LAST YEAR'S NEST
RESIDENCY parties invariably broke up in good time, and it was not more
than half-past ten when Colonel Gascoigne handed his wife into her
brougham, and set off, according to his custom, to walk home. To-night
he had unusual food for thought, as he proceeded at a leisurely pace,
smoking a most excellent Residency cheroot. So Lola had risen on the
horizon in the character of a fascinating widow, with all the liberty,
prestige, and self-possession usual to her class. How wonderful her
eyes were! He came to a momentary standstill as he recalled them, and
how her voice trembled as she talked of "long ago," and separation,
and the cruelty of circumstance, and misapprehension. She revived a
phase of his existence that he had almost forgotten; it was a little
difficult to realise that he had been madly in love with her once.
That was nearly fifteen years ago—how time flew—in the good old days
when she could play cricket and rounders, and did not know how to use
her eyes. These reflections were abruptly brought to a conclusion by
the appearance of a bare-headed lady in silvery opera cloak, who was
evidently awaiting him under an acacia tree by the edge of the maidan.
It was Angel, who, acting on a sudden impulse, had stopped the brougham
and descended, and sent it home empty. She felt that she must escape
from her own company, her own terrible thoughts. She must talk
to Philip about Lola without delay. No, she could not wait, even
half-an-hour, for she was mentally staggering under the impact of a new
sensation—the name of the sensation was jealousy. Her very soul was in
a fever. Naturally highly-strung, fervent, and impetuous, Angel's whole
being was centred in the longing to know what her husband thought of
Lola—what of her—_which_ of them did he love?
And as she stood by the roadside awaiting his coming, her heart seemed
to beat, "Lola, Lola, Lola," and the distant frogs chorussed "Lola,
Lola, Lola."
They were holding a reception in a neighbouring tank, safe from the
barbarous paddy bird, and the ruthless crane.
* * * * *
"Oh, here you are at last!" said Angel; "it is such an exquisite night,
I thought I would walk home," adding apologetically, as she held up
her dainty shoe, "the road is as dry as a floor; let us go across the
parade-ground."
"All right," he assented; "it is too early for snakes. How hot it was
in that drawing-room, with those big lamps."
"It was," assented his wife, "but _you_ must have found it cooler—in
the verandah."
There was a significant pause, and then Colonel Gascoigne boldly broke
the ice at the thickest part.
"There is nothing so certain as the unexpected," he said; "who would
have thought of seeing Lola out here?"
"Who, indeed?" echoed Angel coolly; "and we were wishing so much for a
new face, though her face is not new to you. Everyone comes to India
nowadays. It would never surprise me if grandmamma appeared. There she
goes."
"What! your grandmother?"
"No, Mrs. Waldershare."
As she spoke a large open carriage bowled along the hard white road. It
contained the Blaines and their guest, who waved her fan to the pair,
with a gesture signifying approval and valediction.
"What do you think of her?" asked Philip, abruptly, as the horses'
hoofs died away in a distant clip-clop.
"I think she is beautiful," answered Angel, in a voice that carried
sincerity in its expression; "there can be but one opinion about that."
"I shouldn't have thought she was your style."
"Oh, yes, I admire dark people."
"Thank you, Angel; that is one to me. But you did not approve of her as
a child."
"No, I was prejudiced, and, of course, I was no judge; but now
that—that——" she hesitated. She was going to add, "that I know her
story——"
"That you have arrived at years of discretion or indiscretion," he
supplemented.
"Yes, now that I have arrived at years of experience, I do not wonder
that you adored her."
Philip did not remark the little falter in her voice.
"How do you know that I adored her?"
"Did you not?" was her quick counter question.
"Well, then—yes."
"And were distracted with misery when she married Mr. Waldershare?"
"So they said," and as he spoke he knocked the ash off his cheroot with
elaborate care.
"You have forgiven her"—and Angel caught her breath; "you forgave her
to-night?"
"I forgave her ten years ago; but, my dear child, do not let us rake up
the ashes of an old love affair that has been extinct for ages. I am
quite prepared to be civil to Lola, as an old playfellow and friend,
that's all. You will have to call on her, and ask her to dinner, and
all that sort of thing."
Angel came to a sudden dead stop, and stood very straight in her long
silvery cloak; her face was white as she gazed at her husband in the
moonlight, with her extraordinarily piercing blue eyes.
"Playfellow—friend," she repeated, "do you believe that she will ever
forget, or allow you to forget, that you were her old lover, her first
love—she _won't_," she added with sudden passion. "She reminded me of
it to-night, and declared that it was a bond between us."
"Then, my dear Angel, I leave her entirely in your hands," rejoined
Philip, with a smile. He had a rare but beautiful smile, inherited from
his mother. "She is an odd creature; she has an embarrassing way of
speaking her thoughts aloud. She thought that, and unawares it escaped
her lips. Lola is not young, she has plenty of sense, she knows that
fifteen years roll between the—the old days—and these, and that," now
laying his hand impressively upon Angel's arm, "there are no birds—in
last year's nest."
"But——" she began excitedly.
"But," he echoed, turning his head sharply, "here comes young Hailes,
running after us. He little dreams that you and I are discussing
abstract sentiment at eleven o'clock at night, in the middle of the
parade-ground."
"Oh, Mrs. Gascoigne," gasped Captain Hailes, breathlessly, "I believe
this is yours—you dropped it on the road—just now."
"Yes, and how very kind of you to take so much trouble—it really was
not worth it," said Angel, who inwardly wished both glove and finder a
thousand miles away. She was anxious to pursue the subject of Lola, her
opportunities for a _tête-à-tête_ with Philip were so rare; and this
odious but well-meaning Captain Hailes accompanied them all the way to
their own gate.