Cornelia booked a first-class return to town, scattered half-crowns
broadcast among the astonished porters, ensconced herself in a corner of
an empty carriage, and prepared to enjoy the journey. She did not
purchase any magazines at the bookstall; the only child of a millionaire
need not trouble about insurance coupons, and at two-and-twenty life is
more interesting than fiction. Cornelia guessed she'd heaps more to
think about than would occupy a pokey little journey of from two or
three hours. Just to think how things changed from day to day!
Yesterday she had supposed herself dumped right-down in Norton Park for
a solid three months, and to-day here she was full chase for London,
with the prospect of a week, crammed full of frivolity and amusement!
She gurgled to herself in much contentment. Aunt Soph had kissed her,
or, at least, submitted to be kissed; Elma was engaged in playing the
part of Eve in flounced blue muslin, to an Adam in a flannel suit, in a
particularly well-mown Garden of Eden. She could therefore be happy in
her mind concerning those who were left behind, and she had never yet
doubted her own ability to take care of herself. She smoothed the
wrinkles on her long suede gloves, flicked the dust off the ridiculous
points of her "high shoes," and sighed impatiently. She and her baggage
were safely aboard. Why couldn't that old engine hustle up and start?
Cornelia rose to her feet, and thrust her head out of the open window.
There was only one passenger approaching along the deserted platform,
and as fate would have it, he had reached a spot but a couple of yards
away, so that the sudden appearance of the girl's head through the
window was followed by simultaneous exclamations of astonishment.
Exclamations of recognition, too, for the new-comer was none other than
Captain Guest himself, most obviously equipped for town.
"Miss Briskett--is that you?"
"Mussy, what a turn you gave me! Who'd have dreamt of meeting you
here?"
"Are you going up to town?"
"I am! Are you?"
"I am! Do you prefer to travel alone? If not, may I come in?"
"Why, suttenly!" Cornelia was not yet quite sure whether she were
annoyed or pleased by the encounter, but on the whole the agreeable
element predominated. She was of a gregarious nature, and at any time
preferred to talk, rather than remain silent. After a month spent in a
strictly feminine household, the society of a male man was an agreeable
novelty. Moreover--sweet triumph to a daughter of Eve!--half an hour's
_tete-a-tete_ on the drive home from the Manor had apparently made short
work of the Captain's preconceived dislike, since he was so anxious to
repeat the dose! Cornelia smiled; the naughty, little smile of a spider
who welcomes a fly into his net.
Another minute, and the train was movings lowly out of the station,
while the two young people continued their cross-examination,
confronting each other from their separate corners.
"This is an unexpected visit, is it not? I understood from Miss Ramsden
that she expected you to call at the Manor to-day or to-morrow."
(Cornelia scored a point against him, for his own desertion, in the face
of so interesting a prospect!)
"Vury unexpected! I got a wire from a friend and came off within two
hours. I understood from Mrs Greville that _you_ were making quite a
good stay?"
Guest grimaced eloquently.
"I was--but--circumstances alter cases! To tell you the honest truth,
Miss Briskett, I'm just a bit fed up with playing gooseberry by day, and
piquet (with Madame!) by night, and the idea of spending a few days at
the club presented itself as an agreeable novelty. My friends are
almost all in town just now, and there is a good deal going on. I
generally put in a week or so of the season, so I thought I might as
well clear out at once. They don't want me here!"
"I don't know about that," returned Cornelia, thoughtfully. "What about
Madame? _Someone's_ got to keep her occupied! What's to happen to her
in the evenings now? There'll be nothing for it but a three-handed
game, and that's the limit! If you'd been a kind, self-sacrificing
friend, you'd have stayed on, and worked that piquet for all you were
worth!"
"But I'm not self-sacrificing, you see!" Captain Guest explained, and
in truth he did not look it. Cornelia's glance took in the magnificent
proportions of the man, the indefinable air of birth and breeding, the
faultless toilette; the strong, dark features. To one and all she paid
a tribute of admiration, but the expression on the face was of
concentrated self-sufficiency. At this point admiration stopped dead,
to be replaced by an uneasy dread. Was Geoffrey Greville, even as his
friend, frankly indifferent to everything but his own amusement, and if
so, what of poor Elma and her dream? It was an awful reflection that in
such a case she herself would be largely responsible for thrusting Elma
into danger. Her expression clouded, and she stared through the window
with unseeing eyes. Captain Guest's words had been so exceedingly plain
that she had not affected to misunderstand their meaning, and the ice
once broken, she was glad of the opportunity of solving her doubts.
"You know Mr Greville very well. Is he--a flirt?"
Captain Guest flashed a glance at her; a rapid, understanding glance.
"He has been," he replied quietly. "A desperate flirt; but--he is not
flirting now!"
"You think--"
"I'm sure!"
Cornelia clasped her hands with a sigh of relief.
"Then--?"
"The Deluge!"
"You mean--?"
"He can't marry her, of course! She's a lovely girl, and everything
that's nice, and good, and that kind of thing, but--not at all the kind
of girl he ought to marry."
"Ought he to marry someone hideous then, with an ugly temper? Poor
fellow! Why?"
"There's no necessity to be hideous, that I know of, though as a matter
of fact he probably won't find a girl suitable as to means and position,
who is anything like so attractive, personally, as Miss Ramsden.
Greville is hardly his own master, Miss Briskett. He is not a rich man,
and he has the place to think of. Besides, there's Madame to consider.
Madame belongs to a noble house, and has high ideas for her son."
"Is it the custom over here, for the mommas to choose wives for their
sons? I don't know much about Mr Greville, but from the look of him I
shouldn't suppose he was one of that sort. He has a kind of an air as
if he'd want a lot of moving, once he got his head set! If he really
cares--"
Captain Guest shrugged expressively.
"Oh, for the moment, of course, it's a case of `all for love, and the
world well lost,' but in a few days' time Miss Ramsden will return home;
they will drop out of each other's lives, and then prudence will come to
the fore. There's a girl whom he has known for years, who is built for
him all the way round. I don't say he'll like it so much, but he'll end
by marrying her like a good boy."
"By marrying her money, you mean to say? I see, we Americans aren't the
only mercenary nation in the world, though we get the credit for it
sometimes. Well! I'll wait a while, before I judge. There comes a
time in most men's lives when they forget their fine principles, and see
just one thing ahead, _and they've got to have it_! Everything else
goes down like ninepins, even if it's a real stately old mother, with
her hair fixed-up like Marie Antoinette. We'll wait and see if that
time comes along for Mr Greville!"
Guest's lip twitched with amusement.
"You seem to be very experienced on the subject."
"I am so. I've seen quite a good deal of life," said Cornelia, with the
air of a female Methuselah. She did not smirk nor giggle at the
insinuation, but accepted it placidly as a matter of course, an
occurrence of everyday happening.
Guest studied her critically, as she gazed out of the window. Was she
plain, or beautiful? It was difficult to say. The colourless
complexion, and sharply pointed nose were serious blemishes, but the
mouth was exquisite, and the hair a marvel. How Rossetti would have
gloried in painting it, unbound, with the great red-gold waves floating
over her shoulders! The eyes were good, too, despite their unusual
colour--the colour of a tawny old sherry!
As though attracted by his scrutiny, Cornelia turned her head, and let
the golden eyes dwell thoughtfully upon his face.
"Does Mr Greville do anything?" she inquired. "Has he any sort of
occupation in life?"
"He has a certain amount of business in connection with the property,
but the agent does most of that. He hunts, of course, and shoots--he's
a capital shot--and fishes at odd times. All the ordinary things that a
man does."
"Is that so? They wouldn't be ordinary with us. I like a man to work.
_You've_ got to work hard, I suppose? You're a soldier."
The quick pucker of lips and brows were almost startlingly eloquent of
pain.
"Not now! I was."
"You retired?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Rupert Guest looked across the carriage in silence. At any time he was
haughtily resentful of curiosity; but on this subject most of all he
could not endure to speak with his most intimate friends. His first
impulse was to ignore the question, but as he met Cornelia's steady eyes
that impulse underwent an extraordinary reversion. Incredible as it
might appear, he became conscious that it was not only possible that he
could tell this girl, this stranger, the hidden sorrow of his life, but
that he actually wished to tell it! He wanted to hear what she would
say; to see how she would look. Those childlike eyes would look very
beautiful, softened with the light of sympathy and consolation. He
wanted to see that light shining for his sake.
"It's a long story," he began slowly, "I don't talk of it more than I
can help, but I'll tell you, if you care to hear it. I come of a race
of soldiers: it never entered my head that I could be anything else. My
father was in the Lancers; he died before I left Sandhurst, but my
mother managed to allow me fifteen hundred a year, and I joined my
father's regiment. I was lucky as things go; went through two
engagements before I was thirty; gained distinction at Omdurman. At
home I had a nailing good time: Adjutant of the regiment. We had the
jolliest mess! I don't think a man ever lived who enjoyed his life
more. There was lots of play, but I loved the work too, and studied
hard, at every branch of the profession. I had the credit of being one
of the best all-round men in the service." He laughed; a hard, sore-
hearted laugh. "I can say that now without reproach, for it belongs to
another life. ... Then--my mother died! She had been living beyond her
income, and there were all the legal expenses to face; selling up at a
loss; giving the girls their share. She had made a special push to keep
me in the old regiment; but in the end it came down to this, that in
all, there was barely five hundred a year for me. It was a big blow,
but there was nothing for it but to send in my resignation."
"Why?"
"One can't be an officer in a crack cavalry regiment with only five
hundred a year beyond his pay, Miss Briskett. It can't be done. There
wasn't one of my subs, who had less than eight hundred."
"Don't you get any pay at all in your army then?"
"Certainly; about enough to pay the mess bills, and perhaps the changes
of kit. The uniform costs several hundreds to start with, and those
fools at the War Office are everlastingly ordering senseless
alterations."
"Yes; but--I don't understand! If the pay is enough for your keep, why
do you need such a heap more to get along? Where does all the expense
come in?"
Guest knitted his brows in momentary embarrassment.
"Well, of course, there are certain things that a man must do to live up
to his position. He must entertain; he must hunt; he must play polo.
It comes cheaper to him than ordinary men, for he has the use of the
regimental stables; but still, things run up. It's astonishing how they
_do_ run up! There are a hundred things that are _expected_ of him, and
there's no getting away from them."
"Isn't he expected first thing of all to serve his country?"
"That is, of course!" Guest raised his head proudly. "I have already
explained that I _had_ served her."
"Wouldn't they let you go on then, because you couldn't cut a dash?"
"_Let_ me! There wasn't a man in the mess who didn't beg me to stay on!
The Duke sent for me, and argued for half an hour. He promised me a
staff appointment. He said some awfully decent things about my past
services. I was glad of that... I said, `It's no good, sir, I can't
face the prospect of being Colonel of the regiment, and not being able
to afford as much as my own subs.' We went over it again and again, and
he lost his temper at last and called me a fool, but I stuck to it--"
Cornelia drew a sharp breath of excitement.
"You _did_ resign--for money? In spite of all! For only that?"
"It's a very big `only,' Miss Briskett. You don't know how it feels to
have your income suddenly reduced by two-thirds."
"Oh, don't I just! I know how it feels to have it wiped clean away. I
guess my Poppar's dropped about as much in one slump as any man in the
States!" cried Cornelia, with the true American's pride in size, be it
for good or ill. She did not feel it necessary to state that the lost
fortune had been more than retrieved, for one of the very few points on
which she found herself in complete agreement with her aunt, was the
suppression of her own wealth. She had no wish to be judged from a
monetary standpoint, and Poppar's fame had not travelled across the
ocean. He was just an ordinary everyday millionaire, with a modest
little income of from three to four hundred a day; not a real, genuine
high-flyer, with a thousand an hour!
"I had to give up my frills and fixings, but I held on like grim death
to the things that mattered.--I guess there's something wrong about your
army, if a man's got to have a fortune before he can be an officer!"
"A good many people are with you there, Miss Briskett, but unfortunately
that does not alter the fact."
"Then--what did you do after that?"
"Cleared out! I sold my uniform for eighty pounds!"--he laughed again,
the same sore laugh--"and gave my orderly about a dozen suits of
ordinary clothes. The only thing I kept was my sword. I had ten swords
hung on my walls, used by ten generations in succession--I couldn't give
that up. ... An old chum was going out ranching to the wildest part of
California. He asked me to come with him, and I jumped at it. I wanted
to get out of the country--away from it all. If I'd seen the regiment
riding through the streets, I should have gone mad! ... We sailed
within a few weeks..."
"_California_!" Cornelia's face was eloquent with meaning. She had
seen a regiment of Lancers riding through the streets of London on the
one day which she had spent in the metropolis; had stood to stare open-
mouthed, even as the crowd who thronged the pavement. She recalled the
figure of the officer, a gorgeous, mediaeval knight, impenetrably
lifeless, sitting astride his high horse like a figure of bronze; a
glimpse of haughty, set features visible between cap and chin-strap.
Outwardly immovable, indifferent; but within!--ah! within, beyond a
doubt, a swelling pride in himself, in his men, in the noble animals
which bore them; in the consciousness that every day the pageant
attracted the same meed of admiration; pride in the consciousness that
he represented his King, his Empire, the power of the sword! Cornelia,
a stranger and a Republican, had thrilled at the sight of the gallant
Lancers, and--she had visited the wilds of California also, and had
received hospitality at a lonely ranch! There was a husky note in her
voice as she spoke again.
"How long were you there?"
"Three years."
"Did you--hate it very much?"
The laugh this time was more strangled than before.
"Twice over I came within an inch of shooting myself! We were twenty
miles from the nearest neighbour. My friend went his way; I went mine.
For days together we hardly exchanged a word. There was nothing but the
great stretch of land, and the Rockies in the distance. In time one
gets to think them beautiful, but at first... I used to sit and think
of home, and the regiment. It was _always_ with me. I used to say to
myself: `Now they are at mess--Now the horses are coming out of the
stables--Now they are turning out for polo!' I could hear the drum, and
the reveille, and the last post. ... As clearly as in the barracks at
home, I heard them!" ...
He stopped short, turning his eyes from the window to look at Cornelia's
face. It was distorted, quivering, with emotion; her hands were clasped
together, and down her cheek rolled two tear-drops, unashamed. He
turned sharply aside, and for some moments neither spoke. Cornelia was
seeing, as in a picture, the lonely ranch, with the solitary figure,
sitting with his face towards the East, thinking, thinking. ... Guest
was reflecting with amaze on the strange antic of fate, which ordained
that it should be in the eyes of this Yankee stranger that he should see
the first woman's tears shed on his behalf! She cried like a child;
simply, involuntarily, without thought of appearance; the tears rising
from a pure well of sympathy. To the end of his life he would bless her
for those tears!
The train slackened and drew up at a country station. A stout, elderly
lady approached the carriage, glanced from one to the other of the two
occupants, and hastily moved on. Cornelia smiled, with the tears wet on
her lashes. Again the wheels began to move, and Guest said shortly--
"Thank you for your sympathy! I had a feeling that you would
understand--that's why I told you. It's not a story that I often tell
to strangers, as you may guess."
"My, yes, I sympathise; I should just think I do. I know what even our
own people suffer sometimes away out West; but I don't _understand_,"
said Cornelia, firmly. "I don't understand--one--little--bit! There's
more to soldiering than riding through the streets, looking fine and
large, and gotten up like a show. I love to see it. We profess to
laugh at forms and ceremonies, but we love them just the same as anybody
else, but it was your _country_ you'd promise to serve! For better or
worse you allowed you were sworn to serve her. You had risked your life
for her; I reckon you had shed your blood. There was just one thing you
wouldn't sacrifice--your own pride! You were thinking of _yourself_
when you sent in that resignation, Captain Guest! You saw yourself
sitting looking out of the window, and seeing the boys riding off to
their sports, and leaving you behind. You cared more for that, than the
thought that England might need you!"
"You hit hard, Miss Briskett."
"I hit straight. I know just how you've suffered. Seems to me I'm
going to remember all my life how you sat in that ranch and heard the
last post; but if I'd been in your place, if America had wanted me"--her
small, white face lit up with a very ecstasy of emotion--"I'd have
stayed at my post, _if I'd had to sweep the floors to do it_!"