathens, because heathens
don't know any better. Alice, you must come. You are a landlady of Bray,
and should set an example."
"But it is so hot," said Alice, "and I don't take out the carriage
on Sunday. I like to give the coachman an--an opportunity of going
to church."
"You give him fifty-two every year," said Jeannie.
"The motor is eating its head off," remarked Lindfield. "I'll drive you.
Do come with me, Mrs. Halton."
"Oh, thanks, no. I'll walk," she said. "Mr. Braithwaite is coming
with me."
Jeannie rose as she spoke, and went out through the French window into
the garden.
"Half-past ten, then, Mr. Braithwaite," she said.
Lindfield helped himself to some dish on the side-table.
"Can't stand being called a heathen," he said. "I shall go to
church too."
Victor soon strolled out after Jeannie.
"Hang it all, Jeannie!" he said. "I want to go to church with you, and
now Tom Lindfield says he is coming. Considering how much--oh, well,
never mind."
Jeannie looked hastily round, found they had the garden to themselves,
and took his arm.
"How much he has seen of me, and how little you have," she said.
"Quite correct. But it wasn't a difficult guess."
"No. We will be cunning, Victor. I said half-past ten quite loud, didn't
I? Let us meet in the manner of conspirators at the garden-gate at a
quarter-past."
They turned towards the house again, and Jeannie detached her arm
from his.
"Remember your promise, dear," she said. "I am I, and I am yours.
Never doubt that."
All that day there was no possible cause for his doubting it. The
conspirator-plan succeeded to admiration, and Lord Lindfield and
Daisy, with a somewhat faint-intentioned Gladys, had waited in the
hall till a quarter to eleven. Then it was discovered that Jeannie
had not been seen in the house since ten, and Gladys, victorious
over her faint intentions, had stopped at home, while Daisy and
Lord Lindfield walked rapidly to church, arriving there in the
middle of the psalms.
Jeannie had been gaily apologetic afterwards. She had not heard at
breakfast that anybody except herself and Mr. Braithwaite meant to go to
church, and, coming home, she paired herself off with Daisy. At lunch
again there were, when she appeared, two vacant places, one between
Willie Carton and one of the cats, the other next Lord Lindfield. She
walked quietly round the table to take the first of these, instead of
going to the nearest chair.
For the afternoon there were several possibilities. Jeannie, appealed
to, said she would like to go up to Boulter's Lock and see the Ascot
Sunday crowd. That, it appeared, was very easy of management, as Lord
Lindfield would punt her up.
"That will be delightful," said Jeannie. "Daisy dear, I haven't simply
set eyes on you. Do let us go up together, and Lord Lindfield will punt
us. We will be the blest pair of sirens, of extraordinarily diverse age,
and he shall give the apple of discord to one of us. If he gives it you
I shall never speak to you again.--Lord Lindfield, will you take us up?"
"I shall have two apples," said he.
"Then Daisy and I will each of us want both."
This had been the last of the arrangements, and it was like Mrs.
Halton, such was the opinion of the cats, to manage things like
that. There could be no doubt that when the launch and the Noah's
Ark and the punt met below Boulter's, it would be found that Daisy
had another convenient headache.
The three vessels met there. But on the punt were Lord Lindfield and
Daisy all alone. Mrs. Halton, it seemed, had stopped at home. There was
no explanation; she had simply not come, preferring not to.
Nobody could understand, least of all Lord Lindfield. She had swum
further away.
But Daisy had not had a very amusing time. Punting appeared to
monopolize the attention of the punter.