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diff --git a/13071-0.txt b/13071-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..07057e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/13071-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8649 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13071 *** + + HELENA + + BY MRS. HUMPHRY WARD + + AUTHOR OF LADY ROSE'S DAUGHTER, MISSING, ELIZABETH'S CAMPAIGN, ETC. + + 1919 + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +"I don't care a hang about the Middle Classes!" said Lord Buntingford, +resting his head on his hand, and slowly drawing a pen over a printed +sheet that lay before him. The sheet was headed "Middle Class Defence +League," and was an appeal to whom it might concern to join the founders +of the League in an attempt to curb the growing rapacity of the +working-classes. "Why should we be snuffed out without a struggle?" said +the circular. "We are fewer, no doubt, but we are better educated. Our +home traditions are infinitely superior. It is on the Middle Classes that +the greatness of England depends." + +"Does it?" thought Lord Buntingford irritably. "I wonder." + +He rose and began to pace his library, a shabby comfortable room which he +loved. The room however had distinction like its master. The distinction +came, perhaps, from its few pictures, of no great value, but witnessing +to a certain taste and knowledge on the part of the persons, long since +dead, who hung them there; from one or two cases of old Nankin; from its +old books; and from a faded but enchanting piece of tapestry behind the +cases of china, which seemed to represent a forest. The tapestry, which +covered the whole of the end wall of the room, was faded and out of +repair, but Lord Buntingford, who was a person of artistic sensibilities, +was very fond of it, and had never been able to make up his mind to spare +it long enough to have it sent to the School of Art Needlework for +mending. His cousin, Lady Cynthia Welwyn, scolded him periodically for +his negligence in the matter. But after all it was he, and not Cynthia, +who had to live in the room. She had something to do with the School, and +of course wanted jobs for her workers. + +"I hope that good woman's train will be punctual," he thought to himself, +presently, as he went to a window and drew up a blind. "Otherwise I shall +have no time to look at her before Helena arrives." + +He stood awhile absently surveying the prospect outside. There was first +of all a garden with some pleasant terraces, and flights of stone steps, +planned originally in the grand style, but now rather dilapidated and +ill-kept, suggesting either a general shortage of pelf on the part of the +owner--or perhaps mere neglect and indifference. + +Beyond the garden stretched a green rim of park, with a gleam of water in +the middle distance which seemed to mean either a river or a pond, many +fine scattered trees, and, girdling the whole, a line of wooded hill. +Just such a view as any county--almost--in this beautiful England can +produce. It was one of the first warm days of a belated spring. A +fortnight before, park and hills and garden had been deep in snow. Now +Nature, eager, and one might think ashamed, was rushing at her neglected +work, determined to set the full spring going in a minimum of hours. The +grass seemed to be growing, and the trees leafing under the spectator's +eyes. There was already a din of cuckoos in the park, and the nesting +birds were busy. + +The scene was both familiar and unfamiliar to Lord Buntingford. He had +been brought up in it as a child. But he had only inherited the Beechmark +property from his uncle just before the war, and during almost the whole +of the war he had been so hard at work, as a volunteer in the Admiralty, +that he had never been able to do more than run down once or twice a year +to see his agent, go over his home farm, and settle what timber was to be +cut before the Government commandeered it. He was not yet demobilized, as +his naval uniform showed. There was a good deal of work still to do in +his particular office, and he was more than willing to do it. But in a +few months' time at any rate--he was just now taking a fortnight's +leave--he would be once more at a loose end. That condition of things +must be altered as soon as possible. When he looked back over the years +of driving work through which he had just passed to the years of +semi-occupation before them, he shrank from those old conditions in +disgust. Something must be found to which he could enslave himself again. +Liberty was the great delusion--at least for him. + +Politics?--Well, there was the House of Lords, and the possibility of +some minor office, when his Admiralty work was done. And the whole +post-war situation was only too breathless. But for a man who, as soon as +he had said Yes, was immediately seized with an insensate desire to look +once more at all the reasons which might have induced him to say No, +there was no great temptation in politics. Work was what the nation +wanted--not talk. + +Agriculture and the Simple Life?--Hardly! Five years of life in London, +four of them under war conditions, had spoilt any taste for the country +he had ever possessed. He meant to do his duty by his estate, and by the +miscellaneous crowd of people, returned soldiers and others, who seemed +to wish to settle upon it. But to take the plunge seriously, to go in +heart and soul for intensive culture or scientific dairy-farming, to +spend lonely winters in the country with his bailiffs and tenants for +company--it was no good talking about it--he knew it could not be done. + +And--finally--what was the good of making plans at all?--with these new +responsibilities which friendship and pity and weakness of will had +lately led him to take upon himself?--For two years at least he would not +be able to plan his life in complete freedom. + +His thoughts went dismally off in the new direction. As he turned away +from the window, a long Venetian mirror close by reflected the image of a +tall man in naval uniform, with a head and face that were striking rather +than handsome--black curly hair just dusted with grey, a slight chronic +frown, remarkable blue eyes and a short silky beard. His legs were +slender in proportion to the breadth of his shoulders, and inadequate in +relation to the dignity of the head. One of them also was slightly--very +slightly--lame. + +He wandered restlessly round the room again, stopping every now and then +with his hands in his pockets, to look at the books on the shelves. +Generally, he did not take in what he was looking at, but in a moment +less absent-minded than others, he happened to notice the name of a +stately octavo volume just opposite his eyes-- + +"Davison, on Prophecy." + +"Damn Davison!"--he said to himself, with sudden temper. The outburst +seemed to clear his mind. He went to the bell and rang it. A thin woman +in a black dress appeared, a woman with a depressed and deprecating +expression which was often annoying to Lord Buntingford. It represented +somehow an appeal to the sentiment of the spectator for which there was +really no sufficient ground. Mrs. Mawson was not a widow, in spite of the +Mrs. She was a well-paid and perfectly healthy person; and there was no +reason, in Lord Buntingford's view, why she should not enjoy life. All +the same, she was very efficient and made him comfortable. He would have +raised her wages to preposterous heights to keep her. + +"Is everything ready for the two ladies, Mrs. Mawson?" + +"Everything, my Lord. We are expecting the pony-cart directly." + +"And the car has been ordered for Miss Pitstone?" + +"Oh, yes, my Lord, long ago." + +"Gracious! Isn't that the cart!" + +There was certainly a sound of wheels outside. Lord Buntingford hurried +to a window which commanded the drive. + +"That's her! I must go and meet her." + +He went into the hall, reaching the front door just as the pony-cart drew +up with a lady in black sitting beside the driver. Mrs. Mawson looked +after him. She wondered why his lordship was in such a flurry. "It's this +living alone. He isn't used to have women about. And it's a pity he +didn't stay on as he was." + +Meanwhile the lady in the pony-cart, as she alighted, saw a tall man, of +somewhat remarkable appearance, standing on the steps of the porch. Her +expectations had been modest; and that she would be welcomed by her +employer in person on the doorstep of Beechmark had not been among them. +Her face flushed, and a pair of timid eyes met those of Lord Buntingford +as they shook hands. + +"The train was very late," she explained in a voice of apology. + +"They always are," said Lord Buntingford. "Never mind. You are in quite +good time. Miss Pitstone hasn't arrived. Norris, take Mrs. Friend's +luggage upstairs." + +An ancient man-servant appeared. The small and delicately built lady on +the step looked at him appealingly. + +"I am afraid there is a box besides," she said, like one confessing a +crime. "Not a big one--" she added hurriedly. "We had to leave it at the +station. The groom left word for it to be brought later." + +"Of course. The car will bring it," said Lord Buntingford. "Only one +box and those bags?" he asked, smiling. "Why, that's most moderate. +Please come in." + +And he led the way to the drawing-room. Reassured by his kind voice +and manner, Mrs. Friend tripped after him. "What a charming man!" +she thought. + +It was a common generalization about Lord Buntingford. Mrs. Friend had +still--like others--to discover that it did not take one very far. + +In the drawing-room, which was hung with French engravings mostly after +Watteau, and boasted a faded Aubusson carpet, a tea-table was set out. +Lord Buntingford, having pushed forward a seat for his guest, went +towards the tea-table, and then thought better of it. + +"Perhaps you'll pour out tea--" he said pleasantly. "It'll be your +function, I think--and I always forget something." + +Mrs. Friend took her seat obediently in front of the tea-table and the +Georgian silver upon it, which had a look of age and frailty as though +generations of butlers had rubbed it to the bone, and did her best not +to show the nervousness she felt. She was very anxious to please her +new employer. + +"I suppose Miss Pitstone will be here before long?" she ventured, when +she had supplied both the master of the house and herself. + +"Twenty minutes--" said Lord Buntingford, looking at his watch. +"Time enough for me to tell you a little more about her than I +expect you know." + +And again his smile put her at ease. + +She bent forward, clasping her small hands. + +"Please do! It would be a great help." + +He noticed the delicacy of the hands, and of her slender body. The face +attracted him--its small neat features, and brown eyes. Clearly a +lady--that was something. + +"Well, I shouldn't wonder--if you found her a handful," he said +deliberately. + +Mrs. Friend laughed--a little nervous laugh. + +"Is she--is she very advanced?" + +"Uncommonly--I believe. I may as well tell you candidly she didn't want +to come here at all. She wanted to go to college. But her mother, who was +a favourite cousin of mine, wished it. She died last autumn; and Helena +promised her that she would allow me to house her and look after her for +two years. But she regards it as a dreadful waste of time." + +"I think--in your letter--you said I was to help her--in modern +languages--" murmured Mrs. Friend. + +Lord Buntingford shrugged his shoulders-- + +"I have no doubt you could help her in a great many things. Young people, +who know her better than I do, say she's very clever. But her mother and +she were always wandering about--before the war--for her mother's health. +I don't believe she's been properly educated in anything. Of course one +can't expect a girl of nineteen to behave like a schoolgirl. If you can +induce her to take up some serious reading--Oh, I don't mean anything +tremendous!--and to keep up her music---I expect that's all her poor +mother would have wanted. When we go up to town you must take her to +concerts--the opera--that kind of thing. I dare say it will go all +right!" But the tone was one of resignation, rather than certainty. + +"I'll do my best--" began Mrs. Friend. + +"I'm sure you will. But--well, we'd better be frank with each other. +Helena's very handsome--very self-willed--and a good bit of an heiress. +The difficulty will be--quite candidly--_lovers_!" + +They both laughed. Lord Buntingford took out his cigarette case. + +"You don't mind if I smoke?" + +"Not at all." + +"Won't you have one yourself?" He held out the case. Mrs. Friend did not +smoke. But she inwardly compared the gesture and the man with the +forbidding figure of the old woman in Lancaster Gate with whom she had +just completed two years of solitary imprisonment, and some much-baffled +vitality in her began to revive. + +Lord Buntingford threw himself back in his arm-chair, and watched the +curls of smoke for a short space--apparently in meditation. + +"Of course it's no good trying the old kind of thing--strict chaperonage +and that sort of business," he said at last. "The modern girl won't +stand it." + +"No, indeed she won't!" said Mrs. Friend fervently. "I should like to +tell you--I've just come from ----" She named a university. "I went to +see a cousin of mine, who's in one of the colleges there. She's going to +teach. She went up just before the war. Then she left to do some war +work, and now she's back again. She says nobody knows what to do with the +girls. All the old rules have just--_gone_!" The gesture of the small +hand was expressive. "Authority--means nothing. The girls are entering +for the sports--just like the men. They want to run the colleges--as they +please--and make all the rules themselves." + +"Oh, I know--" broke in her companion. "They'll just allow the wretched +teachers and professors to teach--what their majesties choose to learn. +Otherwise--they run the show." + +"Of course, they're awfully _nice_ girls--most of them," said Mrs. +Friend, with a little, puzzled wrinkling of the brow. + +"Ripping! Done splendid war work and all that. But the older generation, +now that things have begun again, are jolly well up a tree--how to fit +the new to the old. I have some elderly relations at Oxbridge--a nice old +professor and his wife. Not stick-in-the-muds at all. But they tell me +the world there--where the young women are concerned--seems to be +standing on its head. Well!--as far as I can gather--I really know her +very slightly--my little cousin Helena's in just the same sort of stage. +All we people over forty might as well make our wills and have done with +it. They'll soon discover some kind device for putting us out of the way. +They've no use for us. And yet at the same time"--he flung his cigarette +into the wood-fire beside him--"the fathers and mothers who brought them +into the world will insist on clucking after them, or if they can't cluck +themselves, making other people cluck. I shall have to try and cluck +after Helena. It's absurd, and I shan't succeed, of course--how could I? +But as I told you, her mother was a dear woman--and--" + +His sentence stopped abruptly. Mrs. Friend thought--"he was in love with +her." However, she got no further light on the matter. Lord Buntingford +rose, and lit another cigarette. + +"I must go and write a letter before post. Well, you see, you and I have +got to do our best. Of course, you mustn't try and run her on a tight +rein--you'd be thrown before you were out of the first field--" His blue +eyes smiled down upon the little stranger lady. "And you mustn't spy upon +her. But if you're really in difficulties, come to me. We'll make out, +somehow. And now, she'll be here in a few minutes. Would you like to stay +here--or shall I ring for the housemaid to show you your room?" + +"Thank you--I--think I'll stay here. Can I find a book?" + +She looked round shyly. + +"Scores. There are some new books"--he pointed to a side-table where +the obvious contents of a Mudie box, with some magazines, were laid +out--"and if you want old ones, that door"--he waved towards one at +the far end of the room--"will take you into the library. My +great-grandfather's collection--not mine! And then one has ridiculous +scruples about burning them! However, you'll find a few nice ones. Please +make yourself at home!" And with a slight bow to her, the first sign in +him of those manners of the _grand seigneur_ she had vaguely expected, he +was moving away, when she said hurriedly, pursuing her own thought: + +"You said Miss Pitstone was very good-looking?" + +"Oh, very!" He laughed. "She's exactly like Romney's Lady Hamilton. You +know the type?" + +"Ye-es," said Mrs. Friend. "I think I remember--before the war--at +Agnew's? My husband took me there once." The tone was hesitating. The +little lady was clearly not learned in English art. But Lord Buntingford +liked her the better for not pretending. + +"Of course. There's always an Emma, when Old Masters are on show. Romney +painted her forty or fifty times. We've got one ourselves--a sketch my +grandfather bought. If you'll come into the hall I'll show it you." + +She followed obediently and, in a rather dark corner of the hall, Lord +Buntingford pointed out an unfinished sketch of Lady Hamilton--one of the +many Bacchante variants--the brown head bent a little under the ivy +leaves in the hair, the glorious laughing eyes challenging the spectator. + +"Is she like that?" asked Mrs. Friend, wondering. + +"Who?--my ward?" laughed Lord Buntingford. "Well, you'll see." + +He walked away, and Mrs. Friend stayed a few minutes more in front of the +picture--thinking--and with half an ear listening for the sound of a +motor. She was full of tremors and depression. "I was a fool to come--a +fool to accept!" she thought. The astonishing force of the sketch--of the +creature sketched--intimidated her. If Helena Pitstone were really like +that--"How can she ever put up with me? She'll just despise me. It will +be only natural. And then if things go wrong, Lord Buntingford will find +out I'm no good--and I shall have to go!" + +She gave a long sigh, lifting her eyes a little--against her will--to the +reflection of herself in an old mirror hanging beside the Romney. What a +poor little insignificant figure--beside the other! No, she had no +confidence in herself--none at all--she never had had. The people she had +lived with had indeed generally been fond of her. It was because she made +herself useful to them. Old Mrs. Browne had professed affection for +her,--till she gave notice. She turned with a shiver from the +recollection of an odious scene. + +She went bade to the drawing-room and thence to the library, looking +wistfully, as she passed through it, at the pleasant hall, with its old +furniture, and its mellowed comfort. She would like to find a home here, +if only they would put up with her. For she was very homeless. + +As compared with the drawing-room, the library had been evidently lived +in. Its books and shabby chairs seemed to welcome her, and the old +tapestry delighted her. She stood some minutes before it in a quiet +pleasure, dreaming herself into the forest, and discovering an old castle +in its depths. Then she noticed a portrait of an old man, labelled as by +"Frank Holl, R. A.," hanging over the mantelpiece. She supposed it was +the grandfather who had collected the books. The face and hair of the old +man had blanched indeed to a singular whiteness; but the eyes, blue under +strong eyebrows, with their concentrated look, were the eyes of the Lord +Buntingford with whom she had just been talking. + +The hoot of a motor startled her, and she ran to a window which commanded +the drive. An open car was rapidly approaching. A girl was driving it, +with a man in chauffeur's uniform sitting behind her. She brought the car +smartly up to the door, then instantly jumped out, lifted the bonnet, and +stood with the chauffeur at her side, eagerly talking to him and pointing +to something in the chassis. Mrs. Friend saw Lord Buntingford run down +the steps to greet his ward. She gave him a smile and a left hand, and +went on talking. Lord Buntingford stood by, twisting his moustache, till +she had finished. Then the chauffeur, looking flushed and sulky, got into +the car, and the girl with Lord Buntingford ascended the steps. Mrs. +Friend left the window, and hurriedly went back to the drawing-room, +where tea was still spread. Through the drawing-room door she heard a +voice from the hall full of indignant energy. + +"You ought to sack that man, Cousin Philip. He's spoiling that beautiful +car of yours." + +"Is he? He suits me. Have you been scolding him all the way?" + +"Well, I told him a few things--in your interest." Lord Buntingford +laughed. A few words followed in lowered tones. + +"He is telling her about me," thought Mrs. Friend, and presently caught a +chuckle, very merry and musical, which brought an involuntary smile to +her own eyes. Then the door was thrown back, and Lord Buntingford ushered +in his ward. + +"This is Mrs. Friend, Helena. She arrived just before you did." + +The girl advanced with sudden gravity and offered her hand. Mrs. Friend +was conscious that the eyes behind the hand were looking her all over. + +Certainly a dazzling creature!--with the ripe red and white, the +astonishing eyes, and brown hair, touched with auburn, of the Romney +sketch. The beautiful head was set off by a khaki close cap, carrying a +badge, and the khaki uniform, tunic, short skirt, and leggings, might +have been specially designed to show the health and symmetry of the +girl's young form. She seemed to walk on air, and her presence +transformed the quiet old room. + +"I want some tea badly," said Miss Pitstone, throwing herself into a +chair, "and so would you, Cousin Philip, if you had been battling with +four grubby children and an idiot mother all the way from London. They +made me play 'beasts' with them. I didn't mind that, because my roaring +frightened them. But then they turned me into a fish, and fished for me +with the family umbrellas. I had distinctly the worst of it." And she +took off her cap, turning it round on her hand, and looking at the dints +in it with amusement. + +"Oh, no, you never get the worst of it!" said Lord Buntingford, laughing, +as he handed her the cake. "You couldn't if you tried." + +She looked up sharply. Then she turned to Mrs. Friend. + +"That's the way my guardian treats me, Mrs. Friend. How can I take him +seriously?" + +"I think Lord Buntingford meant it as a compliment--didn't he?" said Mrs. +Friend shyly. She knew, alack, that she had no gift for repartee. + +"Oh, no, he never pays compliments--least of all to me. He has a most +critical, fault-finding mind. Haven't you, Cousin Philip?" + +"What a charge!" said Lord Buntingford, lighting another cigarette. "It +won't take Mrs. Friend long to find out its absurdity." + +"It will take her just twenty-four hours," said the girl stoutly. "He +used to terrify me, Mrs. Friend, when I was a little thing ... May I have +some tea, please? When he came to see us, I always knew before he had +been ten minutes in the room that my hair was coming down, or my shoes +were untied, or something dreadful was the matter with me. I can't +imagine how we shall get on, now that he is my guardian. I shall put him +in a temper twenty times a day." + +"Ah, but the satisfactory thing now is that you will have to put up with +my remarks. I have a legal right now to say what I like." + +"H'm," said Helena, demurring, "if there are legal rights nowadays." + +"There, Mrs. Friend--you hear?" said Lord Buntingford, toying with his +cigarette, in the depths of a big chair, and watching his ward with eyes +of evident enjoyment. "You've got a Bolshevist to look after--a real +anarchist. I'm sorry for you." + +"That's another of his peculiarities!" said the girl coolly, "queering +the pitch before one begins. You know you _might_ like me!--some people +do--but he'll never let you." And, bending forward, with her cup in both +hands, and her radiant eyes peering over the edge of it, she threw a most +seductive look at her new chaperon. The look seemed to say, "I've been +taking stock of you, and--well!--I think I shan't mind you." + +Anyway, Mrs. Friend took it as a feeler and a friendly one. She stammered +something in reply, and then sat silent while guardian and ward plunged +into a war of chaff in which first the ward, but ultimately the guardian, +got the better. Lord Buntingford had more resource and could hold out +longer, so that at last Helena rose impatiently: + +"I don't feel that I have been at all prettily welcomed--have I, Mrs. +Friend? Lord Buntingford never allows one a single good mark. He says I +have been idle all the winter since the Armistice. I haven't. I've worked +like a nigger!" + +"How many dances a week, Helena?--and how many boys?" Helena first made a +face, and then laughed out. + +"As many dances--of course--as one could stuff in--without taxis. I +could walk down most of the boys. But Hampstead, Chelsea, and Curzon +Street, all in one night, and only one bus between them--that did +sometimes do for me." + +"When did you set up this craze?" + +"Just about Christmas--I hadn't been to a dance for a year. I had been +slaving at canteen work all day"--she turned to Mrs. Friend--"and doing +chauffeur by night--you know--fetching wounded soldiers from railway +stations. And then somebody asked me to a dance, and I went. And next +morning I just made up my mind that everything else in the world was +rot, and I would go to a dance every night. So I chucked the canteen and +I chucked a good deal of the driving--except by day--and I just +dance--and dance!" + +Suddenly she began to whistle a popular waltz--and the next minute the +two elder people found themselves watching open-mouthed the whirling +figure of Miss Helena Pitstone, as, singing to herself, and absorbed +apparently in some new and complicated steps, she danced down the whole +length of the drawing-room and back again. Then out of breath, with a +curtsey and a laugh, she laid a sudden hand on Mrs. Friend's arm. + +"Will you come and talk to me--before dinner? I can't talk--before _him_. +Guardians are impossible people!" And with another mock curtsey to Lord +Buntingford, she hurried Mrs. Friend to the door, and then disappeared. + +Her guardian, with a shrug of the shoulders, walked to his writing-table, +and wrote a hurried note. + +"My dear Geoffrey--I will send to meet you at Dansworth to-morrow by the +train you name. Helena is here--very mad and very beautiful. I hope you +will stay over Sunday. Yours ever, Buntingford." + +"He shall have his chance anyway," he thought, "with the others. A fair +field, and no pulling." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +"There is only one bathroom in this house, and it is a day's journey to +find it," said Helena, re-entering her own bedroom, where she had left +Mrs. Friend in a dimity-covered arm-chair by the window, while she +reconnoitred. "Also, the water is only a point or two above freezing--and +as I like boiling--" + +She threw herself down on the floor by Mrs. Friend's side. All her +movements had a curious certainty and grace like those of a beautiful +animal, but the whole impression of her was still formidable to the +gentle creature who was about to undertake what already seemed to her the +absurd task of chaperoning anything so independent and self-confident. +But the girl clearly wished to make friends with her new companion, and +began eagerly to ask questions. + +"How did you hear of me? Do you mind telling me?" + +"Just through an agency," said Mrs. Friend, flushing a little. "I wanted +to leave the situation I was in, and the agency told me Lord Buntingford +was looking for a companion for his ward, and I was to go and see Lady +Mary Chance--" + +The girl's merry laugh broke out: + +"Oh, I know Mary Chance--twenty pokers up her backbone! I should have +thought--" + +Then she stopped, looking intently at Mrs. Friend, her brows drawn +together over her brilliant eyes. + +"What would you have thought?" Mrs. Friend enquired, as the silence +continued. + +"Well--that if she was going to recommend somebody to Cousin Philip--to +look after me, she would never have been content with anything short of a +Prussian grenadier in petticoats. She thinks me a demon. She won't let +her daughters go about with me. I can't imagine how she ever fixed upon +anyone so--" + +"So what?" said Mrs. Friend, after a moment, nervously. Lost in the big +white arm-chair, her small hand propping her small face and head, she +looked even frailer than she had looked in the library. + +"Well, nobody would ever take you for my jailer, would they?" said +Helena, surveying her. + +Mrs. Friend laughed--a ghost of a laugh, which yet seemed to have some +fun in it, far away. + +"Does this seem to you like prison?" + +"This house? Oh, no. Of course I shall do just as I like in it. I have +only come because--well, my poor Mummy made a great point of it when she +was ill, and I couldn't be a brute to her, so I promised. But I wonder +whether I ought to have promised. It is a great tyranny, you know--the +tyranny of sick people. I wonder whether one ought to give in to her?" + +The girl looked up coolly. Mrs. Friend felt as though she had been +struck. + +"But your _mother_!" she said involuntarily. + +"Oh, I know, that's what most people would say. But the question is, +what's reasonable. Well, I wasn't reasonable, and here I am. But I make +my conditions. We are not to be more than four months in the year in this +old hole"--she looked round her in not unkindly amusement at the bare +old-fashioned room; "we are to have four or five months in London, _at +least_; and when travelling abroad gets decent again, we are to go +abroad--Rome, perhaps, next winter. And I am jolly well to ask my friends +here, or in town--male and female--and Cousin Philip promised to be nice +to them. He said, of course, 'Within limits.' But that we shall see. I'm +not a pauper, you know. My trustees pay Lord Buntingford whatever I cost +him, and I shall have a good deal to spend. I shall have a horse--and +perhaps a little motor. The chauffeur here is a fractious idiot. He has +done that Rolls-Royce car of Cousin Philip's balmy, and cut up quite +rough when I spoke to him about it." + +"Done it what?" said Mrs. Friend faintly. + +"Balmy. Don't you know that expression?" Helena, on the floor with her +hands under her knees, watched her companion's looks with a grin. "It's +_our_ language now, you know--English--the language of us young people. +The old ones have got to learn it, as _we_ speak it! Well, what do you +think of Cousin Philip?" + +Mrs. Friend roused herself. + +"I've only seen him for half an hour. But he was very kind." + +"And isn't he good-looking?" said the girl before her, with enthusiasm. +"I just adore that combination of black hair and blue eyes--don't you? +But he isn't by any means as innocent as he looks." + +"I never said--" + +"No. I know you didn't," said Helena serenely; "but you might have--and +he isn't innocent a bit. He's as complex as you make 'em. Most women are +in love with him, except me!" The brown eyes stared meditatively out of +window. "I suppose I could be if I tried. But he doesn't attract me. +He's too old." + +"Old?" repeated Mrs. Friend, with astonishment. + +"Well, I don't mean he's decrepit! But he's forty-four if he's a +day--more than double my age. Did you notice that he's a little lame?" + +"No!" + +"He is. It's very slight--an accident, I believe--somewhere abroad. But +they wouldn't have him for the Army, and he was awfully cut up. He used +to come and sit with Mummy every day and pour out his woes. I suppose she +was the only person to whom he ever talked about his private affairs--he +knew she was safe. Of course you know he is a widower?" + +Mrs. Friend knew nothing. But she was vaguely surprised. + +"Oh, well, a good many people know that--though Mummy always said she +never came across anybody who had ever seen his wife. He married her when +he was quite a boy---abroad somewhere--when there seemed no chance of his +ever being Lord Buntingford--he had two elder brothers who died--and she +was an art student on her own. An old uncle of Mummy's once told me that +when Cousin Philip came back from abroad--she died abroad--after her +death, he seemed altogether changed somehow. But he never, _never_ speaks +of her"--the girl swayed her slim body backwards and forwards for +emphasis--"and I wouldn't advise you or anybody else to try. Most people +think he's just a bachelor. I never talk about it to people--Mummy said I +wasn't to--and as he was very nice to Mummy--well, I don't. But I thought +you'd better know. And now I think we'd better dress." + +But instead of moving, she looked down affectionately at her uniform and +her neat brown leggings. + +"What a bore! I suppose I've no right to them any more." + +"What is your uniform?" + +"Women Ambulance Drivers. Don't you know the hostel in Ruby Square? I +bargained with Cousin Philip after Mummy's death I should stay out my +time, till I was demobbed. Awfully jolly time I had--on the whole--though +the girls were a mixed lot. Well--let's get a move on." She sprang up. +"Your room's next door." + +Mrs. Friend was departing when Helena enquired: + +"By the way--have you ever heard of Cynthia Welwyn?" + +Mrs. Friend turned at the door, and shook her head. + +"Oh, well, I can tot her up very quickly--just to give you an idea--as +she's coming to dinner. She's fair and forty--just about Buntingford's +age--quite good-looking--quite clever--lives by herself, reads a great +deal--runs the parish--you know the kind of thing. They swarm! I think +she would like to marry Cousin Philip, if he would let her." + +Mrs. Friend hurriedly shut the door at her back, which had been slightly +ajar. Helena laughed--the merry but very soft laugh Mrs. Friend had first +heard in the hall--a laugh which seemed somehow out of keeping with the +rest of its owner's personality. + +"Don't be alarmed. I doubt whether that would be news to anybody in this +house! But Buntingford's quite her match. Well, ta-ta. Shall I come and +help you dress?" + +"The idea!" cried Mrs. Friend. "Shall I help you?" She looked round +the room and at Helena vigorously tackling the boxes. "I thought you +had a maid?" + +"Not at all. I couldn't be bored with one." + +"Do let me help you!" + +"Then you'd be my maid, and I should bully you and detest you. You must +go and dress." + +And Mrs. Friend found herself gently pushed out of the room. She went to +her own in some bewilderment. After having been immured for some three +years in close attendance on an invalided woman shut up in two rooms, she +was like a person walking along a dark road and suddenly caught in the +glare of motor lamps. Brought into contact with such a personality as +Helena Pitstone promised to be, she felt helpless and half blind. A +survival, too; for this world into which she had now stepped was one +quite new to her. Yet when she had first shut herself up in Lancaster +Gate she had never been conscious of any great difference between herself +and other women or girls. She had lived a very quiet life in a quiet home +before the war. Her father, a hard-working Civil Servant on a small +income, and her mother, the daughter of a Wesleyan Minister, had brought +her up strictly, yet with affection. The ways of the house were +old-fashioned, dictated by an instinctive dislike of persons who went +often to theatres and dances, of women who smoked, or played bridge, or +indulged in loud, slangy talk. Dictated, too, by a pervading "worship of +ancestors," of a preceding generation of plain evangelical men and women, +whose books survived in the little house, and whose portraits hung upon +its walls. + +Then, in the first year of the war, she had married a young soldier, the +son of family friends, like-minded with her own people, a modest, +inarticulate fellow, who had been killed at Festubert. She had loved +him--oh, yes, she had loved him. But sometimes, looking back, she was +troubled to feel how shadowy he had become to her. Not in the region of +emotion. She had pined for his fondness all these years; she pined for it +still. But intellectually. If he had lived, how would he have felt +towards all these strange things that the war had brought about--the +revolutionary spirit everywhere, the changes come and coming? She did not +know; she could not imagine. And it troubled her that she could not find +any guidance for herself in her memories of him. + +And as to the changes in her own sex, they seemed to have all come about +while she was sitting in a twilight room reading aloud to an old woman. +Only a few months after her husband's death her parents had both died, +and she found herself alone in the world, and almost penniless. She was +not strong enough for war work, the doctor said, and so she had let the +doors of Lancaster Gate close upon her, only looking for something quiet +and settled--even if it were a settled slavery. + +After which, suddenly, just about the time of the Armistice, she had +become aware that nothing was the same; that the women and the girls--so +many of them in uniform!--that she met in the streets when she took her +daily walk--were new creatures; not attractive to her as a whole, but +surprising and formidable, because of the sheer life there was in them. +And she herself began to get restive; to realize that she was not +herself so very old, and to want to know--a hundred things! It had taken +her five months, however, to make up her mind; and then at last she had +gone to an agency--the only way she knew--and had braved the cold and +purely selfish wrath of the household she was leaving. And now here she +was in Lord Buntingford's house--Miss Helena Pitstone's chaperon. As she +stood before her looking-glass, fastening her little black dress with +shaking fingers, the first impression of Helena's personality was upon +her, running through her, like wine to the unaccustomed. She supposed +that now girls were all like this--all such free, wild, uncurbed +creatures, a law to themselves. One moment she repeated that she was a +fool to have come; and the next, she would not have found herself back +in Lancaster Gate for the world. + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile, in the adjoining room, Helena was putting on a tea-gown, a +white and silver "confection," with a little tail like a fish, and a +short skirt tapering down to a pair of slim legs and shapely feet. After +all her protestations, she had allowed the housemaid to help her unpack, +and when the dress was on she had sent Mary flying down to the +drawing-room to bring up some carnations she had noticed there. When +these had been tucked into her belt, and the waves of her brown hair had +been somehow pinned and coiled into a kind of order, and she had +discovered and put on her mother's pearls, she was pleased with herself, +or rather with as much of herself as she could see in the inadequate +looking-glass on the toilet-table. A pier-glass from somewhere was of +course the prime necessity, and must be got immediately. Meanwhile she +had to be content with seeing herself in the eyes of the housemaid, who +was clearly dazzled by her appearance. + +Then there were a few minutes before dinner, and she ran along the +passage to Mrs. Friend's room. + +"May I come in? Oh, let me tie that for you?" And before Mrs. Friend +could interpose, the girl's nimble fingers had tied the narrow velvet +carrying a round locket which was her chaperon's only ornament. Drawing +back a little, she looked critically at the general effect. Mrs. Friend +flushed, and presently started in alarm, when Helena took up the comb +lying on the dressing-table. + +"What are you going to do?" + +"Only just to alter your hair a little. Do you mind? Do let me. You look +so nice in black. But your hair is too tight." + +Mrs. Friend stood paralysed, while with a few soft touches Helena +applied the comb. + +"Now, isn't that nice! I declare it's charming! Now look at yourself. Why +should you make yourself look dowdy? It's all very well--but you can't be +much older than I am!" + +And dancing round her victim, Helena effected first one slight +improvement and then another in Mrs. Friend's toilette, till the little +woman, standing in uneasy astonishment before the glass to which Helena +had dragged her, plucked up courage at last to put an end to the +proceedings. + +"No, please don't!" she said, with decision, warding off the girl's +meddling hand, and putting back some of the quiet bands of hair. "You +mustn't make me look so unlike myself. And besides--I couldn't live up to +it!" Her shy smile broke out. + +"Oh, yes, you could. You're quite nice-looking. I wonder if you'd mind +telling me how old you are? And must I always call you 'Mrs. Friend'? It +is so odd--when everybody calls each other by their Christian names." + +"I don't mind--I don't mind at all. But don't you think--for both our +sakes--you'd better leave me all the dignity you can?" Laughter was +playing round the speaker's small pale lips, and Helena answered it +with interest. + +"Does that mean that you'll have to manage me? Did Cousin Philip +tell you you must? But that--I may as well tell you at once--is a vain +delusion. Nobody ever managed me! Oh, yes, my superior officer in the +Women's Corps--she was master. But that was because I chose to make her +so. Now I'm on my own--and all I can offer--I'm afraid!--is an +alliance--offensive and defensive." + +Mrs. Friend looked at the radiant vision opposite to her with its hands +on its sides, and slowly shook her head. + +"Offensive--against whom?" + +"Cousin Philip--if necessary." + +Mrs. Friend again shook her head. + +"Oh, you're in his pocket already!" cried Helena with a grimace. "But +never mind. I'm sure I shall like you. You'll come over to my side soon." + +"Why should I take any side?" asked Mrs. Friend, drawing on a pair of +black gloves. + +"Well, because"--said Helena slowly--"Cousin Philip doesn't like some of +my pals--some of the men, I mean--I go about with--and we _may_ quarrel +about it. The question is which of them I'm going to marry--if I marry +any of them. And some of them are married. Don't look shocked! Oh, +heavens, there's the gong! But we'll sit up to-night, if you're not +sleepy, and I'll give you a complete catalogue of some of their +qualifications--physical, intellectual, financial. Then you'll have the +_carte du pays_. Two of them are coming to-morrow for the Sunday. There's +nobody coming to-night of the least interest. Cynthia Welwyn, Captain +Vivian Lodge, Buntingford's cousin--rather a prig--but good-looking. A +girl or two, no doubt--probably the parson--probably the agent. Now you +know. Shall we go down?" + + * * * * * + +The library was already full when the two ladies entered. Mrs. Friend was +aware of a tall fair woman, beautifully dressed in black, standing by +Lord Buntingford; of an officer in uniform, resplendent in red tabs and +decorations, talking to a spare grey-haired man, who might be supposed to +be the agent; of a man in a round collar and clerical coat, standing +awkward and silent by the tall lady in black; and of various other girls +and young men. + +All eyes were turned to Helena as she entered, and she was soon +surrounded, while Lord Buntingford took special care of Helena's +companion. Mrs. Friend found herself introduced to Lady Cynthia Welwyn, +the tall lady in black; to Mr. Parish, the grey-haired man, and to the +clergyman. Lady Cynthia bestowed on her a glance from a pair of prominent +eyes, and a few civil remarks, Mr. Parish made her an old-fashioned bow, +and hoped she had not found the journey too dusty, while the clergyman, +whose name she caught as Mr. Alcott, showed a sudden animation as they +shook hands, and had soon put her at her ease by a manner in which she at +once divined a special sympathy for the stranger within the gates. + +"You have just come, I gather?" + +"I only arrived this afternoon." + +"And you are to look after Miss Helena?" he smiled. + +Mrs. Friend smiled too. + +"I hope so. If she will let me!" + +"She is a radiant creature!" And for a moment he stood watching the girl, +as she stood, goddess-like, amid her group of admirers. His eyes were +deep-set and tired; his scanty grizzled hair fell untidily over a +furrowed brow; and his clothes were neither fresh nor well-brushed. But +there was something about him which attracted the lonely; and Mrs. Friend +was glad when she found herself assigned to him. + +But though her neighbour was not difficult to talk to, her surroundings +were so absorbing to her that she talked very little at dinner. It was +enough to listen and look--at Lady Cynthia on Lord Buntingford's right +hand, and Helena Pitstone on his left; or at the handsome officer with +whom Helena seemed to be happily flirting through a great part of dinner. +Lady Cynthia was extremely good-looking, and evidently agreeable, though +it seemed to Mrs. Friend that Lord Buntingford only gave her divided +attention. Meanwhile it was very evident that he himself was the centre +of his own table, the person of whom everyone at it was fundamentally +aware, however apparently busy with other people. She herself observed +him much more closely than before, the mingling in his face of a kind of +concealed impatience, an eagerness held in chains and expressed by his +slight perpetual frown, with a courtesy and urbanity generally gay or +bantering, but at times, and by flashes--or so it seemed to her--dipped +in a sudden, profound melancholy, like a quenched light. He held himself +sharply erect, and in his plain naval uniform, with the three Commander's +stripes on the sleeve, made, in her eyes, an even more distinguished +figure than the gallant and decorated hero on his left, with whom Helena +seemed to be so particularly engaged, "prig" though she had dubbed him. + +As to Lady Cynthia's effect upon her host, Mrs. Friend could not make up +her mind. He seemed attentive or amused while she chatted to him; but +towards the end their conversation languished a good deal, and Lady +Cynthia must needs fall back on the stubby-haired boy to her right, who +was learning agency business with Mr. Parish. She smiled at him also, for +it was her business, Mrs. Friend thought, to smile at everybody, but it +was an absent-minded smile. + +"You don't know Lord Buntingford?" said Mr. Alcott's rather muffled voice +beside her. + +Mrs. Friend turned hastily. + +"No--I never saw him till this afternoon." + +"He isn't easy to know. I know him very little, though he gave me this +living, and I have business with him, of course, occasionally. But this I +do know, the world is uncommonly full of people--don't you find it +so?--who say 'I go, Sir'--and don't go. Well, if Lord Buntingford says 'I +go, Sir'--he does go!" + +"Does he often say it?" asked Mrs. Friend. And the man beside her noticed +the sudden gleam in her quiet little face, that rare or evanescent sprite +of laughter or satire that even the dwellers in Lancaster Gate had +occasionally noticed. + +Mr. Alcott considered. + +"Well, no," he said at last. "I admit he's difficult to catch. He likes +his own ways a great deal better than other people's. But if you do +catch him--if you do persuade him--well, then you can stake your bottom +dollar on him. At least, that's my experience. He's been awfully +generous about land here--put a lot in my hands to distribute long +before the war ended. Some of the neighbours about--other +landlords--were very sick--thought he'd given them away because of the +terms. They sent him a round robin. I doubt if he read it. In a thing +like that he's adamant. And he's adamant, too, when he's once taken a +real dislike to anybody. There's no moving him." + +"You make me afraid!" said Mrs. Friend. + +"Oh, no, you needn't be--" Mr. Alcott turned almost eagerly to look at +her. "I hope you won't be. He's the kindest of men. It's extraordinarily +kind of him--don't you think?"--the speaker smilingly lowered his +voice--"taking on Miss Pitstone like this? It's a great responsibility." + +Mrs. Friend made the slightest timid gesture of assent. + +"Ah, well, it's just like him. He was devoted to her mother--and for his +friends he'll do anything. But I don't want to make a saint of him. He +can be a dour man when he likes--and he and I fight about a good many +things. I don't think he has much faith in the new England we're all +talking about--though he tries to go with it. Have you?" He turned upon +her suddenly. + +Mrs. Friend felt a pang. + +"I don't know anything," she said, and he was conscious of the agitation +in her tone. "Since my husband died, I've been so out of everything." + +And encouraged by the kind eyes in the plain face, she told her story, +very simply and briefly. In the general clatter and hubbub of the table +no one overheard or noticed. + +"H'm--you're stepping out into the world again as one might step out of +a nunnery--after five years. I rather envy you. You'll see things fresh. +Whereas we--who have been through the ferment and the horror--" He broke +off--"I was at the front, you see, for nearly two years--then I got +invalided. So you've hardly realized the war--hardly known there was a +war--not since--since Festubert?" + +"It's dreadful!" she said humbly--"I'm afraid I know just nothing +about it." + +He looked at her with a friendly wonder, and she, flushing deeper, was +glad to see him claimed by a lively girl on his left, while she fell +back on Mr. Parish, the agent, who, however, seemed to be absorbed in +the amazing--and agreeable--fact that Lord Buntingford, though he drank +no wine himself, had yet some Moet-et-Charidon of 1904 left to give to +his guests. Mr. Parish, as he sipped it, realized that the war was +indeed over. + +But, all the time, he gave a certain amount of scrutiny to the little +lady beside him. So she was to be "companion" to Miss Helena +Pitstone--to prevent her getting into scrapes--if she could. Lord +Buntingford had told him that his cousin, Lady Mary Chance, had chosen +her. Lady Mary had reported that "companions" were almost as difficult +to find as kitchenmaids, and that she had done her best for him in +finding a person of gentle manners and quiet antecedents. "Such people +will soon be as rare as snakes in Ireland"--had been the concluding +sentence in Lady Mary's letter, according to Lord Buntingford's laughing +account of it. Ah, well, Lady Mary was old-fashioned. He hoped the young +widow might be useful; but he had his doubts. She looked a weak vessel +to be matching herself with anything so handsome and so pronounced as +the young lady opposite. + +Why, the young lady was already quarrelling with her guardian! For the +whole table had suddenly become aware of a gust in the neighbourhood of +Lord Buntingford--a gust of heated talk--although the only heated person +seemed to be Miss Pitstone. Lord Buntingford was saying very little; but +whatever he did say was having a remarkable effect on his neighbour. +Then, before the table knew what it was all about, it was over. Lord +Buntingford had turned resolutely away, and was devoting himself to +conversation with Lady Cynthia, while his ward was waging a fresh war of +repartee with the distinguished soldier beside her, in which her +sharpened tones and quick breathing suggested the swell after a storm. + +Mrs. Friend too had noticed. She had been struck with the sudden +tightening of the guardian's lip, the sudden stiffening of his hand lying +on the table. She wondered anxiously what was the matter. + +In the library afterwards, Lady Cynthia, Mrs. Friend, and the two +girls--his daughter and his guest--who had come with Mr. Parish, settled +into a little circle near the wood-fire which the chilliness of the May +evening made pleasant. + +Helena Pitstone meanwhile walked away by herself to a distant part of the +room and turned over photographs, with what seemed to Mrs. Friend a +stormy hand. And as she did so, everyone in the room was aware of her, of +the brilliance and power of the girl's beauty, and of the energy that +like an aura seemed to envelop her personality. Lady Cynthia made several +attempts to capture her, but in vain. Helena would only answer in +monosyllables, and if approached, retreated further into the dim room, +ostensibly in search of a book on a distant shelf, really in flight. Lady +Cynthia, with a shrug, gave it up. + +Mrs. Friend felt too strange to the whole situation to make any move. She +could only watch for the entry of the gentlemen. Lord Buntingford, who +came in last, evidently looked round for his ward. But Helena had already +flitted back to the rest of the company, and admirably set off by a deep +red chair into which she had thrown herself, was soon flirting +unashamedly with the two young men, with Mr. Parish and the Rector, +taking them all on in turn, and suiting the bait to the fish with the +instinctive art of her kind. Lord Buntingford got not a word with her, +and when the guests departed she had vanished upstairs before anyone knew +that she had gone. + +"Have a cigar in the garden, Vivian, before you turn in? There is a moon, +and it is warmer outside than in," said Lord Buntingford to his cousin, +when they were left alone. + +"By all means." + +So presently they found themselves pacing a flagged path outside a long +conservatory which covered one side of the house. The moon was cloudy, +and the temperature low. But the scents of summer were already in the +air--of grass and young leaf, and the first lilac. The old grey house +with its haphazard outline and ugly detail acquired a certain dignity +from the night, and round it stretched dim slopes of pasture, with oaks +rising here and there from bands of white mist. + +"Is that tale true you told me before dinner about Jim Donald?" said Lord +Buntingford abruptly. "You're sure it's true--honour bright?" + +The other laughed. + +"Why, I had it from Jim himself!" He laughed. "He just made a joke of it. +But he is a mean skunk! I've found out since that he wanted to buy +Preston out for the part Preston had taken in another affair. There's a +pretty case coming on directly, with Jim for hero. You have heard of it." + +"No," said Buntingford curtly; "but in any case nothing would have +induced me to have him here. Preston's a friend of mine. So when Helena +told me at dinner she had asked him for Saturday, I had to tell her I +should telegraph to him to-morrow morning not to come. She was angry, +of course." + +Captain Lodge gave a low whistle. "Of course she doesn't know. But I +think you would be wise to stop it. And I remember now she danced all +night with him at the Arts Ball!" + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +There was a light tap on Mrs. Friend's door. She said "Come in" rather +unwillingly. Some time had elapsed since she had seen Helena's fluttering +white disappear into the corridor beyond her room; and she had nourished +a secret hope that the appointment had been forgotten. But the door +opened slightly. Mrs. Friend saw first a smiling face, finger on lip. +Then the girl slipped in, and closed the door with caution. + +"I don't want that 'very magnificent three-tailed Bashaw' to know we are +discussing him. He's somewhere still." + +"What did you say?" asked Mrs. Friend, puzzled. + +"Oh, it's only a line of an old poem--I don't know by whom--my father +used to quote it. Well, now--did you see what happened at dinner?" + +Helena had established herself comfortably in a capacious arm-chair +opposite Mrs. Friend, tucking her feet under her. She was in a white +dressing-gown, and she had hastily tied a white scarf round her loosened +hair. In the dim light of a couple of candles her beauty made an even +more exciting impression on the woman watching her than it had done in +the lamp-lit drawing-room. + +"It's war!" she said firmly, "war between Buntingford and me. I'm sorry +it's come so soon--the very first evening!--and I know it'll be beastly +for you--but I can't help it. I _won't_ be dictated to. If I'm not +twenty-one, I'm old enough to choose my own friends; and if Buntingford +chooses to boycott them, he must take the consequences." And throwing her +white arms above her head, her eyes looked out from the frame of +them--eyes sparkling with pride and will. + +Mrs. Friend begged for an explanation. + +"Well, I happened to tell him that I had invited Lord Donald for Sunday. +I'll tell you about Lord Donald presently--and he simply--behaved like a +brute! He said he was sorry I hadn't told him, that he couldn't have +Donald here, and would telegraph to him to-morrow--not to come. Just +think of that! So then I said--why? And he said he didn't approve of +Donald--or some nonsense of that sort. I was quite calm. I reminded him +he had promised to let me invite my friends--that was part of the +bargain. Yes--he said--but within limits--and Donald was the limit. That +made me savage--so I upped and said, very well, if I couldn't see Donald +here, I should see him somewhere else--and he wouldn't prevent me. I +wasn't going to desert my friends for a lot of silly tales. So then he +said I didn't know what I was talking about, and turned his back on me. +He kept his temper provokingly--and I lost mine--which was idiotic of me. +But I mean to be even with him--somehow. And as for Donald, I shall go up +to town and lunch with him at the Ritz next week!" + +"Oh, no, no, you can't!" cried Mrs. Friend in distress. "You can't +treat your guardian like that! Do tell me what it's all about!" And +bending forward, she laid her two small hands entreatingly on the +girl's knee. She looked so frail and pitiful as she did so, in her +plain black, that Helena was momentarily touched. For the first time +her new chaperon appeared to her as something else than a mere receiver +into which, or at which, it suited her to talk. She laid her own hand +soothingly on Mrs. Friend's. + +"Of course I'll tell you. I really don't mean to be nasty to you. But all +the same I warn you that it's no good trying to stop me, when I've made +up my mind. Well, now, for Donald. I know, of course, what Cousin Philip +means. Donald ran away with the wife of a friend of his--of +Buntingford's, I mean--three or four weeks ago." + +Mrs. Friend gasped. The modern young woman was becoming altogether too +much for her. She could only repeat foolishly--"ran away?" + +"Yes, ran away. There was no harm done. Sir Luke Preston--that's the +husband--followed them and caught them--and made her go back with him. +But Donald didn't mean any mischief. She'd quarrelled with Sir +Luke--she's an empty-headed little fluffy thing. I know her a little--and +she dared Donald to run away with her--for a lark. So he took her on. He +didn't mean anything horrid. I don't believe he's that sort. They were +going down to his yacht at Southampton--there were several other friends +of his on the yacht--and they meant to give Sir Luke a fright--just show +him that he couldn't bully her as he had been doing--being sticky and +stupid about her friends, just as Cousin Philip wants to be about +mine--and quarrelling about her dress-bills--and a lot of things. Well, +that's all! What's there in that?" + +And the girl sat up straight, dropping her slim, white feet, while her +great eyes challenged her companion to say a word in defence of her +guardian. Mrs. Friend's head was turning. + +"But it was surely wrong and foolish--" she began. Helena +interrupted her. + +"I daresay it was," she said impatiently, "but that's not my affair. It's +Lord Donald's. I'm not responsible for him. But he's done nothing that I +know of to make _me_ cut him--and I won't! He told me all about it quite +frankly. I said I'd stick by him--and I will." + +"And Sir Luke Preston is a friend of Lord Buntingford's?" + +"Yes--" said Helena unwillingly--"I suppose he is. I didn't know. Perhaps +I wouldn't have asked Donald if I'd known. But I did ask him, and he +accepted. And now Buntingford's going to insult him publicly. And that I +won't stand--I vow I won't! It's insulting me too!" + +And springing up, she began a stormy pacing of the room, her white gown +falling back from her neck and throat, and her hair floating behind her. +Mrs. Friend had begun to collect herself. In the few hours she had passed +under Lord Buntingford's roof she seemed to herself to have been passing +through a forcing house. Qualities she had never dreamed of possessing or +claiming she must somehow show, or give up the game. Unless she could +understand and get hold of this wholly unexpected situation, as Helena +presented it, she might as well re-pack her box, and order the village +fly for departure. + +"Do you mind if I ask you some questions?" she said presently, as the +white skirts swept past her. + +"Mind! Not a bit. What do you want to know?" + +"Are you in love with Lord Donald?" + +Helena laughed. + +"If I were, do you think I'd let him run away with Lady Preston or +anybody else? Not at all! Lord Donald's just one of the men I like +talking to. He amuses me. He's very smart. He knows everybody. He's no +worse than anybody else. He did all sorts of plucky things in the war. I +don't ask Buntingford to like him, of course. He isn't his sort. But he +really might let me alone!" + +"But you asked him to stay in Lord Buntingford's house--and without +consulting--" + +"Well--and it's going to be _my_ house, too, for two years--if I can +possibly bear it. When Mummy begged me, I told Buntingford my conditions. +And he's broken them!" + +And standing still, the tempestuous creature drew herself to her full +height, her arms rigid by her side--a tragic-comic figure in the dim +illumination of the two guttering candles. + +Mrs. Friend attempted a diversion. + +"Who else is coming for the week-end?" + +Instantly Helena's mood dissolved in laughter. She came to perch herself +on the arm of Mrs. Friend's chair. + +"There--now let's forget my tiresome guardian. I promised to tell you +about my 'boys.' Well, there are two of them coming--and Geoffrey French, +besides a nephew of Buntingford's, who'll have this property and most of +the money some day, always supposing this tyrant of mine doesn't marry, +which of course any reasonable man would. Well--there's Peter Dale--the +dearest, prettiest little fellow you ever saw. He was aide-de-camp to +Lord Brent in the war--_very_ smart--up to everything. He's demobbed, and +has gone into the City. Horribly rich already, and will now, of course, +make another pile. He dreadfully wants to marry me--but--" she shook her +head with emphasis--"No!--it wouldn't do. He tries to kiss me sometimes. +I didn't mind it at first. But I've told him not to do it again. Then +there's Julian--Julian Horne--Balliol--awfully clever"--she checked off +the various items on her fingers--"as poor as a rat--a Socialist, of +course--they all are, that kind--but a real one--not like Geoffrey +French, who's a sham, though he is in the House, and has joined the +Labour party. You see"--her tone grew suddenly serious--"I don't reckon +Geoffrey French among my boys." + +"He's too old?" + +"Oh, he's not so very old. But--I don't think he likes me very much--and +I'm not sure whether I like him. He's good fun, however--and he rags +Julian Horne splendidly. That's one of his chief functions--and another +is, to take a hand in my education--when I allow him--and when Julian +isn't about. They both tell me what to read. Julian tells me to read +history, and gives me lists of books. Geoffrey talks economics--and +philosophy--and I adore it--he talks so well. He gave me Bergson the +other day. Have you ever read any of him?" + +"Never," said Mrs. Friend, bewildered. "Who is he?" + +Helena's laugh woke the echoes of the room. But she checked it at once. + +"I don't want _him_ to think we're plotting," she said in a +stage-whisper, looking round her. "If I do anything I want to spring +it on him!" + +"Dear Miss Pitstone--please understand!--I can't help you to plot against +Lord Buntingford. You must see I can't. He's my employer and your +guardian. If I helped you to do what he disapproves I should simply be +doing a dishonourable thing." + +"Yes," said Helena reflectively. "Of course I see that. It's awkward. I +suppose you promised and vowed a great many things--like one's godmothers +and godfathers?" + +"No, I didn't promise anything--except that I would go out with you, make +myself useful to you, if I could--and help you with foreign languages." + +"Goody," said Helena. "Do you _really_ know French--and German?" The tone +was incredulous. "I wish I did." + +"Well, I was two years in France, and a year and a half in Germany when I +was a girl. My parents wanted me to be a governess." + +"And then you married?" + +"Yes--just the year before the war." + +"And your husband was killed?" The tone was low and soft. Mrs. Friend +gave a mute assent. Suddenly Helena laid an arm round the little +woman's neck. + +"I want you to be friends with me--will you? I hated the thought of a +chaperon--I may as well tell you frankly. I thought I should probably +quarrel with you in a week. That was before I arrived. Then when I saw +you, I suddenly felt--'I shall like her! I'm glad she's here--I shan't +mind telling her my affairs.' I suppose it was because you looked +so--well, so meek and mild--so different from me--as though a puff would +blow you away. One can't account for those things, can one? Do tell me +your Christian name! I won't call you by it--if you don't like it." + +"My name is Lucy," said Mrs. Friend faintly. There was something so +seductive in the neighbourhood of the girl's warm youth and in the new +sweetness of her voice that she could not make any further defence of her +"dignity." + +"I might have guessed Lucy. It's just like you," said the girl +triumphantly. "Wordsworth's Lucy--do you remember her?--'A violet by a +mossy stone'--That's you exactly. I _adore_ Wordsworth. Do you care +about poetry?" + +The eager eyes looked peremptorily into hers. + +"Yes," said Mrs. Friend shyly--"I'm very fond of some things. But you'd +think them old-fashioned!" + +"What--Byron?--Shelley? They're never old-fashioned!" + +"I never read much of them. But--I love Tennyson--and Mrs. Browning." + +Helena made a face-- + +"Oh, I don't care a hang for her. She's so dreadfully pious and +sentimental. I laughed till I cried over 'Aurora Leigh.' But now--French +things! If you lived all that time in France, you must have read French +poetry. Alfred de Musset?--Madame de Noailles?" + +Mrs. Friend shook her head. + +"We went to lectures. I learnt a great deal of Racine--a little Victor +Hugo--and Rostand--because the people I boarded with took me to +'Cyrano'!" + +"Ah, Rostand--" cried Helena, springing up. "Well, of course he's _vieux +jeu_ now. The best people make mock of him. Julian does. I don't care--he +gives me thrills down my back, and I love him. But then _panache_ means a +good deal to me. And Julian doesn't care a bit. He despises people who +talk about glory and honour--and that kind of thing. Well--Lucy--" + +She stopped mischievously, her head on one side. + +"Sorry!--but it slipped out. Lucy--good-night." + +Mrs. Friend hurriedly caught hold of her. + +"And you won't do anything hasty--about Lord Donald?" + +"Oh, I can't promise anything. One must stand by one's friends. One +simply must. But I'll take care Cousin Philip doesn't blame you." + +"If I'm no use, you know--I can't stay." + +"No use to Cousin Philip, you mean, in policing me?" said Helena, with a +good-humoured laugh. "Well, we'll talk about it again to-morrow. +Good-night--Lucy!" + +The sly gaiety of the voice was most disarming. + +"Good-night, Miss Pitstone." + +"No, that won't do. It's absurd! I never ask people to call me Helena, +unless I like them. I certainly never expected--there, I'll be +frank!--that I should want to ask you--the very first night too. But I do +want you to. Please, Lucy, call me Helena. _Please_!" + +Mrs. Friend did as she was told. + +"Sleep well," said Helena from the door. "I hope the housemaid's put +enough on your bed, and given you a hot water-bottle? If anything scares +you in the night, wake me--that is, if you can!" She disappeared. + +Outside Mrs. Friend's door the old house was in darkness, save for a +single light in the hall, which burnt all night. The hall was the feature +of the house. A gallery ran round it supported by columns from below, and +spaced by answering columns which carried the roof. The bedrooms ran +round the hall, and opened into the gallery. The columns were of yellow +marble brought from Italy, and faded blue curtains hung between them. +Helena went cautiously to the balustrade, drew one of the blue curtains +round her, and looked down into the hall. Was everybody gone to bed? No. +There were movements in a distant room. Somebody coughed, and seemed to +be walking about. But she couldn't hear any talking. If Cousin Philip +were still up, he was alone. + +Her anger came back upon her, and then curiosity. What was he thinking +about, as he paced his room like a caged squirrel? About the trouble she +was likely to give him--and what a fool he had been to take the job? She +would like to go and reason with him. The excess of vitality that was in +her, sighing for fresh worlds to conquer, urged her to vehement and +self-confident action,--action for its own sake, for the mere joy of the +heat and movement that go with it. Part of the impulse depended on the +new light in which the gentleman walking about downstairs had begun to +appear to her. She had known him hitherto as "Mummy's friend," always to +be counted upon when any practical difficulty arose, and ready on +occasion to put in a sharp word in defence of an invalid's peace, when a +girl's unruliness threatened it. Remembering one or two such collisions, +Helena felt her cheeks burn, as she hung over the hall, in the darkness. +But those had been such passing matters. Now, as she recalled the +expression of his eyes, during their clash at the dinner-table, she +realized, with an excitement which was not disagreeable, that something +much more prolonged and serious might lie before her. Accomplished +modern, as she knew him to be in most things, he was going to be "stuffy" +and "stupid" in some. Lord Donald's proceedings in the matter of Lady +Preston evidently seemed to him--she had been made to feel it--frankly +abominable. And he was not going to ask the man capable of them within +his own doors. Well and good. "But as I don't agree with him--Donald was +only larking!--I shall take my own way. A telegram goes anyway to Donald +to-morrow morning--and we shall see. So good-night, Cousin Philip!" And +blowing a kiss towards the empty hall, she gathered her white skirts +round her, and fled laughing towards her own room. + +But just as she neared it, a door in front of her, leading to a +staircase, opened, and a man in khaki appeared, carrying a candle. It was +Captain Lodge, her neighbour at the dinner-table. The young man stared +with amazement at the apparition rushing along the gallery towards +him,--the girl's floating hair, and flushed loveliness as his candle +revealed it. Helena evidently enjoyed his astonishment, and his sudden +look of admiration. But before he could speak, she had vanished within +her own door, just holding it open long enough to give him a laughing nod +before it shut, and darkness closed with it on the gallery. + +"A man would need to keep his head with that girl!" thought Captain +Lodge, with tantalized amusement. "But, my hat, what a beauty!" + +Meanwhile in the library downstairs a good deal of thinking was going on. +Lord Buntingford was taking more serious stock of his new duties than he +had done yet. As he walked, smoking, up and down, his thoughts were full +of his poor little cousin Rachel Pitstone. She had always been a +favourite of his; and she had always known him better than any other +person among his kinsfolk. He had found it easy to tell her secrets, when +nobody else could have dragged a word from him; and as a matter of fact +she had known before she died practically all that there was to know +about him. And she had been so kind, and simple and wise. Had she perhaps +once had a _tendresse_ for him--before she met Ned Pitstone?--and if +things had gone--differently--might he not, perhaps, have married her? +Quite possibly. In any case the bond between them had always been one of +peculiar intimacy; and in looking back on it he had nothing to reproach +himself with. He had done what he could to ease her suffering life. +Struck down in her prime by a mortal disease, a widow at thirty, with her +one beautiful child, her chief misfortune had been the melancholy and +sensitive temperament, which filled the rooms in which she lived as full +of phantoms as the palace of Odysseus in the vision of Theoclymenus. + +She was afraid for her child; afraid for her friend; afraid for the +world. The only hope of happiness for a woman, she believed, lay in an +honest lover, if such a lover could be found. Herself an intellectual, +and a freed spirit, she had no trust in any of the new professional and +technical careers into which she saw women crowding. Sex seemed to her +now as always the dominating fact of life. Votes did not matter, or +degrees, or the astonishing but quite irrelevant fact, as the papers +announced it, that women should now be able not only to fit but to plan a +battleship. Love, and a child's clinging mouth, and the sweetness of a +Darby and Joan old age, for these all but the perverted women had always +lived, and would always live. + +She saw in her Helena the strong beginnings of sex. But she also realized +the promise of intelligence, of remarkable brain development, and it +seemed to her of supreme importance that sex should have the first +innings in her child's life. + +"If she goes to college at once, as soon as I am gone, and her brain and +her ambition are appealed to, before she has time to fall in love, she +will develop on that side, prematurely--marvellously--and the rest will +atrophy. And then when the moment for falling in love is over--and with +her it mayn't be a long one--she will be a lecturer, a member of +Parliament perhaps--a Socialist agitator--a woman preacher,--who +knows?--there are all kinds of possibilities in Helena. But she will have +missed her chance of being a woman, and a happy one; and thirty years +hence she will realize it, when it is too late, and think bitterly of us +both. Believe me, dear Philip, the moment for love won't last long in +Helena's life. I have seen it come and go so rapidly, in the case of some +of the most charming women. For after all, the world is now so much +richer for women; and many women don't know their own minds in time, or +get lost among the new landmarks. And of course all women can't marry; +and thank God, there are a thousand new chances of happiness for those +who don't. But there are some--and Helena, I am certain, will be one--who +will be miserable, and probably wicked, unless they fall in love, and are +happy. And it is a strait gate they will have to pass through. For their +own natures and the new voices in the world will tempt them to this side +and that. And before they know where they are--the moment will have +gone--the wish--and the power. + +"So, dear Philip, lend yourself to my plan; though you may seem to +yourself the wrong person, and though it imposes--as I know it will--a +rather heavy responsibility on you. But once or twice you have told me +that I have helped you--through difficult places. That makes me dare to +ask you this thing. There is no one else I can ask. And it won't be bad +for you, Philip,--it is good for us all, to have to think +intimately--seriously--for some other human being or beings; and owing +to circumstances, not your own fault, you have missed just this in +life--except for your thoughts and care for me--bless you always, my +dear friend. + +"Am I preaching? Well, in my case the time for make-believe is over. I +am too near the end. The simple and austere soul of things seems to +shine out-- + +"And yet what I ask you is neither simple, nor austere! Take care of +Helena for two years. Give her fun, and society,--a good time, and every +chance to marry. Then, after two years, if she hasn't married--if she +hasn't fallen in love---she must choose her course. + +"You may well feel you are too young--indeed I wish, for this business, +you were older!--but you will find some nice woman to be hostess and +chaperon; the experiment will interest and amuse you, and the time will +soon go. You know I _could_ not ask you--unless some things were--as they +are. But that being so, I feel as if I were putting into your hands the +chance of a good deed, a kind deed,--blessing, possibly, him that gives, +and her that takes. And I am just now in the mood to feel that kindness +is all that matters, in this mysterious life of ours. Oh, I wish I had +been kinder--to so many people!--I wish--I wish! The hands stretched out +to me in the dark that I have passed by--the voices that have piped to +me, and I have not danced-- + +"I mustn't cry. It is hard that in one of the few cases when I had the +chance to be kind, and did not wholly miss it, I should be making in the +end a selfish bargain of it--claiming so much more than I ever gave! + +"Forgive me, my best of friends-- + +"You shall come and see me once about this letter, and then we won't +discuss it again--ever. I have talked over the business side of it with +my lawyer, and asked him to tell you anything you don't yet know about my +affairs and Helena's. We needn't go into them." + +"One of the few cases where I had the chance to be kind." Why, Rachel +Pitstone's life had been one continuous selfless offering to God and man, +from her childhood to her last hour! He knew very well what he had owed +her--what others had owed--to her genius for sympathy, for understanding, +for a compassion which was also a stimulus. He missed her sorely. At that +very moment, he was in great practical need of her help, her guidance. + +Whereas it was _he_--worse luck!--who must be the stumbling and +unwelcomed guide of Rachel's child! How, in the name of mystery, had the +child grown up so different from the mother? Well, impatience wouldn't +help him--he must set his mind to it. That scoundrel, Jim Donald! + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Mrs. Friend passed a somewhat wakeful night after the scene in which +Helena Pitstone had bestowed her first confidences on her new companion. +For Lucy Friend the experience had been unprecedented and agitating. She +had lived in a world where men and women do not talk much about +themselves, and as a rule instinctively avoid thinking much about +themselves, as a habit tending to something they call "morbid." This at +least had been the tone in her parents' house. The old woman in Lancaster +Gate had not been capable either of talking or thinking about herself, +except as a fretful animal with certain simple bodily wants. In Helena, +Lucy Friend had for the first time come cross the type of which the world +is now full--men and women, but especially women, who have no use any +longer for the reticence of the past, who desire to know all they +possibly can about themselves, their own thoughts and sensations, their +own peculiarities and powers, all of which are endlessly interesting to +them; and especially to the intellectual _élite_ among them. Already, +before the war, the younger generation, which was to meet the brunt of +it, was an introspective, a psychological generation. And the great war +has made it doubly introspective, and doubly absorbed in itself. The mere +perpetual strain on the individual consciousness, under the rush of +strange events, has developed men and women abnormally. + +Only now it is not an introspection, or a psychology, which writes +journals or autobiography. It is an introspection which _talks_; a +psychology which chatters, of all things small and great; asking its +Socratic way through all the questions of the moment, the most trivial, +and the most tremendous. + +Coolness, an absence of the old tremors and misgivings that used +especially to haunt the female breast in the days of Miss Austen, is a +leading mark of the new type. So that Mrs. Friend need not have been +astonished to find Helena meeting her guardian next morning at breakfast +as though nothing had happened. He, like a man of the world, took his cue +immediately from her, and the conversation--whether it ran on the return +of Karsavina to the Russian Ballet, or the success of "Abraham Lincoln"; +or the prospects of the Peace, or merely the weddings and buryings of +certain common acquaintances which appeared in the morning's _Times_--was +so free and merry, that Mrs. Friend began soon to feel her anxieties of +the night dropping away, to enjoy the little luxuries of the breakfast +table, and the pleasant outlook on the park, of the high, faded, and yet +stately room. + +"What a charming view!" she said to Lord Buntingford, when they rose from +breakfast, and she made her way to the open window, while Helena was +still deep in the papers. + +"You think so?" he said indifferently, standing beside her. "I'm afraid I +prefer London. But now on another matter--Do you mind taking up your +duties instanter?" + +"Please--please let me!" she said, turning eagerly to him. + +"Well--there is a cook-housekeeper somewhere--who, I believe, expects +orders. Do you mind giving them? Please do not look so alarmed! It is the +simplest matter in the world. You will appear to give orders. In reality +Mrs. Mawson will have everything cut and dried, and you will not dare to +alter a thing. But she expects you or me to pretend. And I should be +greatly relieved if you would do the pretending?" + +"Certainly," murmured Mrs. Friend. + +Lord Buntingford, looking at the terrace outside, made a sudden +gesture--half despair, half impatience. + +"Oh, and there's old Fenn,--my head gardener. He's been here forty +years, and he sits on me like an old man of the sea. I know what he +wants. He's coming up to ask me about something he calls a herbaceous +border. You see that border there?"--he pointed--"Well, I barely know a +peony from a cabbage. Perhaps you do?" He turned towards her hopefully; +and Mrs. Friend felt the charm, as many other women had felt it before +her, of the meditative blue eyes, under the black and heavy brow. She +shook her head smiling. + +He smiled in return. + +"But, if you don't--would you mind--again--pretending? Would you see the +old fellow, some time this morning--and tell him to do exactly what he +damn pleases--I beg your pardon!--it slipped out. If not, he'll come into +my study, and talk a jargon of which I don't understand a word, for half +an hour. And as he's stone deaf, he doesn't understand a word I say. +Moreover when he's once there I can't get him out. And I've got a bit of +rather tough county business this morning. Would you mind? It's a great +deal to ask. But if you only let him talk--and look intelligent--" + +"Of course I will," said Mrs. Friend, bewildered, adding rather +desperately, "But I don't know anything at all about it." + +"Oh, that doesn't matter. Perhaps Helena does! By the way, she hasn't +seen her sitting-room." + +He turned towards his ward, who was still reading at the table. + +"I have arranged a special sitting-room for you, Helena. Would you like +to come and look at it?" + +"What fun!" said Helena, jumping up. "And may I do what I like in it?" + +Buntingford's mouth twisted a little. + +"Naturally! The house is at your disposal. Turn anything out you +like--and bring anything else in. There is some nice old stuff about, +if you look for it. If you send for the odd man he'll move anything. +Well, I'd better show you what I arranged. But you can have any other +room you prefer." + +He led the way to the first floor, and opened a door in a corner of the +pillared gallery. + +"Oh, jolly!" cried Helena. + +For they entered a lofty room, with white Georgian panelling, a few +pretty old cabinets and chairs, a chintz-covered sofa, a stand of stuffed +humming-birds, a picture or two, a blue Persian carpet, and a large +book-case full of books. + +"My books!" cried Helena in amazement. "I was just going to ask if +the cases had come. How ever did you get them unpacked, and put here +so quickly?" + +"Nothing easier. They arrived three days ago. I telephoned to a man I +know in Leicester Square. He sent some one down, and they were all +finished before you came down. Perhaps you won't like the arrangement? +Well, it will amuse you to undo it!" + +If there was the slightest touch of sarcasm in the eyes that travelled +from her to the books, Helena took it meekly. She went to the +bookshelves. Poets, novelists, plays, philosophers, economists, some +French and Italian books, they were all in their proper places. The books +were partly her own, partly her mother's. Helena eyed them thoughtfully. + +"You must have taken a lot of trouble." + +"Not at all. The man took all the trouble. There wasn't much." + +As he spoke, her eye caught a piano standing between the windows. + +"Mummy's piano! Why, I thought we agreed it should be stored?" + +"It seemed to me you might as well have it down here. We can easily hire +one for London." + +"Awfully nice of you," murmured Helena. She opened it and stood with her +hand on the keys, looking out into the park, as though she pursued some +thought or memory of her own. It was a brilliant May morning, and the +windows were open. Helena's slim figure in a white dress, the reddish +touch in her brown hair, the lovely rounding of her cheek and neck, were +thrown sharply against a background of new leaf made by a giant beech +tree just outside. Mrs. Friend looked at Lord Buntingford. The thought +leaped into her mind--"How can he help making love to her himself?"--only +to be immediately chidden. Buntingford was not looking at Helena but at +his watch. + +"Well, I must go and do some drivelling work before lunch. I have given +Mrs. Friend _carte blanche_, Helena. Order what you like, and if Mrs. +Mawson bothers you, send her to me. Geoffrey comes to-night, and we shall +be seven to-morrow." + +He made for the door. Helena had turned suddenly at his last words, eye +and cheek kindling. + +"Hm--" she said, under her breath--"So he has sent the telegram." + +She left the window, and began to walk restlessly about the room, looking +now at the books, now at the piano. Her face hardened, and she paid no +attention to Mrs. Friend's little comments of pleasure on the room and +its contents. Presently indeed she cut brusquely across. + +"I am just going down to the stables to see whether my horse has arrived. +A friend of mine bought her for me in town--and she was to be here early +this morning. I want, too, to see where they're going to put her." + +"Mayn't I come too?" said Mrs. Friend, puzzled by the sudden clouding of +the girl's beautiful looks. + +"Oh, no--please don't. You've got to see the housekeeper! I'll get my hat +and run down. I found out last night where the stables are. I shan't be +more than ten minutes or so." + +She hurried away, leaving Mrs. Friend once more a prey to anxieties. She +recalled the threat of the night before. But no, _impossible_! After all +the kindness and the forethought! She dismissed it from her mind. + +The interview with the housekeeper was an ordeal to the gentle +inexperienced woman. But her entire lack of any sort of pretension was in +itself ingratiating; and her manner had the timid charm of her character. +Mrs. Mawson, who might have bristled or sulked in stronger hands, in +order to mark her distaste for the advent of a mistress in the house she +had been long accustomed to rule, was soon melted by the docility of the +little lady, and graciously consented to see her own plans approved _en +bloc_, by one so frankly ignorant of how a country house party should be +conducted. Then it was the turn of old Fenn; a more difficult matter, +since he did genuinely want instructions, and Mrs. Friend had none to +give him. But kind looks, and sympathetic murmurs, mingled with honest +delight in the show of azaleas in the conservatory carried her through. +Old Fenn too, instead of resenting her, adopted her. She went back to the +house flushed with a little modest triumph. + +Housewifely instincts revived in her. Her hands wanted to be doing. She +had ventured to ask Fenn for some flowers, and would dare to arrange them +herself if Mrs. Mawson would let her. + +Then, as she re-entered the house, she came back at a bound to reality. +"If I can't keep Miss Pitstone out of mischief, I shan't be here a +month!" she thought pitifully; and how was it to be done? + +She found Helena sitting demurely in the sitting-room, pretending to read +a magazine, but really, or so it seemed to Mrs. Friend, keeping both eyes +and ears open for events. + +"I'm trying to get ready for Julian--" she said impatiently, throwing +away her book. "He sent me his article in the _Market Place_, but it's so +stiff that I can't make head or tail of it. I like to hear him talk--but +he doesn't write English." + +Mrs. Friend took up the magazine, and perceived a marked item in the +table of contents--"A New Theory of Value." + +"What does it mean?" she asked. + +"Oh, I wish I knew!" said Helena, with a little yawn. "And then he +changes so. Last year he made me read Meredith--the novels, I mean. _One +of Our Conquerors_, he vowed, was the finest thing ever written. He +scoffed at me for liking _Diana_ and _Richard Feverel_ better, because +they were easier. And _now_, nothing's bad enough for Meredith's 'stilted +nonsense'--'characters without a spark of life in them'--'horrible +mannerisms'--you should hear him. Except the poems--ah, except the poems! +He daren't touch them. I say--do you know the 'Hymn to Colour'?" The +girl's eager eyes questioned her companion. Her face in a moment was all +softness and passion. + +Mrs. Friend shook her head. The nature and deficiencies of her own +education were becoming terribly plain to her with every hour in +Helena's company. + +Helena sprang up, fetched the book, put Mrs. Friend forcibly into an +arm-chair, and read aloud. Mrs. Friend listened with all her ears, and +was at the end, like Faust, no wiser than before. What did it all mean? +She groped, dazzled, among the Meredithian mists and splendours. But +Helena read with a growing excitement, as though the flashing +mysterious verse were part of her very being. When the last stanza was +done, she flung herself fiercely down on a stool at Mrs. Friend's feet, +breathing fast: + +"Glorious!--oh, glorious!-- + +"Look now where Colour, the soul's bridegroom, makes +The House of Heaven splendid for the Bride." + +She turned to look up at the little figure in the chair, half laughing, +half passionate: "You do understand, don't you?" Mrs. Friend again shook +her head despairingly. + +"It sounds wonderful--but I haven't a notion what it means!" Helena +laughed again, but without a touch of mockery. + +"One has to be taught--coached--regularly coached. Julian coached me." + +"What is meant by Colour?" asked Mrs. Friend faintly. + +"Colour is Passion, Beauty, Freedom!" said Helena, her cheek glowing. "It +is just the opposite of dulness--and routine--and make-believe. It's what +makes life worth while. And it is the young who feel it--the young who +hear it calling--the young who obey it! And then when they are old, they +have it to remember. Now, do you understand?" + +Lucy Friend did not answer. But involuntarily, two shining tears stood in +her eyes. There was something extraordinarily moving in the girl's +ardour. She could hardly bear it. There came back to her momentary +visions from her own quiet past--a country lane at evening where a man +had put his arm round her and kissed her--her wedding-evening by the sea, +when the sun went down, and all the ways were darkened, and the stars +came out--and that telegram which put an end to everything, which she had +scarcely had time to feel, because her mother was so ill, and wanted her +every moment. Had she--even she--in her poor, drab, little life--had her +moments of living Poetry, of transforming Colour, like others--without +knowing it? + +Helena watched her, as though in a quick, unspoken sympathy, her own +storm of feeling subsiding. + +"Do you know, Lucy, you look very nice indeed in that little black +dress!" she said, in her soft, low voice, like the voice of an +incantation, that she had used the night before. "You are the neatest, +daintiest person!--not prim--but you make everything you wear refined. +When I compare you with Cynthia Welwyn!" + +She raised her shoulders scornfully. Lucy Friend, aghast at the +outrageousness of the comparison, tried to silence her--but quite in +vain. Helena ran on. + +"Did you watch Cynthia last night? She was playing for Cousin Philip with +all her might. Why doesn't he marry her? She would suit his autocratic +ideas very well. He is forty-four. She must be thirty-eight if she is a +day. They have both got money--which Cynthia can't do without, for she is +horribly extravagant. But I wouldn't give much for her chances. Cousin +Philip is a tough proposition, as the American says. There is no getting +at his real mind. All one knows is that it is a tyrannical mind!" + +All softness had died from the girl's face and sparkling eyes. She sat on +the floor, her hands round her knees, defiance in every tense feature. +Mrs. Friend was conscious of renewed alarm and astonishment, and at last +found the nerve to express them. + +"How can you call it tyrannical when he spends all this time and thought +upon you!" + +"The gilding of the cage," said Helena stubbornly. "That is the way women +have always been taken in. Men fling them scraps to keep them quiet. But +as to the _real_ feast--liberty to discover the world for themselves, +make their own experiments--choose and test their own friends--no, thank +you! And what is life worth if it is only to be lived at somebody's +else's dictation?" + +"But you have only been here twenty-four hours--not so much! And you +don't know Lord Buntingford's reasons--" + +"Oh, yes, I do know!" said Helena, undisturbed--"more or less. I told you +last night. They don't matter to me. It's the principle involved that +matters. Am I free, or am I not free? Anyway, I've just sent that +telegram." + +"To whom?" cried Mrs. Friend. + +"To Lord Donald, of course, asking him to meet me at the Ritz next +Wednesday. If you will be so good"--the brown head made her a ceremonial +bow--"as to go up with me to town--we can go to my dressmaker's +together--I have got heaps to do there--then I can leave you somewhere +for lunch--and pick you up again afterwards!" + +"Of course, Miss Pitstone--Helena!--I can't do anything of the sort, +unless your guardian agrees." + +"Well, we shall see," said Helena coolly, jumping up. "I mean to tell him +after lunch. Don't please worry. And good-bye till lunch. This time I am +really going to look after my horse!" + +A laugh, and a wave of the hand--she had disappeared. Mrs. Friend was +left to reflect on the New Woman. Was it in truth the war that had +produced her?--and if so, how and why? All that seemed probable was that +in two or three weeks' time, perhaps, she would be again appealing to the +same agency that had sent her to Beechmark. She believed she was entitled +to a month's notice. + +Poor Lord Buntingford! Her sympathies were hotly on his side, so far as +she had any understanding of the situation into which she had been +plunged with so little warning. Yet when Helena was actually there at her +feet, she was hypnotized. The most inscrutable thing of all was, how she +could ever have supposed herself capable of undertaking such a charge! + +The two ladies were already lunching when Lord Buntingford appeared, +bringing with him another neighbouring squire, come to consult him on +certain local affairs. Sir Henry Bostock, one of those solid, grey-haired +pillars of Church and State in which rural England abounds, was first +dazzled by Miss Pitstone's beauty, and then clearly scandalized by some +of her conversation, and perhaps--or so Mrs. Friend imagined--by the +rather astonishing "make-up" which disfigured lips and cheeks Nature had +already done her best with. + +He departed immediately after lunch. Lord Buntingford accompanied him to +the front door, saw him mount his horse, and was returning to the +library, when a white figure crossed his path. + +"Cousin Philip, I want to speak to you." + +He looked up at once. + +"All right, Helena. Will you come into the library?" + +He ushered her in, shut the door behind her, and pushed forward an +arm-chair. + +"You'll find that comfortable, I think?" + +"Thank you, I'd rather stand. Cousin Philip, did you send that telegram +this morning?" + +"Certainly. I told you I should." + +"Then you won't be surprised that I too sent mine." + +"I don't understand what you mean?" + +"When this morning you said there would be seven for dinner to-night, I +of course realized that you meant to stick to what you had said about +Lord Donald yesterday; and as I particularly want to see Lord Donald, I +sent the new groom to the village this morning with a wire to him to say +that I should be glad if he would arrange to give me luncheon at the Ritz +next Wednesday. I have to go up to try a dress on." + +Lord Buntingford paused a moment, looking apparently at the cigarette +with which his fingers were playing. + +"You proposed, I imagine, that Mrs. Friend should go with you?" + +"Oh, yes, to my dressmaker's. Then I would arrange for her to go +somewhere to lunch--Debenham's, perhaps." + +"And it was your idea then to go alone--to meet Lord Donald?" He +looked up. + +"He would wait for me in the lounge at the Ritz. It's quite simple!" + +Philip Buntingford laughed--good-humouredly. + +"Well, it is very kind of you to have told me so frankly, Helena--because +now I shall prevent it. It is the last thing in the world that your +mother would have wished, that you should be seen at the Ritz alone with +Lord Donald. I therefore have her authority with me in asking you either +to write or telegraph to him again to-night, giving up the plan. Better +still if you would depute me to do it. It is really a very foolish +plan--if I may say so." + +"Why?" + +"Because--well, there are certain things a girl of nineteen can't do +without spoiling her chances in life--and one of them is to be seen about +alone with a man like Lord Donald." + +"And again I ask--why?" + +"I really can't discuss his misdoings with you, Helena. Won't you trust +me in the matter? I thought I had made it plain that having been devoted +to your mother, I was prepared to be equally devoted to you, and wished +you to be as happy and free as possible." + +"That's an appeal to sentiment," said Helena, resolutely. "Of course I +know it all sounds horrid. You've been as nice as possible; and anybody +who didn't sympathize with my views would think me a nasty, ungrateful +toad. But I'm not going to be coaxed into giving them up, any more than +I'm going to be bullied." + +Lord Buntingford surveyed her. The habitual slight pucker--as though of +anxiety or doubt--in his brow was much in evidence. It might have meant +the chronic effort of a short-sighted man to see. But the fine candid +eyes were not short-sighted. The pucker meant something deeper. + +"Of course I should like to understand what your views are," he said at +last, throwing away one cigarette, and lighting another. + +Helena's look kindled. She looked handsomer and more maenad-like than +ever, as she stood leaning against Buntingford's writing-table, her arms +folded, one slim foot crossed over the other. + +"The gist of them is," she said eagerly, "that _we_--the women of the +present day--are not going to accept our principles--moral--or +political--or economic--on anybody's authority. You seem, Cousin Philip, +in my case at any rate, to divide the world into two sets of people, +moral and immoral, good and bad--desirable and undesirable--that kind of +thing! And you expect me to know the one set, and ignore the other set. +Well, we don't see it that way at all. We think that everybody is a +pretty mixed lot. I know I am myself. At any rate I'm not going to begin +my life by laying down a heap of rules about things I don't +understand--or by accepting them from you, or anybody. If Lord Donald's a +bad man, I want to know why he is a bad man--and then I'll decide. If he +revolts my moral sense, of course I'll cut him. But I won't take anybody +else's moral sense for judge. We've got to overhaul that sort of thing +from top to bottom." + +Buntingford looked thoughtfully at the passionate speaker. Should +he--could he argue with her? Could he show her, for instance, a letter, +or parts of it, which he had received that very morning from poor Luke +Preston, his old Eton and Oxford friend? No!--it would be useless. In her +present mood she might treat it so as to rouse his own temper--let alone +the unseemliness of the discussion it must raise between them. Or should +he give her a fairly full biography of Jim Donald, as he happened to know +it? He revolted against the notion, astonished to find how strong certain +old-fashioned instincts still were in his composition. And, after all, he +had said a good deal the night before, at dinner, when Helena's +invitation to a man he despised as a coward and a libertine had been +first sprung upon him. There really was only one way out. He took it. + +"Well, Helena, I'm very sorry," he said slowly. "Your views are very +interesting. I should like some day to discuss them with you. But the +immediate business is to stop this Ritz plan. You really won't stop it +yourself?" + +"Certainly not!" said Helena, her breath fluttering. + +"Well, then, I must write to Donald myself. I happen to possess the means +of making it impossible for him to meet you at the Ritz next Wednesday, +Helena; and I shall use them. You must make some other arrangement." + +"What means?" she demanded. She had turned very pale. + +"Ah, no!--that you must leave to me. Look here, Helena"--his tone +softened--"can't we shake hands on it, and make up? I do hate quarrelling +with your mother's daughter." + +Involuntarily, through all her rage, Helena was struck by the extreme +sensitiveness of the face opposite her--a sensitiveness often disguised +by the powerful general effect of the man's head and eyes. In a calmer +mood she might have said to herself that only some past suffering could +have produced it. At the moment, however, she was incapable of anything +but passionate resentment. + +All the same there was present in her own mind an ideal of what the +action and bearing of a girl in her position should be, which, with the +help of pride, would not allow her to drift into mere temper. She put her +hands firmly behind her; so that Buntingford was forced to withdraw his; +but she kept her self-possession. + +"I don't see what there is but quarrelling before us, Cousin Philip, if +you are to proceed on these lines. Are you really going to keep me to +my promise?" + +"To let me take care of you--for these two years? It was not a promise to +me, Helena." + +The girl's calm a little broke down. + +"Mummy would never have made me give it," she said fiercely, "if she +had known--" + +"Well, you can't ask her now," he said gently. "Hadn't we better make the +best of it?" + +She scorned to reply. He opened the door for her, and she swept +through it. + +Left to himself, Buntingford gave a great stretch. + +"That was strenuous!"--he said to himself--"uncommonly strenuous. How +many times a week shall I have to do it? Can't Cynthia Welwyn do +anything? I'll go and see Cynthia this afternoon." + +With which very natural, but quite foolish resolution, he at last +succeeded in quieting his own irritation, and turning his mind to a +political speech he had to make next week in his own village. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Cynthia Welwyn was giving an account of her evening at Beechmark to her +elder sister, Lady Georgina. They had just met in the little drawing-room +of Beechmark Cottage, and tea was coming in. It would be difficult to +imagine a greater contrast than the two sisters presented. They were the +daughters of a peer belonging to what a well-known frequenter of great +houses and great families before the war used to call "the inferior +aristocracy"--with an inflection of voice caught no doubt from the great +families themselves. Yet their father had been an Earl, the second of his +name, and was himself the son of a meteoric personage of mid-Victorian +days--parliamentary lawyer, peer, and Governor of an Indian Presidency, +who had earned his final step in the peerage by the skilful management of +a little war, and had then incontinently died, leaving his family his +reputation, which was considerable, and his savings, which were +disappointingly small. Lady Cynthia and Lady Georgina were his only +surviving children, and the earldom was extinct. + +The sisters possessed a tiny house in Brompton Square, and rented +Beechmark Cottage from Lord Buntingford, of whom their mother, long since +dead, had been a cousin. The cottage stood within the enclosure of the +park, and to their connection with the big house the sisters owed a +number of amenities,--game in winter, flowers and vegetables in +summer--which were of importance to their small income. Cynthia Welwyn, +however, could never have passed as anybody's dependent. She thanked her +cousin occasionally for the kindnesses of which his head gardener and his +game-keeper knew much more than he did; and when he said +impatiently--"Please never thank for that sort of thing!" she dropped the +subject as lightly as she had raised it. Secretly she felt that such +things, and much more, were her due. She had not got from life all she +should have got; and it was only natural that people should make it up to +her a little. + +For Cynthia, though she had wished to marry, was unmarried, and a secret +and melancholy conviction now sometimes possessed her that she would +remain Cynthia Welwyn to the end. She knew very well that in the opinion +of her friends she had fallen between two stools. Her neighbour, Sir +Richard Watson, had proposed to her twice,--on the last occasion some two +years before the war. She had not been able to make up her mind to accept +him, because on the whole she was more in love with her cousin, Philip +Buntingford, and still hoped that his old friendship for her might turn +to something deeper. But the war had intervened, and during its four +years she and Buntingford had very much lost sight of each other. She had +taken her full share in the county war work; while he was absorbed body +and soul by the Admiralty. + +And now that they were meeting again as of old, she was very conscious, +in some undefined way, that she had lost ground with him. Uneasily she +felt that her talk sometimes bored him; yet she could not help talking. +In the pre-war days, when they met in a drawing-room full of people, he +had generally ended his evening beside her. Now his manner, for all its +courtesy, seemed to tell her that those times were done; that she was +four years older; that she had lost the first brilliance of her looks; +and that he himself had grown out of her ken. Helena's young unfriendly +eyes had read her rightly. She did wish fervently to recapture Philip +Buntingford; and saw no means of doing so. Meanwhile Sir Richard, now +demobilized, had come back from the war bringing great glory with him, as +one of the business men whom the Army had roped in to help in its vast +labour and transport organization behind the lines. He too had reappeared +at Beechmark Cottage. But he too was four years older--and dreadfully +preoccupied, it seemed to her, with a thousand interests which had +mattered nothing to him in the old easy days. + +Yet Cynthia Welwyn was still an extremely attractive and desirable +woman, and was quite aware of it, as was her elder sister, Lady +Georgina, who spent her silent life in alternately admiring and +despising the younger. Lady Georgina was short, thin, and nearly +white-haired. She had a deep voice, which she used with a harsh +abruptness, startling to the newcomer. But she used it very little. +Cynthia's friends, were used to see her sitting absolutely silent behind +the tea-urn at breakfast or tea, filling the cups while Cynthia handed +them and Cynthia talked; and they had learned that it was no use at all +to show compassion and try to bring her into the conversation. A quiet +rather stony stare, a muttered "Ah" or "Oh," were all that such efforts +produced. Some of the frequenters of the cottage drawing-room were +convinced that Lady Georgina was "not quite all there." Others had the +impression of something watchful and sinister; and were accustomed to +pity "dear Cynthia" for having to live with so strange a being. + +But in truth the sisters suited each other very fairly, and Lady Georgina +found a good deal more tongue when she was alone with Cynthia than at +other times. + +To the lively account that Cynthia had been giving her of the evening at +Beechmark, and the behaviour of Helena Pitstone, Lady Georgina had +listened in a sardonic silence; and at the end of it she said-- + +"What ever made the man such a fool?" + +"Who?--Buntingford? My dear, what could he do? Rachel Pitstone was his +greatest friend in the world, and when she asked him just the week before +she died, how could he say No?" Lady Georgina murmured that in that case +Rachel Pitstone also had been a fool-- + +"Unless, of course, she wanted the girl to marry Buntingford. Why, +Philip's only forty-four now. A nice age for a guardian! Of course it's +not proper. The neighbours will talk." + +"Oh, no,--not with a chaperon. Besides nobody minds anything odd +nowadays." + +Cynthia meanwhile as she lay stretched in a deep arm-chair, playing with +the tea-spoon in her shapely fingers, was a pleasant vision. Since coming +in from the village, she had changed her tweed coat and skirt for a +tea-frock of some soft silky stuff, hyacinth blue in colour; and +Georgina, for whom tea-frocks were a silly abomination, and who was +herself sitting bolt upright in a shabby blue serge some five springs +old, could not deny the delicate beauty of her sister's still fresh +complexion and pale gold hair, nor the effectiveness of the blue dress in +combination with them. She did not really want Cynthia to look older, nor +to see her ill-dressed; but all the same there were many days when +Cynthia's mature perfections roused a secret irritation in her sister--a +kind of secret triumph also in the thought that, in the end, Time would +be the master even of Cynthia. Perhaps after all she would marry. It did +look as though Sir Richard Watson, if properly encouraged, and +indemnified for earlier rebuffs, might still mean business. As for Philip +Buntingford, it was only Cynthia's vanity that had ever made her imagine +him in love with her. Lady Georgina scoffed at the notion. + +These fragmentary reflections, and others like them were passing rapidly +and disconnectedly through the mind of the elder sister, when her ear +caught the sound of footsteps in the drive. Drawing aside a corner of the +muslin curtain beside her, which draped one of the French windows of the +low room, she perceived the tall figure and scarcely perceptible limp of +Lord Buntingford. Cynthia too saw him, and ceased to lounge. She quietly +re-lit the tea-kettle, and took a roll of knitting from a table near her. +Then as the front bell rang through the small house, she threw a scarcely +perceptible look at her sister. Would Georgie "show tact," and leave her +and Philip alone, or would she insist on her rights and spoil his visit? +Georgina made no sign. + +Buntingford entered, flushed with his walk, and carrying a bunch of +blue-bells which he presented to Lady Georgina. + +"I gathered them in Cricket Wood. The whole wood is a sea of blue. You +and Cynthia must really go and see them." + +He settled himself in a chair, and plunged into tea and small talk as +though to the manner born. But all the time Cynthia, while approving his +naval uniform, and his general picturesqueness, was secretly wondering +what he had come about. For although he was enjoying a well-earned leave, +the first for two years, and had every right to idle, the ordinary +afternoon call of country life, rarely, as she knew, came into the scheme +of his day. The weather was beautiful and she had made sure that he would +be golfing on a well-known links some three miles off. + +Presently the small talk flagged, and Buntingford began to fidget. Slowly +Lady Georgina rose from her seat, and again extinguished the flame under +the silver kettle. Would she go, or would she not go? Cynthia dropped +some stitches in the tension of the moment. Then Buntingford got up to +open the door for Georgina, who, without deigning to make any +conventional excuse for her departure, nevertheless departed. + +Buntingford returned to his seat, picked up Cynthia's ball of wool, and +sat holding it, his eyes on the down-dropped head of his cousin, and on +the beautiful hands holding the knitting-needles. Yes, she was still very +good-looking, and had been sensible enough not to spoil herself by paint +and powder, unlike that silly child, Helena, who was yet so much +younger--twenty-two years younger, almost. It seemed incredible. But he +could reckon Cynthia's age to a day; for they had known each other very +well as children, and he had often given her a birthday present, till the +moment when, in her third season, Cynthia had peremptorily put an end to +the custom. Then he had gone abroad, and there had been a wide gap of +years when they had never seen each other at all. And now, it was true, +she did often bore him, intellectually. But at this moment, he was not +bored--quite the contrary. The sunny cottage room, with its flowers and +books and needlework, and a charming woman as its centre, evidently very +glad to see him, and ready to welcome any confidences he might give her, +produced a sudden sharp effect upon him. That hunger for something denied +him--the "It" which he was always holding at bay--sprang upon him, and +shook his self-control. + +"We've known each other a long time, haven't we, Cynthia?" he said, +smiling, and holding out her ball of wool. + +Cynthia hardly concealed her start of pleasure. She looked up, shaking +her hair from her white brow and temples with a graceful gesture, half +responsive, half melancholy. + +"So long!" she said--"it doesn't bear thinking of." + +"Not at all. You haven't aged a bit. I want you to help me in something, +Cynthia. You remember how you helped me out of one or two scrapes in the +old days?" + +They both laughed. Cynthia remembered very well. That scrape, for +instance, with the seductive little granddaughter of the retired village +school-master--a veritable Ancient of Days, who had been the witness of +an unlucky kiss behind a hedge, and had marched up instanter, in his +wrath, to complain to Lord Buntingford _grand-père._ Or that much worse +scrape, when a lad of nineteen, with not enough to do in his Oxford +vacation, had imagined himself in love with a married lady of the +neighbourhood, twenty years older than himself, and had had to be packed +off in disgrace to Switzerland with a coach:--an angry grandfather +breathing fire and slaughter. Certainly in those days Philip had been +unusually--remarkably susceptible. Cynthia remembered him as always in or +out of a love-affair, while she to whom he never made love was +alternately champion and mentor. In those days, he had no expectation of +the estates or the title. He was plain Philip Bliss, with an artistic and +literary turn, great personal charm, and a temperament that invited +catastrophes. That was before he went to Paris and Rome for serious work +at painting. Seven years he had been away from England, and she had never +seen him. He had announced his marriage to her in a short note containing +hardly any particulars--except that his wife was a student like himself, +and that he intended to live abroad and work. Some four years later, the +_Times_ contained the bare news, in the obituary column, of his wife's +death, and about a year afterwards he returned to England, an enormously +changed man, with that slight lameness, which seemed somehow to draw a +sharp, dividing line between the splendid, impulsive youth who had gone +abroad, and the reserved, and self-contained man of thirty-two--pessimist +and dilettante--who had returned. His lameness he ascribed to an accident +in the Alps, but would never say anything more about it; and his friends +presently learned to avoid the subject, and to forget the slight signs of +something unexplained which had made them curious at first. + +In the intervening years before the war, Cynthia felt tolerably sure that +she had been his only intimate woman friend. His former susceptibility +seemed to have vanished. On the whole he avoided women's society. Some +years after his return he had inherited the title and the estates, and +might have been one of the most invited men in London had he wished to +be; while Cynthia could remember at least three women, all desirable, who +would have liked to marry him. The war had swept him more decidedly than +ever out of the ordinary current of society. He had made it both an +excuse and a shield. His work was paramount; and even his old friends had +lost sight of him. He lived and breathed for an important Committee of +the Admiralty, on which as time went on he took a more and more important +place. In the four years Cynthia had scarcely seen him more than half a +dozen times. + +And now the war was over. It was May again, and glorious May with the +world all colour and song, the garden a wealth of blossom, and the nights +clear and fragrant under moon or stars. And here was Philip again--much +more like the old Philip than he had been for years--looking at her with +those enchanting blue eyes of his, and asking her to do something for +him. No wonder Cynthia's pulses were stirred. The night before, she had +come home depressed--very conscious that she had had no particular +success with him at dinner, or afterwards. This unexpected _tête-à-tête_, +with its sudden touch of intimacy, made up for it all. + +What could she do but assure him--trying hard not to be too +forthcoming--that she would be delighted to help him, if she could? What +was wrong? + +"Nothing but my own idiocy," he said, smiling. "I find myself guardian to +an extremely headstrong young woman, and I don't know how to manage her. +I want your advice." + +Cynthia lay back in her chair, and prepared to give him all her mind. But +her eyes showed a certain mockery. + +"I wonder why you undertook it!" + +"So do I. But--well, I couldn't help it. We won't discuss that. But what +I had very little idea of--was the modern girl!" Cynthia laughed out. + +"And now you have discovered her--in one day?" He laughed too, but +rather dismally. + +"Oh, I am only on the first step. What I shall come to presently, I don't +know. But the immediate problem is that Helena bombed me last night by +the unexpected announcement that she had asked Donald--Lord Donald--for +the week-end. Do you know him?" Cynthia's eyebrows had gone up. + +"Very slightly." + +"You know his reputation?" + +"I begin to remember a good deal about him. Go on." + +"Well, Helena had asked that man, without consulting me, to stay at my +house, and she sprang the announcement on me, on Thursday, the +invitation being for Saturday. I had to tell her then and there--that he +couldn't come." + +"Naturally. How did she take it?" + +"Very ill. You see, in a rash moment, I had told her to invite her +friends for week-ends as she pleased. So she holds that I have broken +faith, and this morning she told me she had arranged to go up and lunch +with Donald at the Ritz next week--alone! So again I had to stop it. But +I don't play the jailer even decently. I feel the greatest fool in +creation." Cynthia smiled. + +"I quite believe you! And this all happened in the first twenty-four +hours? Poor Philip!" + +"And I have also been informed that Helena's 'views' will not allow +her--in the future--to take my advice on any such questions--that +she prefers her liberty to her reputation--and 'wants to understand +a bad man.' She said so. It's all very well to laugh, Cynthia! But +what am I to do?" + +Cynthia, however, continued to laugh unrestrainedly. And he joined in. + +"And now you want advice?" she said at last, checking her mirth. "I'm +awfully sorry for you, Philip. What about the little chaperon?" + +"As nice a woman as ever was--but I don't see her preventing Helena from +doing anything she wants to do. Helena will jolly well take care of that. +Besides she is too new to the job." + +"She may get on better with Helena, perhaps, than a stronger woman," +mused Cynthia. "But I am afraid you have got your work cut out. Wasn't it +very rash of you?" + +"I couldn't help it," he repeated briefly. "And I must just do my best. +But I'd be awfully grateful if you'd take a hand, Cynthia. Won't you come +up and really make friends with her? She might take things from you that +she wouldn't from me." + +Cynthia looked extremely doubtful. + +"I am sure last night she detested me." + +"How could you tell? And why should she?" + +"I'm twenty years older. That's quite enough." + +"You scarcely look a day older, Cynthia." + +She sighed, and lightly touched his hand, with a caressing gesture he +remembered of old. + +"Very nice of you to say it--but of course it isn't true. Well, Philip, +I'll do what I can. I'll wander up some time--on Sunday perhaps. With +your coaching, I could at least give her a biography of Jim Donald. One +needn't be afraid of shocking her?" + +His eyebrows lifted. + +"Who's shocked at anything nowadays? Look at the things girls read and +discuss! I'm old-fashioned, I suppose. But I really couldn't talk about +Donald to her this morning. The fellow is such a worm! It would come +better from you." + +"Tell me a few more facts, then, about him, than I know at present." + +He gave her rapidly a sketch of the life and antecedents of Lord Donald +of Dunoon--gambler, wastrel, _divorcé_, et cetera, speaking quite +frankly, almost as he would have spoken to a man. For there was nothing +at all distasteful to him in Cynthia's knowledge of life. In a woman of +forty it was natural and even attractive. The notion of a discussion of +Donald's love-affairs with Helena had revolted him. It was on the +contrary something of a relief--especially with a practical object in +view--to discuss them with Cynthia. + +They sat chatting till the shadows lengthened, then wandered into the +garden, still talking. Lady Georgina, watching from her window upstairs, +had to admit that Buntingford seemed to like her sister's society. But if +she had been within earshot at the last five minutes of their +conversation, she would perhaps have seen no reason, finally, to change +her opinion. Very agreeable that discursive talk had been to both +participants. Buntingford had talked with great frankness of his own +plans. In three months or so, his Admiralty work would be over. He +thought very likely that the Government would then give him a modest +place in the Administration. He might begin by representing the Admiralty +in the Lords, and as soon as he got a foot on the political ladder +prospects would open. On the whole, he thought, politics would be his +line. He had no personal axes to grind; was afraid of nothing; wouldn't +care if the Lords were done away with to-morrow, and could live on a +fraction of his income if the Socialists insisted on grabbing the rest. +But the new world which the war had opened was a desperately interesting +one. He hadn't enough at stake in it to spoil his nerve. Whatever +happened, he implied, he was steeled--politically and intellectually. +Nothing could deprive him either of the joy of the fight, or the +amusement of the spectacle. + +And Cynthia, her honey-gold hair blown back from her white temples by the +summer wind, her blue parasol throwing a summer shade about her, showed +herself, as they strolled backwards and forwards over the shady lawn of +the cottage, a mistress of the listening art; and there is no art more +winning, either to men or women. + +Then, in a moment, what broke the spell? Some hint or question from her, +of a more intimate kind?--something that touched a secret place, wholly +unsuspected by her? She racked her brains afterwards to think what it +could have been; but in vain. All she knew was that the man beside her +had suddenly stiffened. His easy talk had ceased to flow; while still +walking beside her, he seemed to be miles away. So that by a quick common +impulse both stood still. + +"I must go back to the village," said Cynthia. She smiled, but her face +had grown a little tired and faded. + +He looked at his watch. + +"And I told the car to fetch me half an hour ago. You'll be up some time +perhaps--luncheon to-morrow?--or Sunday?" + +"If I can. I'll do my best." + +"Kind Cynthia!" But his tone was perfunctory, and his eyes avoided her. +When he had gone, she could only wonder what she had done to offend him; +and a certain dreariness crept into the evening light. She was not the +least in love with Philip--that she assured herself. But his sudden +changes of mood were very trying to one who would like to be his friend. + +Buntingford walked rapidly home. His way lay through an oak wood, that +was now a revel of spring; overhead, a shimmering roof of golden leaf and +wild cherry-blossom, and underfoot a sea of blue-bells. A winding path +led through it, and through the lovely open and grassy spaces which from +time to time broke up the density of the wood--like so many green floors +cleared for the wood nymphs' dancing. From the west a level sun struck +through the trees, breaking through storm-clouds which had been rapidly +filling the horizon, and kindling the tall trees, with their ribbed grey +bark, till they shone for a brief moment like the polished pillars in the +house of Odysseus. Then a nightingale sang. Nightingales were rare at +Beechmark; and Buntingford would normally have hailed the enchanted +flute-notes with a boyish delight. But this evening they fell on deaf +ears, and when the garish sunlight gave place to gloom, and drops of rain +began to patter on the new leaf, the gathering storm, and the dark +silence of the wood, after the nightingale had given her last trill, were +welcome to a man struggling with a recurrent and desperate oppression. + +Must he always tamely submit to the fetters which bound him? Could he do +nothing to free himself? Could the law do nothing? Enquiry--violent +action of some sort--rebellion against the conditions which had grown so +rigid about him:--for the hundredth time, he canvassed all ways of +escape, and for the hundredth time, found none. + +He knew very well what was wrong with him. It was simply the imperious +need for a woman's companionship in his life--for _love_. Physically and +morally, the longing which had lately taken possession of him, was +becoming a gnawing and perpetual distress. There was the plain fact. This +hour with Cynthia Welwyn had stirred in him the depths of old pain. But +he was not really in love with Cynthia. During the war, amid the +absorption of his work, and the fierce pressure of the national need, he +had been quite content to forget her. His work--and England's strait--had +filled his mind and his time. Except for certain dull resentments and +regrets, present at all times in the background of consciousness, the +four years of the war had been to him a period of relief, almost of +deliverance. He had been able to lose himself; and in that inner history +of the soul which is the real history of each one of us, that had been +for long years impossible. + +But now all that protection and help was gone; the floodgates were +loosened again. His work still went on; but it was no longer absorbing; +it no longer mattered enough to hold in check the vague impulses and +passions that were beating against his will. + +And meanwhile the years were running on. He was forty-four, Helena +Pitstone's guardian, and clearly relegated already by that unmanageable +child to the ranks of the middle-aged. He had read her thought in her +great scornful eyes. "What has your generation to do with mine? Your +day is over!" + +And all the while the ugly truth was that he had never had his "day"--and +was likely now to miss it for good. Or at least such "day" as had shone +upon him had been so short, so chequered, so tragically wiped out, it +might as well never have dawned. Yet the one dear woman friend to whom in +these latter years he had spoken freely, who knew him through and +through--Helena Pitstone's mother--had taken for granted, in her quiet +ascetic way, that he had indeed had his chance, and must accept for good +and all what had come of it. It was because she thought of him as set +apart, as debarred by what had happened to him, from honest love-making, +and protected by his own nature from anything less, that she had asked +him to take charge of Helena. He realized it now. It had been the notion +of a fanciful idealist, springing from certain sickroom ideas of +sacrifice--renunciation--submission to the will of God--and so forth. + +It was _not_ the will of God!--that he should live forsaken and die +forlorn! He hurled defiance, even at Rachel, his dear dead friend, who +had been so full of pity for him, and for whom he had felt the purest and +most unselfish affection he had ever known--since his mother's death. + +And now the presence of her child in his house seemed to represent a +verdict, a sentence--of hers upon him, which he simply refused to accept +as just or final. If Rachel had only lived a little longer he would have +had it out with her. But in those last terrible days, how could he either +argue--or refuse? + +All the same, he would utterly do his duty by Helena. If she chose to +regard him as an old fogy, well and good--it was perhaps better so. Not +that--if circumstances had been other than they were---he would have been +the least inclined to make love to her. Her beauty was astonishing. But +the wonderful energy and vitality of her crude youth rather repelled than +attracted him. + +The thought of the wrestles ahead of him was a weariness to an already +tired man. Debate with her, on all the huge insoluble questions she +seemed to be determined to raise, was of all things in the world most +distasteful to him. He would certainly cut a sorry figure in it; nothing +was more probable. + +The rain began to plash down upon his face and bared head, cooling an +inner fever. The damp wood, the soft continuous dripping of the +cherry-blossoms, the scent of the blue-bells,--there was in them a +certain shelter and healing. He would have liked to linger there. But +already, at Beechmark, guests must have arrived; he was being missed. + +The trees thinned, and the broad lawns of Beechmark came in sight. +Ah!--there was Geoffrey, walking up and down with Helena. _Suppose_ that +really came off? What a comfortable way out! He and Cynthia must back it +all they could. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +"Buntingford looks twice as old as he need!" said Geoffrey French, +lighting a cigarette as he and Helena stepped out of the drawing-room +window after dinner into the May world outside--a world which lay steeped +in an after-glow of magical beauty. "What's wrong, I wonder! Have you +been plaguing him, Helena?" The laughing shot was fired purely at random. +But the slight start and flush it produced in Helena struck him. + +"I see nothing wrong with him," said Helena, a touch of defiance in her +voice. "But of course it's extraordinarily difficult to get on with him." + +"With Philip!--the jolliest, kindest chap going! What do you mean?" + +"All right. It's no good talking to anybody with a _parti pris_!" + +"No--but seriously, Helena--what's the matter? Why, you told me you only +began the new arrangement two days ago." + +"Exactly. And there's been time already for a first-class quarrel. Time +also for me to see that I shall never, never get on with him. I don't +know how we are to get through the two years!" + +"_Well_!" ejaculated her companion. "In Heaven's name, what has he +been doing?" + +Helena shrugged her shoulders. She was striding beside him like a young +Artemis--in white, with a silver star in her hair, and her short skirts +beaten back from her slender legs and feet by the evening wind. Geoffrey +French, who had had a classical education, almost looked for the quiver +and the bow. He was dazzled at once, and provoked. A magnificent +creature, certainly--"very mad and very handsome!"--he recalled +Buntingford's letter. + +"Do tell me, Helena!" he urged. + +"What's the good? You'll only side with him--and _preach_. You've done +that several times already." + +The young man frowned a little. + +"I don't preach!" he said shortly. "I say what I think--_when_ you ask +me. Twice, if I remember right, you told me of some proceeding of yours, +and asked me for my opinion. Well, I gave it, and it didn't happen to be +yours. But that isn't preaching." + +"You gave so many reasons--it _was_ preaching." + +"Great Scott!--wasn't it more polite to give one's reasons?" + +"Perhaps. But one shouldn't _burst_ with them. One should be sorry to +disagree." + +"Hm. Well--now kindly lay down for me, how I am to disagree with you +about Philip. For I do disagree with you, profoundly." + +"There it is. Profoundly--that shows how you enjoy disagreeing. Why can't +you put yourself at my point of view?" + +"Well, I'll try. But at least--explain it to me." + +Helena threw herself into a garden chair, under a wild cherry which rose +a pyramid of silver against an orange sky. Other figures were scattered +about the lawns, three or four young men, and three or four girls in +light dresses. The air seemed to be full of laughter and young voices. +Only Mrs. Friend sat shyly by herself just within the drawing-room +window, a book on her knee. A lamp behind her brought out the lines of +her bent head and slight figure. + +"I wonder if I like you well enough," said Helena coolly, biting at a +stalk of grass--"well enough, I mean, to explain things. I haven't made +you my father confessor yet, Geoffrey." + +"Suppose you begin--and see how it answers," said French lazily, rolling +over on the grass in front of her, his chin in his hands. + +"Well, I don't mind--for fun. Only if you preach I shall stop. But, first +of all, let's get some common ground. You admit, I suppose, that the war +has changed the whole position of women?" + +"Yes--with reservations." + +"Don't state them!" said Helena hastily. "That would be preaching. +Yes, or No?" + +"Yes, then,--you tyrant!" + +"And that means--doesn't it--at the very least--that girls of my own age +have done with all the old stupid chaperonage business--at least nearly +all--that we are to choose our own friends, and make our own +arrangements?--doesn't it?" she repeated peremptorily. + +"I don't know. My information is--that the mothers are stiffening." + +A laughing face looked up at her from the grass. + +"Stiffening!" The tone was contemptuous. "Well, that may be so--for babes +of seventeen--like that one--" her gesture indicated a slight figure in +white at the edge of the lawn--"who have never been out of the +school-room--but--" + +"You think nineteen makes all the difference? I doubt," said Geoffrey +French coolly, as he sat up tailor-fashion, and surveyed her. "Well, my +view is that for the babes, as you call them, chaperonage is certainly +reviving. I have just been sitting next Lady Maud, this babe's mother, +and she told me an invitation came for the babe from some great house +last week, addressed to 'Miss Luton and partner'--whereon Lady Maud wrote +back--'My daughter has no partner and I shall be very happy to bring +her.' Rather a poke in the eye! Then there are the women of five or six +and twenty who have been through the war, and are not likely to give up +the freedom of it--ever again. That's all right. They'll take their own +risks. Many of them will prefer not to live at home again. They'll live +with a friend--and visit their people perhaps every day! But, then +there's _you_, Helena--the betwixt and between!--" + +"Well--what about me?" + +"You're neither a babe--nor a veteran." + +"I'm nineteen and a half--and I've done a year and a half of war work--" + +"Canteen--and driving? All right. Am I to give an opinion?" + +"You will give it, whatever I say. And it's you all over--to give it, +before you've allowed me to explain anything." + +"Oh, I know your point of view--" said Geoffrey, unperturbed--"know it by +heart. Haven't you dinned it into me at half a dozen dances lately? +No!--I'm entitled to my say--and here it is. Claim all the freedom you +like--but as you're _not_ twenty-five, but nineteen--let a good fellow +like Buntingford give you advice--and be thankful!" + +"Prig!" said Helena, pelting him with a spray of wild cherry, which he +caught and put in his button-hole. "If that isn't preaching, I should +like to know what is!" + +"Not at all. Unbiased opinion--civilly expressed. If you really were an +emancipated young woman, Helena, you'd take it so! But now--" his tone +changed--"let's come to business. What have you and Philip been +quarrelling about?" + +Helena straightened her shoulders, as though to meet certain disapproval. + +"Because--I asked Lord Donald to spend the week-end here--" + +"You didn't!" + +"I did; and Cousin Philip wired to him and forbade him the house. +Offence No. 1. Then as I intended all the same to see Jim, I told him I +would go up and lunch with him at the Ritz. Cousin Philip vows I shan't, +and he seems to have some underhand means of stopping it--I--I don't +know what--" + +"Underhand! Philip! I say, Helena, I wonder whether you have any idea how +people who really know him think about Buntingford!" + +"Oh, of course men back up men!" + +"Stuff! It's really silly--abominable too--the way you talk of him--I +can't help saying it." + +And this time it was Geoffrey's turn to look indignant. His long face +with its deeply set grey eyes, a rather large nose, and a fine brow under +curly hair, had flushed suddenly. + +"If you can't help it, I suppose you must say it. But I don't know why I +should stay and listen," said Helena provokingly, making a movement as +though to rise. But he laid a hand on her dress: + +"No, no, Helena, don't go--look here--do you ever happen to notice +Buntingford--when he's sitting quiet--and other people are talking +round him?" + +"Not particularly." The tone was cold, but she no longer threatened +departure. + +"Well, I just ask you--some time--to _watch_. An old friend of his +said to me the other day--'I often feel that Buntingford is the +saddest man I know.'" + +"Why should he be?" asked Helena imperiously. + +"I can't tell you. No one can. It's just what those people think who know +him best. Well, that's one fact about him--that his _men_ friends feel +they could no more torment a wounded soldier, than worry Buntingford--if +they could help it. Then there are other facts that no one knows unless +they've worked in Philip's office, where all the men clerks and all the +women typists just adore him! I happen to know a good deal about it. I +could tell you things--" + +"For Heaven's sake, don't!" cried Helena impatiently. "What does it +matter? He may be a saint--with seven haloes--for those that don't cross +him. But _I_ want my freedom!"--a white foot beat the ground +impatiently--"and he stands in the way." + +"Freedom to compromise yourself with a scoundrel like Donald! What _can_ +you know about such a man--compared with what Philip knows?" + +"That's just it--I _want_ to know--" said Helena in her most stubborn +voice. "This is a world, now, in which we've all got to know,--both the +bad and the good of it. No more taking it on trust from other people! Let +us learn it for ourselves." + +"Helena!--you're quite mad!" said the young man, exasperated. + +"Perhaps I am. But it's a madness you can't cure." And springing to her +feet, she sent a call across the lawn--"Peter!" A slim boy who was +walking beside the "babe" of seventeen, some distance away, turned +sharply at the sound, and running across the grass pulled up in front +of Helena. + +"Well?--here I am." + +"Shall we go and look at the lake? You might pull me about a little." + +"Ripping!" said the youth joyously. "Won't you want a cloak?" + +"No--it's so hot. Shall we ask Miss Luton?" + +Peter made a face. + +"Why should we?" + +Helena laughed, and they went off together in the direction of a strip of +silver under distant trees on which the moon was shining. + +French walked away towards the girlish figure now deserted. + +Helena watched him out of the corner of her eyes, saw the girl's eager +greeting, and the disappearance of the two in the woody walk that +bordered the lawn. Then she noticed a man sitting by himself not far +away, with a newspaper on his knee. + +"Suppose we take Mr. Horne, Peter?" + +"Don't let's take anybody!" said the boy. "And anyway Horne's a nuisance +just now. He talks you dead with strikes--and nationalization--and labour +men--and all that rot. Can't we ever let it alone? I want to talk to +_you_, Helena. I say, you are ripping in that dress! You're just +_divine_, Helena!" The girl laughed, her sweetest, most rippling laugh. + +"Go on like that, Peter. You can't think how nice it sounds--especially +after Geoffrey's been lecturing for all he's worth." + +"Lecturing? Oh well, if it comes to that, I've got my grievance too, +Helena. We'll have it out, when I've found the boat." + +"Forewarned!" said Helena, still laughing. "Perhaps I won't come." + +"Oh, yes, you will," said the boy confidently. "I believe you know +perfectly well what it's about. You've got a guilty conscience, +Miss Helena!" + +Helena said nothing, till they had pushed the boat out from the reeds +and the water-lilies, and she was sitting with the steering ropes in +her hands opposite a boy in his shirt sleeves, with the head and face +of a cherub, and the spare frame of an athlete, who was devouring her +with his eyes. + +"Are you quite done with the Army, Peter?" + +"Quite. Got out a month ago. You come to me, Helena, if you want any +advice about foreign loans--eh? I can tell you a thing or two." + +"Are you going to be very rich?" + +"Well, I'm pretty rich already," said the boy candidly. "It seems beastly +to be wanting more. But my uncles would shove me into the Bank. I +couldn't help it." + +"You'll never look so nice as you did in your khaki, Peter. What have you +done with all your ribbons?" + +"What, the decorations? Oh, they're kicking about somewhere." + +"You're not to let your Victoria Cross kick about, as you call it," said +Helena severely. "By the way, Peter, you've never told me yet--Oh, I saw +the bit in the _Times_. But I want _you_ to tell me about it. Won't you?" + +She bent forward, all softness, her beautiful eyes on her companion. + +"No!" said Peter with energy--"_never_!" + +She considered him. + +"Was it so awful?" she asked under her breath. + +"For God's sake, don't ask questions!" said the boy angrily. "You know I +want to forget it. I shall never be quite right till I do forget it." + +She was silent. It was his twin brother he had tried to save--staggering +back through a British barrage with the wounded man on his +shoulders--only to find, as he stumbled into the trench, that he had been +carrying the dead. He himself had spent six months in hospital from the +effects of wounds and shock. He had emerged to find himself a V. V. and +A. D. C. to his Army Commander; and apparently as gay and full of fun as +before. But his adoring mother and sisters knew very well that there were +sore spots in Peter. + +Helena realized that she had touched one. She bent forward presently, and +laid her own hand on one of the hands that were handling the sculls. + +"Dear Peter!" + +He bent impetuously, and kissed the hand before she could withdraw it. + +"Don't you play with me, Helena," he said passionately. "I'm not a child, +though I look it ... Now, then, let's have it out." + +They had reached the middle of the pond, and were drifting across a +moonlit pathway, on either side of which lay the shadow of deep woods, +now impenetrably dark. The star in Helena's hair glittered in the light, +and the face beneath it, robbed of its daylight colour, had become a +study in black and white, subtler and more lovely than the real Helena. + +"Why did you do it, Helena?" said Peter suddenly. + +"Do what?" + +"Why did you behave to me as you did, at the Arts Ball? Why did you cut +me, not once--but twice--three times--for that _beast_ Donald?" + +Helena laughed. + +"Now _you're_ beginning!" she said, as she lazily trailed her hand in the +water. "It's really comic!" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Only that I've already quarrelled with Cousin Philip--and +Geoffrey--about Lord Donald--so if you insist on quarrelling too, I shall +have no friends left." + +"Damn Donald! It's like his impudence to ask you to dance at all. It made +me sick to see you with him. He's the limit. Well, but--I'm not going to +quarrel about Donald, Helena--I'm not going to quarrel about anything. +I'm going to have my own say--and you can't escape this time--you witch!" + +Helena looked round the pond. + +"I can swim," she said tranquilly. + +"I should jump in after you--and we'd both go down together. No, +but--listen to me, dear Helena! Why won't you marry me? You say +sometimes--that you care for me a little." + +The boy's tone faltered. + +"Why won't I marry you? Perhaps because you ask me so often," said +Helena, laughing. "Neglect me--be rude to me--cut me at a dance, and +then see." + +"I couldn't--it matters too much." + +"Dear Peter! But can't you understand that I don't want to commit myself +just yet? I want to have my life to myself a bit. I'm like the miners and +the railway men. I'm full of unrest! I can't and won't settle down just +yet. I want to look at things--the world's like a great cinema show just +now--everything passing so quick you can hardly take breath. I want to +sample it where I please. I want to dance--and talk--and make +experiments." + +"Well--marrying me would be an experiment," said Peter stoutly. "I vow +you'd never regret it, Helena!" + +"But I can't vow that you wouldn't! Let me alone, Peter. I suppose some +time I shall quiet down. It doesn't matter if I break my own heart. But I +won't take the responsibility of anybody else's heart just yet." + +"Well, of course, that means you're not in love with anybody. You'd soon +chuck all that nonsense if you were." + +The young, despairing voice thrilled her. It was all +experience--life--drama--this floating over summer water--with a +beautiful youth, whose heart seemed to be fluttering in her very hands. +But she was only thrilled intellectually--as a spectator. Peter would +soon get over it. She would be very kind to him, and let him down easily. +They drifted silently a little. Then Peter said abruptly: + +"Well, at least, Helena, you might promise me not to dance with Jim +Donald again!" + +"Peter--my promises of that kind--are worth nothing! ... I think it's +getting late--we ought to be going home!" And she gave the rudder a turn +for the shore. + +He unwillingly complied, and after rowing through the shadow of the +woods, they emerged on a moonlit slope of lawn, where was the usual +landing-place. Two persons who had been strolling along the edge of the +water approached them. + +"Who is that with Buntingford?" asked Dale. + +"My new chaperon. Aren't you sorry for her?" + +"I jolly well am!" cried Peter. "She'll have a dog's life!" + +"That's very rude of you, Peter. You may perhaps be surprised to hear +that I like her very much. She's a little dear--and I'm going to be +awfully good to her." + +"Which means, of course, that she'll never dare to cross you!" + +"Peter, don't be unkind! Dear Peter--make it up! I do want to be friends. +There's just time for you to say something nice!" + +For his vigorous strokes were bringing them rapidly to the bank. + +"Oh, what's the good of talking!" said the boy impatiently. "I shall be +friends, of course--take what you fling me. I can't do anything else." + +Helena blew him a kiss, to which he made no response. + +"All right!--I'll bring you in!" said Lord Buntingford from the shore. + +He dragged the boat up on the sandy edge, and offered a hand to Helena. +She stumbled out, and would have fallen into the shallow water but for +his sudden grip upon her. + +"That was stupid of me!" she said, vexed with herself. + +He made no reply. It was left to Mrs. Friend to express a hope that she +had not sprained her foot. + +"Oh, dear no," said Helena. "But I'm cold. Peter, will you race me to the +house? Give me a fair start!" + +Peter eagerly placed her, and then--a maiden flying and a young god +pursuing--they had soon drawn the eyes and laughter of all the other +guests, who cheered as the panting Helena, winner by a foot, dashed +through the drawing-room window into the house. + +Helena and Mrs. Friend had been discussing the evening,--Helena on the +floor, in a white dressing-gown, with her hair down her back. She had +amused herself with a very shrewd analysis--not too favourable--of +Geoffrey French's character and prospects, and had rushed through an +eloquent account of Peter's performances in the war; she had mocked at +Lady Maud's conventionalities, and mimicked the "babe's" simpering manner +with young men; she had enquired pityingly how Mrs. Friend had got on +with the old Canon who had taken her in to dinner, and had launched into +rather caustic and, to Mrs. Friend's ear, astonishing criticisms of +"Cousin Philip's wine"--which Mrs. Friend had never even dreamt of +tasting. But of Cousin Philip himself there was not a word. Mrs. Friend +knew there had been an interview between them; but she dared not ask +questions. How to steer her way in the moral hurricane she foresaw, was +what preoccupied her; so as both to do her duty to Lord B. and yet keep a +hold on this strange being in whose good graces she still found +herself--much to her astonishment. + +Then with midnight Helena departed. But long after she was herself in +bed, Mrs. Friend heard movements in the adjoining room, and was aware of +a scent of tobacco stealing in through her own open window. + +Helena, indeed, when she found herself alone was, for a time, too excited +to sleep, and cigarettes were her only resource. She was conscious of an +exaltation of will, a passionate self-assertion, beating through all her +veins, which made sleep impossible. Cousin Philip had scarcely addressed +a word to her during the evening, and had bade her a chilly good-night. +Of course, if that was to be his attitude it was impossible she could go +on living under his roof. Her mother could not for a moment have expected +her to keep her word, under such conditions ... And yet--why retreat? Why +not fight it out, temperately, but resolutely? "I lost my temper again +like an idiot, this morning--I mustn't--mustn't--lose it. He had jolly +well the best of it." + +"Self-determination"--that was what she was bent on. If it was good for +nations, it was good also for individuals. Liberty to make one's own +mistakes, to face one's own risks--that was the minimum. And for one +adult human being to accept the dictation of another human being was the +only sin worth talking about. The test might come on some trivial thing, +like this matter of Lord Donald. Well,--she must be content to "find +quarrel in a straw, where honour is at stake." Yet, of course, her +guardian was bound to resist. The fight between her will and his was +natural and necessary. It was the clash of two generations, two views of +life. She was not merely the wilful and insubordinate girl she would +have been before the war; she saw herself, at any rate, as something +much more interesting. All over the world there was the same breaking of +bonds; and the same instinct towards _violence_. "The violent taketh by +force." Was it the instinct that war leaves, and must leave, behind +it--its most sinister, or its most pregnant, legacy? She was +passionately conscious of it, and of a strange thirst to carry it into +reckless action. The unrest in her was the same unrest that was driving +men everywhere--and women, too--into industrial disturbance and moral +revolt. The old is done with; and the Tree of Life needs to be well +shaken before the new fruit will drop. + +Wild thoughts like these ran through her mind. Then she scoffed at +herself for such large notions, about so small a thing. And suddenly +something checked her--the physical recollection, as it were, left +tingling in her hand, of the grasp by which Buntingford had upheld her, +as she was leaving the boat. With it went a vision of his face, his dark, +furrowed face, in the moonlight. + +"The saddest man I know." Why and wherefore? Long after she was in bed, +she lay awake, absorbed in a dreamy yet intense gathering together of all +that she could recollect of Cousin Philip, from her childhood up, through +her school years, and down to her mother's death. Till now he had been +part of the more or less pleasant furniture of life. She seemed to be on +the way to realize him as a man--perhaps a force. It was unsuspected--and +rather interesting. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +The drought continued; and under the hot sun the lilacs were already +pyramids of purple, the oaks were nearly in full leaf, and the hawthorns +in the park and along the hedges would soon replace with another white +splendour the fading blossom of the wild cherries. + +It was Sunday morning, and none of the Beechmark party except Mrs. +Friend, Lady Luton and her seventeen-year-old daughter had shown any +inclination to go to church. Geoffrey French and Helena had escorted the +churchgoers the short way across the park, taking a laughing leave of +them at the last stile, whence the old church was but a stone's throw. +There was a circle of chairs on the lawn intermittently filled by +talkers. Lord Buntingford was indoors and was reported to have had some +ugly news that morning of a discharged soldiers' riot in a neighbouring +town where he owned a good deal of property. The disturbance had been for +the time being suppressed, but its renewal was expected, and Buntingford, +according to Julian Horne, who had been in close consultation with him, +was ready to go over at any moment, on a telephone call from the town +authorities, and take what other "specials" he could gather with him. + +"It's not at all a nice business," said Horne, looking up from his long +chair, as Geoffrey French and Helena reappeared. "And if Philip is rung +up, he'll sweep us all in. So don't be out of the way, Geoffrey." + +"What's the matter? Somebody has been bungling as usual, I suppose," said +Helena in her most confident and peremptory tone. + +"The discharged men say that nobody pays any attention to them--and they +mean to burn down something." + +"On the principle of the Chinaman, and 'roast pig,'" said French, +stretching himself at full length on the grass, where Helena was already +sitting. "What an extraordinary state of mind we're all in! We all want +to burn something. I want to burn the doctors, because some of the +medical boards have been beasts to some of my friends; the soldiers over +at Dansworth want to burn the town, because they haven't been made enough +of; the Triple Alliance want to burn up the country to cook their roast +pig--and as for you, Helena--" + +He turned a laughing face upon her--but before she could reply, a +telephone was heard ringing, through the open windows of the house. + +"For me, I expect," exclaimed Helena, springing up. She disappeared +within the drawing-room, returning presently, with flushed cheeks, and a +bearing of which Geoffrey French at once guessed the meaning. + +"Donald has thrown her over?" he said to himself. "Of course Philip had +the trump card!" + +Helena, however, said nothing. She took up a book she had left on the +grass, and withdrew with it to the solitary shelter of a cedar some yards +away. Quiet descended on the lawns. The men smoked or buried themselves +in a sleepy study of the Sunday papers. The old house lay steeped in +sunshine. Occasional bursts of talk arose and died away; a loud cuckoo in +a neighbouring plantation seemed determined to silence all its bird +rivals; while once or twice the hum of an aeroplane overhead awoke even +in the drowsiest listener dim memories of the war. + +Helena was only pretending to read. The telephone message which had +reached her had been from Lord Donald's butler--not even from Lord Donald +himself!--and had been to the effect that "his lordship" asked him to say +that he had been obliged to go to Scotland for a fortnight, and was very +sorry he had not been able to answer Miss Pitstone's telegram before +starting. Helena's cheeks were positively smarting under the humiliation +of it. Donald _daring_ to send her a message through a servant, when she +had telegraphed to him! For of course it was all a lie as to his having +left town--one could tell that from the butler's voice. He had been +somehow frightened by Cousin Philip, and was revenging himself by +rudeness to _her_. She seemed to hear "Jim" and his intimates discussing +the situation. Of course it would only amuse them!--everything amused +them!--that Buntingford should have put his foot down. How she had +boasted, both to Jim and to some of his friends, of the attitude she +meant to take up with her guardian during her "imprisonment on parole." +And this was the end of the first bout. Cousin Philip had been easily +master, and instead of making common cause with her against a ridiculous +piece of tyranny, Lord Donald had backed out. He might at least have been +sympathetic and polite--might have come himself to speak to her at the +telephone, instead-- + +Her blood boiled. How was she going to put up with this life? The irony +of the whole position was insufferable. Geoffrey's ejaculation for +instance when she had invited him to her sitting-room after breakfast +that he might look for a book he had lent her--"My word, Helena, what a +jolly place!--Why, this was the old school-room--I remember it +perfectly--the piggiest, shabbiest old den. And Philip has had it all +done up for you? Didn't know he had so much taste!" And then, Geoffrey's +roguish look at her, expressing the "chaff" he restrained for fear of +offending her. Lucy Friend, too, Captain Lodge, Peter--everybody--no one +had any sympathy with her. And lastly, Donald himself--coward!--had +refused to play up. Not that she cared one straw about him personally. +She knew very well that he was a poor creature. It was the _principle_ +involved:--that a girl of nineteen is to be treated as a free and +responsible being, and not as though she were still a child in the +nursery. "Cousin Philip may have had the right to say he wouldn't have +Jim Donald in his house, if he felt that way--but he had no right +whatever to prevent my meeting him in town, if I chose to meet +him--that's _my_ affair!--that's the point! All these men here are in +league. It's _not_ Jim's character that's in question--I throw Jim's +character to the wolves--it's the freedom of women!" + +So the tumult in her surged to and fro, mingled all through with a +certain unwilling preoccupation. That semi-circular bow-window on the +south side of the house, which she commanded from her seat under the +cedar, was one of the windows of the library. Hidden from her by the old +bureau at which he was writing, sat Buntingford at work. She could see +his feet under the bureau, and sometimes the top of his head. Oh, of +course, he had a way with him--a certain magnetism--for the people who +liked him, and whom he liked. Lady Maud, for instance--how well they had +got on at breakfast? Naturally, she thought him adorable. And Lady Maud's +girl. To see Buntingford showing her the butterfly collections in the +library--devoting himself to her--and the little thing blushing and +smiling--it was simply idyllic! And then to contrast the scene with that +other scene, in the same room, the day before! + +"Well, now, what am I going to do here--or in town?" she asked herself in +exasperation. "If Cousin Philip and I liked each other it would be +pleasant enough to ride together, to talk and read and argue--his brain's +all right!--with Lucy Friend to fall back upon between whiles--for just +these few weeks, at any rate, before we go to town--and with the +week-ends to help one out. But if we are to be at daggers-drawn--he +determined to boss me--and I equally determined not to be bossed--why, +the thing will be _intolerable_! Hullo!--is that Cynthia Welwyn? She +seems to be making for me." + +It was Lady Cynthia, very fresh and brilliant in airy black and white, +with a purple sunshade. She came straight over the grass to Helena's +shady corner. + +"You look so cool! May I share?" + +Helena rather ungraciously pushed forward a chair as they shook hands. + +"The rest of your party seem to be asleep," said Cynthia, glancing at +various prostrate forms belonging to the male sex that were visible on a +distant slope of the lawn. "But you've heard of the Dansworth +disturbances?--and that everybody here may have to go?" + +"Yes. It's probably exaggerated--isn't it?" + +"I don't know. Everybody coming out of church was talking of it. There +was bad rioting last night--and a factory burnt down. They say it's begun +again. Buntingford will probably have to go. Where is he?" + +Helena pointed to the library and to the feet under the bureau. + +"He's waiting indoors, no doubt, in case there's a summons." + +"No doubt," said Helena. + +Cynthia found her task difficult. She had come determined to make friends +with this thorny young woman, and to smooth Philip's path for him if she +could. But now face to face with Helena she was conscious that neither +was Philip's ward at all in a forthcoming mood, nor was her own effort +spontaneous or congenial. They were both Buntingford's kinswomen, Helena +on his father's side, Cynthia on his mother's, and had been more or less +acquainted with each other since Helena left the nursery. But there was +nearly twenty years between them, and a critical spirit on both sides. + +Conversation very soon languished. An instinctive antagonism that neither +could have explained intelligibly would have been evident to any shrewd +listener. Helena was not long in suspecting that Lady Cynthia was in some +way Buntingford's envoy, and had been sent to make friends, with an +ulterior object; while Cynthia was repelled by the girl's ungracious +manner, and by the gulf which it implied between the outlook of forty, +and that of nineteen. "She means to make me feel that I might have been +her mother--and that we have nothing in common!" + +The result was that Cynthia was driven into an intimate and possessive +tone with regard to Buntingford, which was more than the facts warranted, +and soon reduced Helena to monosyllables, and a sarcastic lip. + +"You can't think," said Cynthia effusively--"how good he is to us +two. It is so like him. He never forgets us. But indeed he never +forgets anybody." + +Helena raised her eyebrows, as though the news astonished her, but she +was too polite to contradict. + +"He sends you flowers, doesn't he?" she said carelessly. + +"He sends us all kinds of things. But that's not what makes him so +charming. He's always so considerate for everybody! The day you were +coming, for instance, he thought of nothing but how to get your room +finished and your books in order. I hope you liked it?" + +"Very much." The tone was noncommittal. + +"I don't suppose he told you how he worked," said Cynthia, smiling. "Oh, +he's a great dear, Philip! Only he takes a good deal of knowing." + +"Did you ever see his wife?" said Helena abruptly. + +Cynthia's movement showed her unpleasantly startled. She looked +instinctively towards the library window, where Buntingford was now +standing with his back to them. No, he couldn't have heard. + +"No, never," she said hurriedly, in a low voice. "Nobody ever speaks to +him about her. She was of course not his equal socially." + +"Is that the reason why nobody speaks of her?" + +Cynthia flushed indignantly. + +"Not that I know of. Why do you ask?" + +"I thought you put the two things together," said Helena in her most +detached tone. "And she was an artist?" + +"A very good one, I believe. A man who had seen her in Paris before her +marriage told me long ago--oh, years ago--that she was extraordinarily +clever, and very ambitious." + +"And beautiful?" said Helena eagerly. + +"I don't know. I never saw a picture of her." + +"I'll bet anything she was beautiful!" + +"Most likely. Philip's very fastidious." + +Helena meditated. + +"I wonder if she had a good time?" she said at last. + +"If she didn't, it couldn't have been Philip's fault!" said Cynthia, with +some vigour. + +"No, really?" + +The girl's note of interrogation was curiously provoking, and Cynthia +could have shaken her. + +Suddenly through the open French windows of the library, a shrill +telephone call rang out. It came from the instrument on Buntingford's +desk, and the two outside could see him take up the receiver. + +"Hullo!" + +"It's a message from Dansworth," said Cynthia, springing to her feet. +"They've sent for him." + +"Yes--yes--" came to them in Buntingford's deep assenting voice, as he +stood with the receiver to his ear. "All right--In an hour?--That's it. +Less, if possible? Well, I think we can do it in less. Good-bye." + +Helena had also risen. Buntingford emerged. + +"Geoffrey!--Peter!--Horne!--all of you!" + +From different parts of the lawn, men appeared running. Geoffrey French, +Captain Lodge, Peter, and Julian Horne, were in a few instants grouped +round their host, with Helena and Cynthia just behind. + +"The Dansworth mob's out of hand," said Buntingford briefly. "They've set +fire to another building, and the police are hard pressed. They want +specials at once. Who'll come? I've just had a most annoying message from +my chauffeur. His wife's been in to say that he's got a +temperature--since eight o'clock this morning--and has gone to bed. She +won't hear of his coming." + +"Funk?" said French quietly,--"or Bolshevism?" + +Buntingford shrugged his shoulders. "We'll enquire into that later. +There are two cars--a Vauxhall and a small Renault--a two-seater. Who +can drive?" + +"I think I can drive the Renault," said Dale. "I'll go and get it at +once. Hope I shan't kill anybody." + +He ran off. The other men looked at each other in perplexity. None of +them knew enough about the business to drive a high-powered car without +serious risk to their own lives and the car's. + +"I'll go and telephone to a man I know near here," said Buntingford, +turning towards the house. "He'll lend us his chauffeur." + +"Why not let me drive?" said a girl's half-sarcastic voice. "I've driven +a Vauxhall most of the winter." + +Buntingford turned, smiling but uncertain. + +"Of course! I had forgotten! But I don't like taking you into danger, +Helena. It sounds like an ugly affair!" + +"Lodge and I will go with her," said French, eagerly. "We can stop the +car outside the town. Horne can go with Dale." + +The eyes of the men were on the girl in white--men half humiliated, half +admiring. Helena, radiant, was looking at Buntingford, and at his +reluctant word of assent, she began joyously taking the hat-pins out of +her white lace hat. + +"Give me five minutes to change. Lucky I've got my uniform here! Then +I'll go for the car." + +Within the five minutes she was in the garage in full uniform, looking +over and tuning up the car, without an unnecessary word. She was the +professional, alert, cheerful, efficient--and handsomer than ever, +thought French, in her close-fitting khaki. + +"One word, Helena," said Buntingford, laying a hand on her arm, when all +was ready, and she was about to climb into her seat. "Remember I am in +command of the expedition--and for all our sakes there must be no divided +authority. You agree?" + +She looked up quietly. + +"I agree." + +He made way for her, and she took her seat with him beside her. French, +Lodge, Jones the butler, and Tomline the odd man, got in behind her. Mrs. +Friend appeared with a food hamper that she and Mrs. Mawson had been +rapidly packing. Her delicate little face was very pale, and Buntingford +stooped to reassure her. + +"We'll take every care of her. Don't be alarmed. It's always a woman +comes to the rescue, isn't it? We're all ashamed. I shall take some +lessons next week!" + +Helena, with her hand on the steering wheel, nodded and smiled to her, +and in another minute the splendid car was gliding out of the garage +yard, and flying through the park. + +Cynthia, with Mrs. Friend, Lady Maud Luton, and Mrs. Mawson, were left +looking after them. Cynthia's expression was hard to read; she seemed to +be rushing on with the car, watching the face beside Buntingford, the +young hands on the wheel, the keen eyes looking ahead, the play of talk +between them. + +"What a splendid creature!" said Lady Maud half-unwillingly, as she and +Cynthia walked back to the lawn. "I'm afraid I don't at all approve of +her in ordinary life. But just now--she was in her element." + +"Mother, you must let me learn motoring!" cried the girl of seventeen, +hanging on her mother's arm. She was flushed with innocent envy. Helena +driving Lord Buntingford seemed to her at the top of creation. + +"Goose! It wouldn't suit you at all," said the mother, smiling. "Please +take my prayer-book indoors." + +The babe went obediently. + +The miles ran past. Helena, on her mettle, was driving her best, and +Buntingford had already paid her one or two brief compliments, which she +had taken in silence. Presently they topped a ridge, and there lay +Dansworth in a hollow, a column of smoke gashed with occasional flame +rising above the town. + +"A big blaze," said Buntingford, examining it through a field-glass. +"It's the large brewery in the market-place. Hullo, you there!" He hailed +a country cart, full of excited occupants, which was being driven rapidly +towards them. The driver pulled up with difficulty. + +Buntingford jumped out and went to make enquiries. + +"It's a bad business, Sir," said the man in charge of the cart, a small +farmer whom Buntingford recognized. "The men in it are just mad--they +don't know what they've done, nor why they've done it. But the soldiers +will be there directly. There's far too few police, and I'm afraid +there's some people hurt. I wouldn't take ladies into the town if I was +you, Sir." He glanced at Helena. + +Buntingford nodded, and returned to the car. + +"You see that farm-house down there on the right?" he said to Helena as +they started again. "We'll stop there." + +They ran down the long slope to the town, the smoke carried towards them +by a westerly wind beginning to beat in their faces,--the roar of the +great bonfire in their ears. + +Helena drew up at the entrance of a short lane leading to a farm on the +outskirts of the small country town--the centre of an active +furniture-making industry, for which the material lay handy in the large +beechwoods which covered the districts round it. The people of the farm +were all standing outside the house-door, watching the fire and talking. + +"You're going to leave me here?" said Helena wistfully, looking at +Buntingford. + +"Please. You've brought us splendidly! I'll send Geoffrey back to you as +soon as possible, with instructions." + +She drove the car up to the farm. An elderly man came forward with whom +Buntingford made arrangements. The car was to be locked up. "And you'll +take care of the lady, till I send?" + +"Aye, aye, Sir." + +"I'll come back to you, as soon as I can," said French to Helena. "Don't +be anxious about us. We shall get into the market-hall by a back way and +find out what's going on. They've probably got the hose on by now. +Nothing like a hose-pipe for this kind of thing! Congratters on a +splendid bit of driving!" + +"Hear, hear," said Buntingford. + +They went off, and Helena was left alone with the farm people, who made +much of her, and poured into her ears more or less coherent accounts of +the rioting and its causes. A few discontented soldiers, an unpopular +factory manager, and a badly-handled strike:--the tale was a common one +throughout England at the moment, and behind and beneath the surface +events lay the heaving of that "tide in the affairs of men," a tide of +change, of restlessness, of revolt, set in motion by the great war. +Helena paced up and down the orchard slope behind the house, watching the +conflagration which was beginning to die down, startled every now and +then by what seemed to be the sound of shots, and once by the rush past +of a squadron of mounted police coming evidently from the big country +town some ten miles away. Hunger asserted itself, and she made a raid on +the hamper in the car, sharing some of its contents with the black-eyed +children of the farm. Every now and then news came from persons passing +along the road, and for a time things seemed to be mending. The police +were getting the upper hand; the Mayor had made a plucky speech to the +crowd in the market-place, with good results; the rioters were wavering; +and the soldiers had been stopped by telephone. Then following hard on +the last rumour came a sudden rush of worse news. A policeman had been +killed--two injured--the rioters had gained a footing in the market-hall, +and driven out both the police and the specials--and after all, the +soldiers had been sent for. + +Helena wandered down to the gate of the farm lane opening on the main +road, consumed with restlessness and anxiety. If only they had let her go +with them! Buntingford's last look as he raised his hat to her before +departing, haunted her memory--the appeal in it, the unspoken message. +Might they not, after all, be friends? There seemed to be an exquisite +relaxation in the thought. + +Another hour passed. Geoffrey French at last! He came on a motor bicycle, +and threw himself off beside her, breathless. + +"Please get the car, Helena, and I'll go on with you. The town's safe. +The troops have arrived, and the rioters are scattering. The police have +made some arrests, and Philip believes the thing is over--or I shouldn't +have been allowed to come for you!" + +"Why not?" said Helena half-indignantly, as they hurried towards the +barn in which the car had been driven. "Perhaps I might have been of +some use!" + +"No--you helped us best by staying here. The last hour's been pretty bad. +And now Philip wants you to take two wounded police to the Smeaton +Hospital--five miles. He'll go with you. They're badly hurt, I'm +afraid--there was some vicious stone-throwing." + +"All right! Perhaps you don't know that's my job!" + +French helped her get out the car. + +"We shall want mattresses and stretcher boards," said Helena, surveying +it thoughtfully. "A doctor too and a nurse." + +"Right you are. They've thought of all that. You'll find everything at +the market-hall,--where the two men are." + +They drove away together, and into the outer streets of the town, where +now scarcely a soul was to be seen, though as the car passed, the windows +were crowded with heads. Police were everywhere, and the market-place--a +sorry sight of smoky wreck and ruin--was held by a cordon of soldiers, +behind which a crowd still looked on. French, sitting beside her, watched +the erect girl-driver, the excellence of her driving, the brain and skill +she was bringing to bear upon her "job." Here was the "new woman" indeed, +in her best aspect. He could not but compare the Helena of this +adventure--this competent and admirable Helena--with the girl of the +night before. Had the war produced the same dual personality in thousands +of English men and English women?--in the English nation itself? + +They drew up at the steps of the market-hall, where a group of persons +were standing, including a nurse in uniform. Buntingford came forward, +and bending over the side of the car, said to Helena: + +"Do you want to be relieved? There are several people here who could +drive the car." + +She flushed. + +"I want to take these men to hospital." + +He smiled at her. + +"You shall." + +He turned back to speak to the doctor who was to accompany the car. +Helena jumped out, and went to consult with the nurse. In a very short +time, the car had been turned as far as possible into an ambulance, and +the wounded men were brought out. + +"As gently as you can," said the doctor to Helena. "Are your +springs good?" + +"The car's first-rate, and I'll do my best. I've been driving for nearly +a year, up to the other day." She pointed to her badge. The doctor nodded +approval, and he and the nurse took their places. Then Buntingford jumped +into the car, beside Helena. + +"I'll show you the way. It won't take long." + +In a few minutes, the car was in country lanes, and all the smoking +tumult of the town had vanished from sight and hearing. It had become +already indeed almost incredible, in the glow of the May afternoon, +and amid the hawthorn white of the hedges, the chattering birds that +fled before them, the marvellous green of the fields. Helena drove +with the deftness of a practised hand, avoiding ruts, going softly +over rough places. + +"Good!" said Buntingford to her more than once--"that was excellent!" + +But the suffering of the men behind overshadowed everything else, and it +was with a big breath of relief that Buntingford at last perceived the +walls of the county hospital rising out of a group of trees in front of +them. Helena brought the car gently to a standstill, and, jumping out, +was ready to help as a V. A. D. in the moving of the men. The hospital +had been warned by telephone, and all preparations had been made. When +the two unconscious men were safely in bed, the Dansworth doctor turned +warmly to Helena: + +"I don't know what we should have done without you, Miss Pitstone! But +you look awfully tired. I hope you'll go home at once, and rest." + +"I'm going to take her home--at once," said Buntingford. "We can't do +anything more, can we?" + +"Nothing. And here's the matron with a message." + +The message was from the mayor of Dansworth. "Situation well in hand. No +more trouble feared. Best thanks." + +"All right!" said Buntingford. He turned smiling to Helena. "Now we'll go +home and get some dinner!" + +The Dansworth doctor and nurse remained behind. Once more Buntingford got +into the car beside his ward. + +"What an ass I am!" he said, in disgust--"not to be able to drive the +car. But I should probably kill you and myself." + +Helena laughed at him, a new sweetness in the sound, and they started. + +Presently Buntingford said gently: + +"I want to thank you,--for one thing especially--for having waited so +patiently--while we got the thing under." + +"I wasn't patient at all! I wanted desperately to be in it!" + +"All the more credit! It would have been a terrible anxiety if you had +been there. A policeman was killed just beside us. There was a man with a +revolver running amuck. He just missed French by a hair-breadth." + +Helena exclaimed in horror. + +"You see--one puts the best face on it--but it might have been a terrible +business. But what I shall always remember most--is your part in it" + +Their eyes met, hers half shy, half repentant, his full of a kindness she +had never yet seen there. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +"Oh, what a jolly day! We've had a glorious ride," said Helena, throwing +herself down on the grass beside Mrs. Friend. "And how are you? Have you +been resting--or slaving--as you were _expressly_ forbidden to do?" + +For Mrs. Friend had been enjoying a particularly bad cold and had not +long emerged from her bedroom, looking such a pitiful little wreck, that +both Lord Buntingford and Helena had been greatly concerned. In the five +weeks that had now elapsed since her arrival at Beechmark she had stolen +her quiet way into the liking of everybody in the house to such an extent +that, during the days she had been in bed with a high temperature, she +had been seriously missed in the daily life of the place, and the whole +household had actively combined to get her well again. Mrs. Mawson had +fed her; and Lucy Friend was aghast to think how much her convalescence +must be costing her employer in milk, eggs, butter, cream and chickens, +when all such foods were still so frightfully, abominably dear. But they +were forced down her throat by Helena and the housekeeper; while Lord +Buntingford enquired after her every morning, and sent her a reckless +supply of illustrated papers and novels. To see her now in the library or +on the lawn again, with her white shawl round her, and the usual +needlework on her knee, was a pleasant sight to everybody in the house. + +The little lady had not only won this place for herself by the sweet and +selfless gift which was her natural endowment; she was becoming the +practical helper of everybody, of Mrs. Mawson in the house, of old Fenn +in the garden, even of Buntingford himself, who was gradually falling +into the habit of letting her copy important letters for him, and keep +some order in the library. She was not in the least clever or +accomplished; but her small fingers seemed to have magic in them; and her +good will was inexhaustible. + +Helena had grown amazingly fond of her. She appealed to something +maternal and protecting in the girl's strong nature. Since her mother's +death, there had been a big streak of loneliness in Helena's heart, +though she would have suffered tortures rather than confess it; and +little Lucy Friend's companionship filled a void. She must needs respect +Lucy's conscience, Lucy's instincts had more than once shamed her own. + +"What are you going to wear to-night?" said Mrs. Friend, softly smoothing +back the brown hair from the girl's hot brow. + +"Pale green and apple-blossom." + +Lucy Friend smiled, as though already she had a vision of the +full-dress result. + +"That'll be delicious," she said, with enthusiasm. + +"Lucy!--am I good-looking?" + +The girl spoke half wistfully, half defiantly, her eyes fixed on Lucy. + +Mrs. Friend laughed. + +"I asked that question before I had seen you." + +"Of whom?" said Helena eagerly. "You didn't see anybody but Cousin Philip +before I arrived. Tell me, Lucy--tell me at once." + +Mrs. Friend kept a smiling silence for a minute. At last she said--"Lord +Buntingford showed me a portrait of you before you arrived." + +"A portrait of me? There isn't one in the house! Lucy, you deceiver, what +do you mean?" + +"I was taken to see one in the hall." + +A sudden light dawned on Helena. + +"The Romney? No! And I've been showing it to everybody as the loveliest +thing going!" + +"There--you see!" + +Helena's face composed itself. + +"I don't know why I should be flattered. She was a horrid minx. That no +doubt was what the likeness consisted in!" + +Mrs. Friend laughed, but said nothing. Helena rose from the grass, +pausing to say as she turned towards the house: + +"We're going to dance in the drawing-room, Mawson says. They've +cleared it." + +"Doesn't it look nice?" + +Helena assented. "Let me see--" she added slowly--"this is the third +dance, isn't it, since I came?" + +"Yes--the third." + +"I don't think we need have another"--the tone was decided, almost +impatient--"at least when this party's over." + +Mrs. Friend opened her eyes. + +"I thought you liked to dance every week-end?" + +"Well--ye-es--amongst ourselves. I didn't mean to turn the house +upside-down every week." + +"Well, you see--the house-parties have been so large. And besides there +have been neighbours." + +"I didn't ask _them_," said Helena. "But--we won't have another--till we +go to Town." + +"Very well. It might be wise. The servants are rather tired, and if they +give warning, we shall never get any more!" + +Mrs. Friend watched the retreating figure of Helena. There had indeed +been a dizzy succession of week-end parties, and it seemed to her that +Lord Buntingford's patience under the infliction had been simply +miraculous. For they rarely contained friends of his own; his lameness +cut him off from dancing; and it had been clear to Lucy Friend that in +many cases Helena's friends had been sharply distasteful to him. He +was, in Mrs. Friend's eyes, a strange mixture as far as social +standards were concerned. A boundless leniency in some cases; the +sternest judgment in others. + +For instance, a woman he had known from childhood had lately left her +husband, carried off her children, and joined her lover. Lord Buntingford +was standing, stoutly by her, helping her in her divorce proceedings, +paying for the education of the children, and defending her whenever he +heard her attacked. On the other hand, his will had been iron in the +matter of Lord Donald, whose exposure as co-respondent in the +particularly disreputable case had been lately filling the newspapers. +Mrs. Friend had seen Helena take up the _Times_ on one of the days on +which the evidence in this case had appeared, and fling it down again +with a flush and a look of disgust. But since the day of the Dansworth +riot, she had never mentioned Lord Donald's name. + +Certainly the relations between her and her guardian had curiously +changed. In the first place, since her Dansworth adventure, Helena had +found something to do to think about other than quarrelling with "Cousin +Philip." Her curiosity as to how the two wounded police, whom she had +driven to the County Hospital that day, might be faring had led to her +going over there two or three times a week, either to relieve an +overworked staff, or to drive convalescent soldiers, still under +treatment in the wards. + +The occupation had been a godsend to her, and everybody else. She still +talked revolution, and she was always ready to spar with Lord +Buntingford, or other people. But all the same Lucy Friend was often +aware of a much more tractable temper, a kind of hesitancy--and +appeasement--which, even if it passed away, made her beauty, for the +moment, doubly attractive. + +Was it, after all, the influence of Lord Buntingford--and was the event +justifying her mother's strange provision for her? He had certainly +treated her with a wonderful kindness and indulgence. Of late he had +returned to his work at the Admiralty, only coming down to Beechmark for +long week-ends from Friday to Monday. But in these later week-ends he had +gradually abandoned the detached and half-sarcastic attitude which he had +originally assumed towards Helena, and it seemed to Lucy Friend that he +was taking his function towards her with a new seriousness. If so, it had +affected himself at least as much as the proud and difficult girl whose +guidance had been so hurriedly thrust upon him. His new role had brought +out in him unexpected resources, or revived old habits. For instance he +had not ridden for years; though, as a young man, and before his +accident, he had been a fine horseman. But he now rode whenever he was at +Beechmark, to show Helena the country; and they both looked so well on +horseback that it was a pleasure of which Lucy Friend never tired to +watch them go and to welcome them home. + +Then the fact that he was a trained artist, which most of his friends had +forgotten, became significant again for Helena's benefit. She had some +aptitude, and more ambition--would indeed, but for the war, have been a +South Kensington student, and had long cherished yearnings for the Slade. +He set her work to do during the week, and corrected it with professional +sharpness when he reappeared. + +And more important perhaps than either the riding or the drawing, was the +partial relaxation for her benefit of the reserve and taciturnity which +had for years veiled the real man from those who liked and respected him +most. He never indeed talked of himself or his past; but he would discuss +affairs, opinions, books--especially on their long rides together--with a +frankness, and a tone of gay and equal comradeship, which, or so Mrs. +Friend imagined, had had a disarming and rather bewildering effect on +Helena. The girl indeed seemed often surprised and excited. It was +evident that they had never got on during her mother's lifetime, and that +his habitual bantering or sarcastic tone towards her while she was still +in the school-room had roused an answering resentment in her. Hence the +aggressive mood in which, after two or three months of that half-mad +whirl of gaiety into which London had plunged after the Armistice, she +had come down to Beechmark. + +They still jarred, sometimes seriously; Helena was often provocative and +aggressive; and Buntingford could make a remark sting without intending +it. But on the whole Lucy Friend felt that she was watching something +which had in it possibilities of beauty; indeed of a rather touching and +rare development. But not at all as the preliminary to a love-affair. In +Buntingford's whole relation to his ward, Lucy Friend, at least, had +never yet detected the smallest sign of male susceptibility. It suggested +something quite different. Julian Horne, who had taken a great fancy to +Helena's chaperon, was now recommending books to her instead of to +Helena, who always forgot or disobeyed his instructions. With a little +preliminary lecture, he had put the "Greville Memoirs" in her hands by +way of improving her mind; and she had been struck by a passage in which +Greville describes Lord Melbourne's training of the young Queen Victoria, +whose Prime Minister he was. The man of middle-age, accomplished, cynical +and witty, suddenly confronted with a responsibility which challenged +both his heart and his conscience--and that a responsibility towards an +attractive young girl whom he could neither court nor command, towards +whom his only instrument was the honesty and delicacy of his own +purpose:--there was something in this famous, historical situation which +seemed to throw a light on the humbler situation at Beechmark. + +Four o'clock! In another hour the Whitsuntide party for which the house +stood ready would have arrived. Helena's particular "pals" were all +coming, and various friends and kinsfolk of Lord Buntingford's; including +Lady Mary Chance, a general or two, some Admiralty officials, and one or +two distinguished sailors with the halo of Zeebrugge about them. The +gathering was to last nearly a week. Mrs. Mawson had engaged two extra +servants, and the master of the house had resigned himself. But he had +laid it down that the fare was to be simple--and "no champagne." And +though of course there would be plenty of bridge, he had given a hint to +Vivian Lodge, who, as his heir-apparent, was his natural aide-de-camp in +the management of the party, that anything like high play would be +unwelcome. Some of Helena's friends during the latter week-ends of May +had carried things to extremes. + +Meanwhile the social and political sky was darkening in the June England. +Peace was on the point of being signed in Paris; but the industrial war +at home weighed on every thinking mind. London was dancing night after +night; money was being spent like water; and yet every man and woman of +sense knew that the only hope for Britain lay in work and saving. +Buntingford's habitual frown--the frown not of temper but of +oppression--had grown deeper; and on their long rides together he had +shown a great deal of his mind to Helena--the mind of a patriot full of +fear for his country. + +A man came across the lawn. Lucy Friend was glad to recognize Geoffrey +French, who was a great favourite with her. + +"You are early!" she said, as they greeted. + +"I came down by motor-bike. London is hateful, and I was in a hurry to +get out of it. Where is Helena?" + +"Gone to change her dress. She has been riding." + +Frank mopped his brow in silence for a little. Then he said with the +half-mischievous smile which in Lucy Friend's eyes was one of his chief +physical "points." + +"How you and Philip have toned her down!" + +"Oh, not I!" said Lucy, her modesty distressed. "I've always admired her +so! Of course--I was sometimes surprised--" + +Geoffrey laughed. + +"I daresay we shall all be surprised a good many times yet?" Then he +moved a little closer to the small person, who was becoming everybody's +confidante. "Do you mind telling me something--if you know it?" he said, +lowering his voice. + +"Ask me--but I can't promise!" + +"Do you think Helena has quite made up her mind not to marry Dale?" + +Mrs. Friend hesitated. + +"I don't know--" + +"But what do you think?" + +She lifted her gentle face, under his compulsion, and slowly, pitifully +shook her head. + +Geoffrey drew a long breath. + +"Then she oughtn't to ask him here! The poor little fellow is going +through the tortures of the damned!" + +"Oh, I'm so sorry. Isn't there anything we can do?" cried Mrs. Friend. + +"Nothing--but keep him away. After all he's only the first victim." + +Startled by the note in her companion's voice, Mrs. Friend turned to look +at him. He forced a smile, as their eyes met. + +"Oh, we must all take our chance! But Peter's not the boy he was--before +the war. Things bowl him over easily." + +"She likes him so much," murmured Lucy. "I'm sure she never means to +be unkind." + +"She isn't unkind!" said Geoffrey with energy. "It's the natural fated +thing. We are all the slaves of her car and she knows it. When she was in +the stage of quarrelling with us all, it was just fun. But if Helena +grows as delicious--as she promised to be last week--" He shrugged his +shoulders, with a deep breath--"Well,--she'll have to marry somebody some +day--and the rest of us may drown! Only, if you're to be umpire--and she +likes you so much that I expect you will be--play fair!" + +He held out his hand, and she put hers into it, astonished to realize +that her own eyes were full of tears. + +"I'm a mass of dust--I must go and change before tea," he said abruptly. + +He went into the house, and she was left to some agitated thinking. + +An hour later, the broad lawns of Beechmark, burnt yellow by the May +drought, were alive with guests, men in khaki and red tabs, fresh from +their War Office work; two naval Commanders, and a resplendent +Flag-Lieutenant; a youth in tennis flannels, just released from a city +office, who seven months earlier had been fighting in the last advance of +the war, and a couple of cadets who had not been old enough to fight at +all; girls who had been "out" before the war, and two others, Helena's +juniors, who were just leaving the school-room and seemed to be all aglow +with the excitement and wonder of this peace-world; a formidable +grey-haired woman, who was Lady Mary Chance; Cynthia and Georgina Welwyn, +and the ill-dressed, arresting figure of Mr. Alcott. Not all were +Buntingford's guests; some were staying at the Cottage, some in another +neighbouring house; but Beechmark represented the headquarters of a +gathering of which Helena Pitstone and her guardian were in truth the +central figures. + +Helena in white, playing tennis; Helena with a cigarette, resting between +her sets, and chaffing with a ring of dazzled young men; Helena talking +wild nonsense with Geoffrey French, for the express purpose of shocking +Lady Mary Chance; and the next minute listening with a deference graceful +enough to turn even the seasoned head of a warrior to a grey-haired +general describing the taking of the Vimy Ridge; and finally, Helena, +holding a dancing class under the cedars on the yellow smoothness of the +lawn, after tea, for such young men as panted to conquer the mysteries of +"hesitation" or jazzing, and were ardently courting instruction in the +desperate hope of capturing their teacher for a dance that night:--it was +on these various avatars of Helena that the whole party turned; and Lady +Mary indignantly felt that there was no escaping the young woman. + +"Why do you let her smoke--and paint--and _swear_--I declare I heard her +swear!" she said in Buntingford's ear, as the dressing-bell rang, and he +was escorting her to the house. "And mark my words, Philip--men may be +amused by that kind of girl, but they won't marry her." + +Buntingford laughed. + +"As Helena's guardian I'm not particularly anxious about that!" + +"Ah, no doubt, she tells you people propose to her--but is it true?" +snapped Lady Mary. + +"You imagine that Helena tells me of her proposals?" said Buntingford, +wondering. + +"My dear Philip, don't pose! Isn't that the special function of a +guardian?" + +"It may be. But, if so, Helena has never given me the chance of +performing it." + +"I told you so! Men will flirt with her, but they _don't_ propose to +her!" said Lady Mary triumphantly. + +Buntingford, smiling, let her have the last word, as he asked Mrs. Friend +to show her to her room. + +Meanwhile the gardens were deserted, save for a couple of gardeners and +an electrician, who were laying some wires for the illumination of the +rose-garden in front of the drawing-room, and Geoffrey French, who was in +a boat, lazily drifting across the pond, and reading a volume of poems by +a friend which he had brought down with him. The evening was fast +declining; and from the shadow of the deep wood which bordered the +western edge of the pond he looked out on the sunset glow as it climbed +the eastern hill, transfiguring the ridge, and leaving a rich twilight in +the valley below. The tranquillity of the water, the silence of the +woods, the gentle swaying of the boat, finally wooed him from his book, +which after all he had only taken up as a protection from tormenting +thoughts. Had he--had he--any chance with Helena? A month before he would +have scornfully denied that he was in love with her. And now--he had +actually confessed his plight to Mrs. Friend! + +As he lay floating between the green vault above, and the green weedy +depths below, his thoughts searched the five weeks that lay between him +and that first week-end when he had scolded Helena for her offences. It +seemed to him that his love for her had first begun that day of the +Dansworth riot. She had provoked and interested him before that--but +rather as a raw self-willed child--a "flapper" whose extraordinary beauty +gave her a distinction she had done nothing to earn. But every moment in +that Dansworth day was clear in memory:--the grave young face behind the +steering-wheel, the perfect lips compressed, the eyes intent upon their +task, the girl's courage and self-command. Still more the patient Helena +who waited for him at the farm--the grateful exultant look when he said +"Come"--and every detail of the scene in Dansworth:--Helena with her most +professional air, driving through soldiers and police, Helena helping to +carry and place the two wounded men, and that smiling "good-bye" she had +thrown him as she drove away with Buntingford beside her. + +The young man moved restlessly; and the light boat was set rocking. It +was curious how he too, like Lucy Friend, only from another point of +view, was beginning to reflect on the new intimacy that seemed to be +developing between Buntingford and his ward. Philip of course was an +awfully good fellow, and Helena was just finding it out; what else was +there in it? But the jealous pang roused by the thought of Buntingford, +once felt, persisted. Not for a moment did French doubt the honour or the +integrity of a man, who had done him personally many a kindness, and had +moreover given him some reason to think---(he recalled the odd little +note he had received from Buntingford before Helena's first +week-end)--that if he were to fall in love with Helena, his suit would be +favourably watched by Helena's guardian. He could recall moreover one or +two quite recent indications on Buntingford's part--very slight and +guarded--which seemed to point in the same direction. + +All very well: Buntingford himself might be quite heart-whole and might +remain so. French, who knew him well, though there was fourteen years +between them, was tolerably certain--without being able to give any very +clear reason for the conviction--that Buntingford would never have +undertaken the guardianship of Helena, had the merest possibility of +marrying her crossed his mind. French did not believe that it had ever +yet crossed his mind. There was nothing in his manner towards her to +suggest anything more than friendship, deepening interest, affectionate +responsibility--all feelings which would have shown themselves plainly +from the beginning had she allowed it. + +But Helena herself? It was clear that however much they might still +disagree, Buntingford had conquered her original dislike of him, and was +in process of becoming the guide, philosopher, and friend her mother had +meant him to be. And Buntingford had charm and character, and +imagination. He could force a girl like Helena to respect him +intellectually; with such a nature that was half the battle. He would be +her master in time. Besides, there were all Philip's endless +opportunities of making life agreeable and delightful to her. When they +went to London, for instance, he would come out of the shell he had lived +in so long, and Helena would see him as his few intimate friends had +always seen him:--as one of the most accomplished and attractive of +mortals, with just that touch of something ironic and mysterious in his +personality and history, which appeals specially to a girl's fancy. + +And what would be the end of it? Tragedy for Helena?--as well as bitter +disappointment and heartache for himself, Geoffrey French? He was +confident that Helena had in her the capacity for passion; that the +flowering-time of such a nature would be one of no ordinary intensity. +She would love, and be miserable--and beat herself to pieces--poor, +brilliant Helena!--against her own pain. + +What could he do? Might there not be some chance for +himself--_now_--while the situation was still so uncertain and +undeveloped? Helena was still unconscious, unpledged. Why not cut in at +once? "She likes me--she has been a perfect dear to me these last few +times of meeting! Philip backs me. He would take my part. Perhaps, after +all, my fears are nonsense, and she would no more dream of marrying +Philip, than he would dream, under cover of his guardianship, of making +love to her." + +He raised himself in the boat, filled with a new inrush of will and +hope, and took up the drifting oars. Across the water, on the white +slopes of lawn, and in some of the windows of the house, lights were +appearing. The electricians were testing the red and blue lamps they had +been stringing among the rose-beds, and from the gabled boathouse on the +further side, a bright shaft from a small searchlight which had been +fixed there, was striking across the water. Geoffrey watched it +wandering over the dark wood on his right, lighting up the tall stems of +the beeches, and sending a tricky gleam or two among the tangled +underwood. It seemed to him a symbol of the sudden illumination of mind +and purpose which had come to him, there, on the shadowed water--and he +turned to look at a window which he knew was Helena's. There were lights +within it, and he pictured Helena at her glass, about to slip into some +bright dress or other, which would make her doubly fair. Meanwhile from +the rose of the sunset, rosy lights were stealing over the water and +faintly glorifying the old house and its spreading gardens. An +overpowering sense of youth--of the beauty of the world--of the mystery +of the future, beat through his pulses. The coming dance became a rite +of Aphrodite, towards which all his being strained. + +Suddenly, there was a loud snapping noise, as of breaking branches in the +wood beside him. It was so startling that his hands paused on the oars, +as he looked quickly round to see what could have produced it. And at the +same moment the searchlight on the boathouse reached the spot to which +his eyes were drawn, and he saw for an instant--sharply distinct and +ghostly white--a woman's face and hands--amid the blackness of the wood. +He had only a moment in which to see them, in which to catch a glimpse of +a figure among the trees, before the light was gone, leaving a double +gloom behind it. + +Mysterious! Who could it be? Was it some one who wanted to be put across +the pond? He shouted. "Who is that?" + +Then he rowed in to the shore, straining his eyes to see. It occurred to +him that it might be a lady's maid brought by a guest, who had been out +for a walk, and missed her way home in a strange park. "Do you want to +get to the house? I can put you across to it if you wish," he said in a +loud voice, addressing the unknown--"otherwise you'll have to go a long +way round." + +No answer--only an intensity of silence, through which he heard from a +great distance a church clock striking. The wood and all its detail had +vanished in profound shadow. + +Conscious of a curious excitement he rowed still further in to the bank, +and again spoke to the invisible woman. In vain. He began then to doubt +his own eyes. Had it been a mere illusion produced by some caprice of the +searchlight opposite? But the face!--the features of it were stamped on +his memory, the gaunt bitterness of them, the brooding misery. + +How could he have imagined such a thing? + +Much perplexed and rather shaken in nerve, he rowed back across the +pond--to hear the band tuning in the flower-filled drawing-room, as he +approached the house. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +About ten o'clock on the night of the ball at Beechmark, a labourer was +crossing the park on his way home from his allotment. Thanks to +summertime and shortened hours of labour he had been able to get his +winter greens in, and to earth up his potatoes, all in two strenuous +evenings; and he was sauntering home dead-tired. But he had doubled his +wages since the outbreak of war and his fighting son had come back to him +safe, so that on the whole he was inclined to think that the old country +was worth living in! The park he was traversing was mostly open pasture +studded with trees, except where at the beginning of the eighteenth +century the Lord Buntingford of the day had planted a wood of oak and +beech about the small lake which he had made by the diversion of two +streamlets that had once found a sluggish course through the grassland. +The trees in it were among the finest in the country, but like so much of +English woodland before the war, they had been badly neglected for many +years. The trees blown down by winter storms had lain year after year +where they fell; the dead undergrowth was choking the young saplings; and +some of the paths through the wood had practically disappeared. + +The path from the allotments to the village passed at the back of the +wood. Branching off from it, an old path leading through the trees and +round the edge of the lake had once been frequently used as a short cut +from the village to the house, but was now badly grown up and indeed +superseded by the new drive from the western lodge, made some twenty +years before this date. + +The labourer, Richard Stimson, was therefore vaguely surprised when he +turned the corner of the wood and reached the fork of the path, to see a +figure of a woman, on the old right-of-way, between him and the wood, for +which she seemed to be making. + +It was not the figure of anyone he knew. It was a lady, apparently, in a +dark gown, and a small hat with a veil. The light was still good, and he +saw her clearly. He stopped indeed to watch her, puzzled to know what a +stranger could be doing in the park, and on that path at ten o'clock at +night. He was aware indeed that there were gay doings at Beechmark. He +had seen the illuminated garden and house from the upper park, and had +caught occasional gusts of music from the band to which no doubt the +quality were dancing. But the fact didn't seem to have much to do with +the person he was staring at. + +And while he stared at her, she turned, and instantly perceived--he +thought--that she was observed. She paused a moment, and then made an +abrupt change of direction; running round the corner of the wood, she +reached the path along which he himself had just come and disappeared +from view. + +The whole occurrence filliped the rustic mind; but before he reached his +own cottage, Stimson had hit on an explanation which satisfied him. It +was of course a stranger who had lost her way across the park, mistaking +the two paths. On seeing him, she had realized that she was wrong and had +quickly set herself right. He told his wife the tale before he went to +sleep, with this commentary; and they neither of them troubled to think +about it any more. + +Perhaps the matter would not have appeared so simple to either of them +had they known that Stimson had no sooner passed completely out of sight, +leaving the wide stretches of the park empty and untenanted under a sky +already alive with stars, than the same figure reappeared, and after +pausing a moment, apparently to reconnoitre, disappeared within the wood. + +"A year ago to-day, where were you?" said one Brigadier to another, as +the two Generals stood against the wall in the Beechmark drawing-room to +watch the dancing. + +"Near Albert," said the man addressed. "The brigade was licking its +wounds and training drafts." + +The other smiled. + +"Mine was doing the same thing--near Armentières. We didn't think then, +did we, that it would be all over in five months?" + +"It isn't all over!" said the first speaker, a man with a refined and +sharply cut face, still young under a shock of grey hair. "We are in the +ground swell of the war. The ship may go down yet." + +"While the boys and girls dance? I hope not!" The soldier's eyes ran +smiling over the dancing throng. Then he dropped his voice: + +"Listen!" + +For a very young boy and girl had come to stand in front of them. The boy +had just parted from a girl a good deal older than himself, who had +nodded to him a rather patronizing farewell, as she glided back into the +dance with a much decorated Major. + +"These pre-war girls are rather dusty, aren't they?" said the boy angrily +to his partner. + +"You mean they give themselves airs? Well, what does it matter? It's _we_ +who have the good time now!" said the little creature beside him, a fairy +in filmy white, dancing about him as she spoke, hardly able to keep her +feet still for a moment, life and pleasure in every limb. + +The two soldiers--both fathers--smiled at each other. Then Helena came +down the room, a vision of spring, with pale green floating about her, +and apple-blossoms in her brown hair. She was dancing with Geoffrey +French, and both were dancing with remarkable stateliness and grace to +some Czech music, imposed upon the band by Helena, who had given her +particular friends instruction on the lawn that afternoon in some of the +steps that fitted it. They passed with the admiring or envious eyes of +the room upon them, and disappeared through the window leading to the +lawn. For on the smooth-shaven turf of the lawn there was supplementary +dancing, while the band in the conservatory, with all barriers removed, +was playing both for the inside and outside revellers. + +Peter Dale was sitting out on the terrace over-looking the principal lawn +with the daughter of Lady Mary Chance, a rather pretty but stupid girl, +with a genius for social blunders. Buntingford had committed him to a +dance with her, and he was not grateful. + +"She is pretty, of course, but horribly fast!" said his partner +contemptuously, as Helena passed. "Everybody thinks her such bad style!" + +"Then everybody is an ass!" said Peter violently, turning upon her. "But +it doesn't matter to Helena." + +The girl flushed in surprise and anger. + +"I didn't know you were such great friends. I only repeat what I hear," +she said stiffly. + +"It depends on where you hear it," said Peter. "There isn't a man in this +ball that isn't pining to dance with her." + +"Has she given you a dance?" said the girl, with a touch of malice in +her voice. + +"Oh, I've come off as well as other people!" said Peter evasively. + +Then, of a sudden, his chubby face lit up. For Helena, just as the music +was slackening to the close of the dance, and a crowd of aspirants for +supper dances were converging on the spot where she stood, had turned and +beckoned to Peter. + +"Do you mind?--I'll come back!" he said to his partner, and rushed off. + +"Second supper dance!" "All right!" + +He returned radiant, and in his recovered good humour proceeded to make +himself delightful even to Miss Chance, whom, five minutes before, he +had detested. + +But when he had returned her to her mother, Peter wandered off alone. He +did not want to dance with anybody, to talk to anybody. He wanted just to +remember Helena's smile, her eager--"I've kept it for you, Peter, all the +evening!"--and to hug the thought of his coming joy. Oh, he hadn't a +dog's chance, he knew, but as long as she was not actually married to +somebody else, he was not going to give up hope. + +In a shrubbery walk, where a rising moon was just beginning to chequer +the path with light and shade, he ran into Julian Horne, who was +strolling tranquilly up and down, book in hand. + +"Hullo, what are you doing here?" said the invaded one. + +"Getting cool. And you?" + +Julian showed his book--_The Coming Revolution_, a Bolshevist pamphlet, +then enjoying great vogue in manufacturing England. + +"What are you reading such rot for?" said Peter, wondering. + +"It gives a piquancy to this kind of thing!" was Horne's smiling reply, +as they reached an open space in the walk, and he waved his hand towards +the charming scene before them, the house with its lights, on its rising +ground above the lake, the dancing groups on the lawn, the illuminated +rose-garden; and below, the lake, under its screen of wood, with boats on +the smooth water, touched every now and then by the creeping fingers of +the searchlight from the boathouse, so that one group after another of +young men and maidens stood out in a white glare against the darkness of +the trees. + +"It will last our time," said Peter recklessly. "Have you seen +Buntingford?" + +"A little while ago, he was sitting out with Lady Cynthia. But when he +passed me just now, he told me he was going down to look after the lake +and the boats--in case of accidents. There is a current at one end +apparently, and a weir; and the keeper who understands all about it is in +a Canada regiment on the Rhine." + +"Do you think Buntingford's going to marry Lady Cynthia?" asked +Peter suddenly. + +Horne laughed. "That's not my guess, at present," he said after a moment. + +As he spoke, a boat on the lake came into the track of the searchlight, +and the two persons in it were clearly visible--Buntingford rowing, and +Helena, in the stern. The vision passed in a flash; and Horne turned a +pair of eyes alive with satirical meaning on his companion. + +"Well!" said Peter, troubled, he scarcely knew why--"what do you mean?" + +Horne seemed to hesitate. His loose-limbed ease of bearing in his shabby +clothes, his rugged head, and pile of reddish hair, above a thinker's +brow, made him an impressive figure in the half light--gave him a kind of +seer's significance. + +"Isn't it one of the stock situations?" he said at last--"this +situation of guardian and ward?--romantic situations, I mean? Of course +the note of romance must be applicable. But it certainly is applicable, +in this case." + +Peter stared. Julian Horne caught the change in the boy's delicate face +and repented him--too late. + +"What rubbish you talk, Julian! In the first place it would be +dishonourable!" + +"Why?" + +"It would, I tell you,--damned dishonourable! And in the next, why, a few +weeks ago--Helena hated him!" + +"Yes--she began with 'a little aversion'! One of the stock openings," +laughed Horne. + +"Well, ta-ta. I'm not going to stay to listen to you talking bosh any +more," said Peter roughly. "There's the next dance beginning." + +He flung away. Horne resumed his pacing. He was very sorry for Peter, +whose plight was plain to all the world. But it was better he should be +warned. As for himself, he too had been under the spell. But he had soon +emerged. A philosopher and economist, holding on to Helena's skirts in +her rush through the world, would cut too sorry a figure. Besides, could +she ever have married him--which was of course impossible, in spite of +the courses in Meredith and Modern Literature through which he had taken +her--she would have tired of him in a year, by which time both their +fortunes would have been spent. For he knew himself to be a spendthrift +on a small income, and suspected a similar propensity in Helena, on the +grand scale. He returned, therefore, more or less contentedly, to his +musings upon an article he was to contribute to _The Market Place_, on +"The Influence of Temperament in Economics." The sounds of dance music in +the distance made an agreeable accompaniment. + +Meanwhile a scene--indisputably sentimental--was passing on the lake. +Helena and Geoffrey French going down to the water's edge to find a boat, +had met halfway with Cynthia Welwyn, in some distress. She had just heard +that Lady Georgina had been taken suddenly ill, and must go home. She +understood that Mawson was looking after her sister, who was liable to +slight fainting attacks at inconvenient moments. But how to find their +carriage! She had looked for a servant in vain, and Buntingford was +nowhere to be seen. French could do no less than offer to assist; and +Helena, biting her lip, despatched him. "I will wait for you at the +boathouse." + +He rushed off, with Cynthia toiling after him, and Helena descended to +the lake. As she neared the little landing stage, a boat approached it, +containing Buntingford, and two or three of his guests. + +"Hullo, Helena, what have you done with Geoffrey?" + +She explained. "We were just coming down for a row." + +"All right. I'll take you on till he comes. Jump in!" + +She obeyed, and they were soon halfway towards the further side. But +about the middle of the lake Buntingford was seized with belated +compunction that he had not done his host's duty to his queer, +inarticulate cousin, Lady Georgina. "I suppose I ought to have gone to +look after her?" + +"Not at all," said Helena coolly. "I believe she does it often. She can't +want more than Lady Cynthia--_and_ Geoffrey--_and_ Mawson. People +shouldn't be pampered!" + +Her impertinence was so alluring as she sat opposite to him, trailing +both hands in the water, that Buntingford submitted. There was a +momentary silence. Then Helena said: + +"Lady Cynthia came to see me the other day. Did you send her?" + +"Of course. I wanted you to make friends." + +"That we should never do! We were simply born to dislike each other." + +"I never heard anything so unreasonable!" said Buntingford warmly. +"Cynthia is a very good creature, and can be excellent company." + +Helena gave a shrug. + +"What does all that matter?" she said slowly--"when one has +instincts--and intuitions. No!--don't let's talk any more about Lady +Cynthia. But--there's something--please, Cousin Philip--I want to say--I +may as well say it now." + +He looked at her rather astonished, and, dimly as he saw her in +the shadow they had just entered, it seemed to him that her aspect +had changed. + +"What is it? I hope nothing serious." + +"Yes--it is serious, to me. I hate apologizing!--I always have." + +"My dear Helena!--why should you apologize? For goodness' sake, don't! +Think better of it." + +"I've got to do it," she said firmly, "Cousin Philip, you were quite +right about that man, Jim Donald, and I was quite wrong. He's a beast, +and I loathe the thought of having danced with him--there!--I'm sorry!" +She held out her hand. + +Buntingford was supremely touched, and could not for the moment find a +jest wherewith to disguise it. + +"Thank you!" he said quietly, at last. "Thank you, Helena. That was very +nice of you." And with a sudden movement he stooped and kissed the wet +and rather quivering hand he held. At the same moment, the searchlight +which had been travelling about the pond, lighting up one boat after +another to the amusement of the persons in them, and of those watching +from the shore, again caught the boat in which sat Buntingford and +Helena. Both figures stood sharply out. Then the light had travelled on, +and Helena had hastily withdrawn her hand. + +She fell back on the cushions of the stern seat, vexed with her own +agitation. She had described herself truly. She was proud, and it was +hard for her to "climb down." But there was much else in the mixed +feeling that possessed her. There seemed, for one thing, to be a curious +happiness in it; combined also with a renewed jealousy for an +independence she might have seemed to be giving away. She wanted to +say--"Don't misunderstand me!--I'm not really giving up anything vital--I +mean all the same to manage my life in my own way." But it was difficult +to say it in the face of the coatless man opposite, of whose house she +had become practically mistress, and who had changed all his personal +modes of life to suit hers. Her eyes wandered to the gay scene of the +house and its gardens, with its Watteau-ish groups of young men and +maidens, under the night sky, its light and music. All that had been +done, to give her pleasure, by a man who had for years conspicuously +shunned society, and whose life in the old country house, before her +advent, had been, as she had come to know, of the quietest. She bent +forward again, impulsively: + +"Cousin Philip!--I'm enjoying this party enormously--it's awfully, +awfully good of you--but I don't want you to do it any more--" + +"Do what, Helena?" + +"Please, I can get along without any more week-ends, or parties. You--you +spoil me!" + +"Well--we're going up to London, aren't we, soon? But I daresay you're +right"--his tone grew suddenly grave. "While we dance, there is a +terrible amount of suffering going on in the world." + +"You mean--after the war?" + +He nodded. "Famine everywhere--women and children dying--half a dozen +bloody little wars. And here at home we seem to be on the brink of +civil war." + +"We oughtn't to be amusing ourselves at all!--that's the real truth of +it," said Helena with gloomy decision. "But what are we to do--women, I +mean? They told me at the hospital yesterday they get rid of their last +convalescents next week. What _is_ there for me to do? If I were a +factory girl, I should be getting unemployment benefit. My occupation's +gone--such as it was--it's not my fault!" + +"Marry, my dear child,--and bring up children," said Buntingford bluntly. +"That's the chief duty of Englishwomen just now." + +Helena flushed and said nothing. They drifted nearer to the bank, and +Helena perceived, at the end of a little creek, a magnificent group of +yew trees, of which the lower branches were almost in the water. Behind +them, and to the side of them, through a gap in the wood, the moonlight +found its way, but they themselves stood against the faint light, +superbly dark, and impenetrable, black water at their feet. Buntingford +pointed to them. + +"They're fine, aren't they? This lake of course is artificial, and the +park was only made out of arable land a hundred years ago. I always +imagine these trees mark some dwelling-house, which has disappeared. They +used to be my chief haunt when I was a boy. There are four of them, +extraordinarily interwoven. I made a seat in one of them. I could see +everything and everybody on the lake, or in the garden; and nobody could +see me. I once overheard a proposal!" + +"Eavesdropper!" laughed Helena. "Shall we land?--and go and look at +them?" + +She gave a touch to the rudder. Then a shout rang out from the +landing-stage on the other side of the water. + +"Ah, that's Geoffrey," said Buntingford. "And I must really get back to +the house--to see people off." + +With a little vigorous rowing they were soon across the lake. Helena sat +silent. She did not want Geoffrey--she did not want to reach the +land--she had been happy on the water--why should things end? + + * * * * * + +Geoffrey reported that all was well with Lady Georgina, she had gone +home, and then stepping into the boat as Buntingford stepped out, he +began to push off. + +"Isn't it rather late?" began Helena in a hesitating voice, half rising +from her seat. "I promised Peter a supper dance." + +Geoffrey turned to look at her. + +"Nobody's gone in to supper yet. Shall I take you back?" + +There was something in his voice which meant that this _tête-à-tête_ had +been promised him. Helena resigned herself. But that she would rather +have landed was very evident to her companion, who had been balked of +half his chance already by Lady Georgina. Why did elderly persons liable +to faint come to dances?--that was what he fiercely wanted to know as he +pulled out into the lake. + +Helena was very quiet. She seemed tired, or dreamy. Instinctively +Geoffrey lost hold on his own purpose. Something warned him to go warily. +By way of starting conversation he began to tell her of his own adventure +on the lake--of the dumb woman among the trees, whom he had seen and +spoken to, without reply. Helena was only moderately interested. It was +some village woman passing through the wood, she supposed. Very likely +the searchlight frightened her, and she knew she had no business there in +June when there were young pheasants about-- + +"Nobody's started preserving again yet--" put in Geoffrey. + +"Old Fenn told me yesterday that there were lots of wild ones," said +Helena languidly. "So there'll be something to eat next winter." + +"Are you tired, Helena?" + +"Not at all," she said, sitting up suddenly. "What were we talking +about?--oh, pheasants. Do you think we really shall starve next winter, +Geoffrey, as the Food Controller says?" + +"I don't much care!" said French. + +Helena bent forward. + +"Now, you're cross with me, Geoffrey! Don't be cross! I think I really am +tired. I seem to have danced for hours." The tone was childishly +plaintive, and French was instantly appeased. The joy of being with +her--alone--returned upon him in a flood. + +"Well, then, rest a little. Why should you go back just yet? Isn't it +jolly out here?" + +"Lovely," she said absently--"but I promised Peter." + +"That'll be all right. We'll just go across and back." + +There was a short silence--long enough to hear the music from the house, +and the distant voices of the dancers. A little northwest wind was +creeping over the lake, and stirring the scents of the grasses and +sedge-plants on its banks. Helena looked round to see in what direction +they were going. + +"Ah!--you see that black patch, Geoffrey?" + +"Yes--it was near there I saw my ghost--or village woman--or lady's +maid--whatever you like to call it." + +"It was a lady's maid, I think," said Helena decidedly. "They have a way +of getting lost. Do you mind going there?"--she pointed--"I want to +explore it." + +He pulled a stroke which sent the boat towards the yews; while she +repeated Buntingford's story of the seat. + +"Perhaps we shall find her there," said Geoffrey with a laugh. + +"Your woman? No! That would be rather creepy! To think we had a spy on us +all the time! I should hate that!" + +She spoke with animation; and a sudden question shot across French's +mind. She and Buntingford had been alone there under the darkness of the +yews. If a listener had been lurking in that old hiding-place, what would +he--or she--have heard? Then he shook the thought from him, and rowed +vigorously for the creek. + +He tied the boat to a willow-stump, and helped Helena to land. + +"I warn you--" he said, laughing. "You'll tear your dress, and wet +your shoes." + +But with her skirts gathered tight round her she was already +halfway through the branches, and Geoffrey heard her voice from the +further side-- + +"Oh I--such a wonderful place!" + +He followed her quickly, and was no less astonished than she. They stood +in a kind of natural hall, like that "pillared shade" under the yews of +Borrowdale, which Wordsworth has made immortal: + + beneath whose sable roof +Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked +With unrejoicing berries, Ghostly shapes +May meet at noon-tide; Fear and trembling Hope, +Silence and Foresight; Death the Skeleton +And Time the Shadow:-- + +For three yew trees of great age had grown together, forming a domed tent +of close, perennial leaf, beneath which all other vegetation had +disappeared. The floor, carpeted with "the pining members" of the yews, +was dry and smooth; Helena's light slippers scarcely sank in it. They +groped their way; and Helena's hand had slipped unconsciously into +Geoffrey's. In the velvety darkness, indeed, they would have seen +nothing, but for the fact that the moon stood just above the wood, and +through a small gap in the dome, where a rotten branch had fallen, a +little light came down. + +"I've found the seat!" said Helena joyously, disengaging herself from her +companion. And presently a dim ray from overhead showed her to him seated +dryad-like in the very centre of the black interwoven trunks. Or, rather, +he saw the sparkle of some bright stones on her neck, and the whiteness +of her brow; but for the rest, only a suggestion of lovely lines; as it +were, a Spirit of the Wood, almost bodiless. + +He stood before her, in an ecstasy of pleasure. + +"Helena!--you are a vision--a dream: Don't fade away! I wish we could +stay here for ever." + +"Am I a vision?" She put out a mischievous hand, and pinched him. "But +come here, Geoffrey--come up beside me--look! Anybody sitting here could +see a good deal of the lake!" + +He squeezed in beside her, and true enough, through a natural parting in +the branches, which no one could have noticed from outside, the little +creek, with their boat in it, was plainly visible, and beyond it the +lights on the lawn. + +"A jolly good observation post for a sniper!" said Geoffrey, +recollections of the Somme returning upon him; so far as he was able to +think of anything but Helena's warm loveliness beside him. Mad thoughts +began to surge up in him. + +But an exclamation from Helena checked them: + +"I say!--there's something here--in the seat." + +Her hand groped near his. She withdrew it excitedly. + +"It's a scarf, or a bag, or something. Let's take it to the light. Your +woman, Geoffrey!" + +She scrambled down, and he followed her unwillingly, the blood racing +through his veins. But he must needs help her again through the +close-grown branches, and into the boat. + +She peered at the soft thing she held in her hand. + +"It's a bag, a little silk bag. And there's something in it! Light a +match, Geoffrey." + +He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, and obeyed her. Their two heads +stooped together over the bag. Helena drew out a handkerchief--torn, with +a lace edging. + +"That's not a village woman's handkerchief!" she said, wondering. "And +there are initials!" + +He struck another match, and they distinguished something like F.M. very +finely embroidered in the corner of the handkerchief. The match went out, +and Helena put the handkerchief back into the bag, which she examined in +the now full moonlight, as they drifted out of the shadow. + +"And the bag itself is a most beautiful little thing! It's shabby and +old, but it cost a great deal when it was new. What a strange, strange +thing! We must tell Cousin Philip. Somebody, perhaps, was watching us all +the time!" + +She sat with her chin on her hands, gazing thoughtfully at French, the +bag on her knees. Now that the little adventure was over, and she was +begging him to take her back quickly to the house, Geoffrey was only +conscious of disappointment and chagrin. What did the silly mystery in +itself matter to him or her? But it had drawn a red herring across his +track. Would the opportunity it had spoilt ever return? + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +It was a glorious June morning; and Beechmark, after the ball, was just +beginning to wake up. Into the June garden, full of sun but gently beaten +by a fresh wind, the dancers of the night before emerged one by one. +Peter Dale had come out early, having quarrelled with his bed almost for +the first time in his life. He was now, however, fast asleep in a +garden-chair under a chestnut-tree. Buntingford, in flannels, and as +fresh as though he had slept ten hours instead of three, strolled out +through the library window, followed by French and Vivian Lodge. + +"I say, what weather," said French, throwing himself down on the grass, +his hands under his head. "Why can't Mother Nature provide us with this +sort of thing a little more plentifully?" + +"How much would any man jack of us do if it were always fine?" said +Julian Horne, settling himself luxuriously in a deep and comfortable +chair under a red hawthorn in full bloom. "When the weather makes one +want to hang oneself, then's the moment for immortal works." + +"For goodness' sake, don't prate, Julian!" said French, yawning, and +flinging a rose-bud at Horne, which he had just gathered from a +garden-bed at his elbow. "You've had so much more sleep than the rest of +us, it isn't fair." + +"I saw him sup," said Buntingford. "Who saw him afterwards?" + +"No one but his Maker," said Lodge, who had drawn his hat over his eyes, +and was lying on the grass beside French:--"and _le bon Dieu_ alone knows +what he was doing; for he wasn't asleep. I heard him tubbing at some +unearthly hour in the room next to mine." + +"I finished my article about seven a.m.," said Horne tranquilly--"while +you fellows were sleeping off the effects of debauch." + +"Brute!" said Geoffrey languidly. Then suddenly, as though he had +remembered something, he sat up. + +"By the way, Buntingford, I had an adventure yesterday evening--Ah, +here comes Helena! Half the story's mine--and half is hers. So we'll +wait a moment." + +The men sprang to their feet. Helena in the freshest of white gowns, +white shoes and a white hat approached, looking preoccupied. Lady Mary +Chance, who was sitting at an open drawing-room window, with a newspaper +she was far too tired to read on her lap, was annoyed to see the general +eagerness with which a girl who occasionally, and horribly said "D--mn!" +and habitually smoked, was received by a group of infatuated males. +Buntingford found the culprit a chair, and handed her a cigarette. The +rest, after greeting her, subsided again on the grass. + +"Poor Peter!" said Helena, in a tone of mock pity, turning her eyes to +the sleeping form under the chestnut. "Have I won, or haven't I? I bet +him I would be down first." + +"You've lost--of course," said Horne. "Peter was down an hour ago." + +"That's not what I meant by 'down.' I meant 'awake.'" + +"No woman ever pays a bet if she can help it," said Horne, "--though I've +known exceptions. But now, please, silence. Geoffrey says he has +something to tell us--an adventure--which was half his and half yours. +Which of you will begin?" + +Helena threw a quick glance at Geoffrey, who nodded to her, perceiving at +the same moment that she had in her hand the little embroidered bag of +the night before. + +"Geoffrey begins." + +"Well, it'll thrill you," said Geoffrey slowly, "because there was a spy +among us last night--'takin' notes.'" + +And with the heightening touches that every good story-teller bestows +upon a story, he described the vision of the lake--the strange woman's +face, as he had seen it in the twilight beside the yew trees. + +Buntingford gradually dropped his cigarette to listen. + +"Very curious--very interesting," he said ironically, as French paused, +"and has lost nothing in the telling." + +"Ah, but wait till you hear the end!" cried Helena. "Now, it's my turn." + +And she completed the tale, holding up the bag at the close of it, so +that the tarnished gold of its embroidery caught the light. + +Buntingford took it from her, and turned it over. Then he opened it, drew +out the handkerchief, and looked at the initials, "'F. M.'" He shook his +head. "Conveys nothing. But you're quite right. That bag has nothing to +do with a village woman--unless she picked it up." + +"But the face I saw had nothing to do with a village woman, either," said +French, with conviction. "It was subtle--melancholy--intense--more than +that!--_fierce_, fiercely miserable. I guess that the woman possessing it +would be a torment to her belongings if they happened not to suit her. +And, my hat!--if you made her jealous!" + +"Was she handsome?" asked Lodge. + +Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders. + +"Must have been--probably--when she was ten years younger." + +"And she possessed this bag?" mused Buntingford--"which she or some +one bought at Florence--for I've discovered the address of a shop in +it--Fratelli Cortis, Via Tornabuoni, Firenze. You didn't find that +out, Helena." + +He passed the bag to her, pointing out a little printed silk label which +had been sewn into the neck of it. Then Vivian Lodge asked for it and +turned it over. + +"Lovely work--and beautiful materials. Ah!--do you see what it is?"--he +held it up--"the Arms of Florence, embroidered in gold and silver +thread. H'm. I suppose, Buntingford, you get some Whitsuntide visitors +in the village?" + +"Oh, yes, a few. There's a little pub with one or two decent rooms, and +several cottagers take lodgers. The lady, whoever she was, was scarcely a +person of delicacy." + +"She was in that place for an object," said Geoffrey, interrupting him +with some decision. "Of that I feel certain. If she had just lost her +way, and was trespassing--she must have known, I think, that she was +trespassing--why didn't she answer my call and let me put her over the +lake? Of course I should never have seen her at all, but for that +accident of the searchlight." + +"The question is," said Buntingford, "how long did she stay there? She +was not under the yews when you saw her?" + +"No--just outside." + +"Well, then, supposing, to get out of the way of the searchlight, she +found her way in and discovered my seat--how long do you guess she was +there?--and when the bag dropped?" + +"Any time between then--and midnight--when Helena found it," said French. +"She may have gone very soon after I saw her, leaving the bag on the +seat; or, if she stayed, on my supposition that she was there for the +purpose of spying, then she probably vanished when she heard our boat +drawn up, and knew that Helena and I were getting out." + +"A long sitting!" said Buntingford with a laugh--"four hours. I really +can't construct any reasonable explanation on those lines." + +"Why not? Some people have a passion for spying and eavesdropping. If I +were such a person, dumped in a country village with nothing to do, I +think I could have amused myself a good deal last night, in that +observation post. Through that hole I told you of, one could see the +lights and the dancing on the lawn, and watch the boats on the lake. She +could hear the music, and if anyone did happen to be talking secrets just +under the yews, she could have heard every word, quite easily." + +Involuntarily he looked at Helena, Helena was looking at the grass. Was +it mere fancy, or was there a sudden pinkness in her cheeks? Buntingford +too seemed to have a slightly conscious air. But he rose to his feet, +with a laugh. + +"Well, I'll have a stroll to the village, some time to-day, and see what +I can discover about your _Incognita_, Helena. If she is a holiday +visitor, she'll be still on the spot. Geoffrey had better come with me, +as he's the only person who's seen her." + +"Right you are. After lunch." + +Buntingford nodded assent and went into the house. + + * * * * * + +The day grew hotter. Lodge and Julian Horne went off for a swim in the +cool end of the lake. Peter still slept, looking so innocent and +infantine in his sleep that no one had the heart to wake him. French and +Helena were left together, and were soon driven by the advancing sun to +the deep shade of a lime-avenue, which, starting from the back of the +house, ran for half a mile through the park. Here they were absolutely +alone. Lady Mary's prying eyes were defeated, and Helena incidentally +remarked that Mrs. Friend, being utterly "jacked up," had been bullied +into staying in bed till luncheon. + +So that in the green sunflecked shadow of the limes, Geoffrey had--if +Helena so pleased--a longer _tête-à-tête_ before him, and a more generous +opportunity, even, than the gods had given him on the lake. His pulses +leapt; goaded, however, by alternate hope and fear. But at least he had +the chance to probe the situation a little deeper; even if prudence +should ultimately forbid him anything more. + +Helena had chosen a wooden seat round one of the finest limes. Some books +brought out for show rather than use, lay beside her. A piece of +knitting--a scarf of a bright greenish yellow--lay on the lap of her +white dress. She had taken off her hat, and Geoffrey was passionately +conscious of the beauty of the brown head resting, as she talked, against +the furrowed trunk of the lime. Her brown-gold hair was dressed in the +new way, close to the head and face, and fastened by some sapphire pins +behind the ear. From this dark frame, and in the half light of the +avenue, the exquisite whiteness of the forehead and neck, the brown eyes, +so marvellously large and brilliant, and yet so delicately finished in +every detail beneath their perfect brows, and the curve of the lips over +the small white teeth, stood out as if they had been painted on ivory by +a miniature-painter of the Renaissance. Her white dress, according to the +prevailing fashion, was almost low--as children's frocks used to be in +the days of our great-grandmothers. It was made with a childish full +bodice, and a childish sash of pale blue held up the rounded breast, that +rose and fell with her breathing, beneath the white muslin. Pale blue +stockings, and a pair of white shoes, with preposterous heels and pointed +toes, completed the picture. The mingling, in the dress, of extreme +simplicity with the cunningest artifice, and the greater daring and _joie +de vivre_ which it expressed, as compared with the dress of pre-war days, +made it characteristic and symbolic:--a dress of the New Time. + +Geoffrey lay on the grass beside her, feasting his eyes upon +her--discreetly. Since when had English women grown so beautiful? At all +the weddings and most of the dances he had lately attended, the brides +and the _débutantes_ had seemed to him of a loveliness out of all +proportion to that of their fore-runners in those far-off days before the +war. And when a War Office mission, just before the Armistice, had taken +him to some munition factories in the north, he had been scarcely less +seized by the comeliness of the girl-workers:--the long lines of them in +their blue overalls, and the blue caps that could scarcely restrain the +beauty and wealth of pale yellow or red-gold hair beneath. Is there +something in the rush and flame of war that quickens old powers and +dormant virtues in a race? Better feeding and better wages among the +working-classes--one may mark them down perhaps as factors in this +product of a heightened beauty. But for these exquisite women of the +upper class, is it the pace at which they have lived, unconsciously, for +these five years, that has brought out this bloom and splendour?--and +will it pass as it has come? + +Questions of this kind floated through his mind as he lay looking at +Helena, melting rapidly into others much more peremptory and personal. + +"Are you soon going up to Town?" he asked her presently. His voice seemed +to startle her. She returned evidently with difficulty from thoughts of +her own. He would have given his head to read them. + +"No," she said hesitatingly. "Why should we? It is so jolly down here. +Everything's getting lovely." + +"I thought you wanted a bit of season! I thought that was part of your +bargain with Philip?" + +"Yes--but"--she laughed--"I didn't know how nice Beechmark was." + +His sore sense winced. + +"Doesn't Philip want you to go?" + +"Not at all. He says he gets much more work done in Town, without Mrs. +Friend and me to bother him--" + +"He puts it that way?" + +"Politely! And it rests him to come down here for Sundays. He loves +the riding." + +"I shouldn't have thought the Sundays were much rest?" + +"Ah, but they're going to be!" she said eagerly. "We're not going to have +another party for a whole month. Cousin Philip has been treating me like +a spoiled child--stuffing me with treats--and I've put an end to it!" + +And this was the Helena that had stipulated so fiercely for her week-ends +and her pals! The smart deepened. + +"And you won't be tired of the country?" + +"In the winter, perhaps," she said carelessly. "Philip and I have all +sorts of plans for the things we want to do in London in the winter. But +not now--when every hour's delicious!" + +"_Philip and I_!"--a new combination indeed! + +She threw her head back again, drinking in the warm light and shade, the +golden intensity of the fresh leaf above her. + +"And next week there'll be frost, and you'll be shivering over the fire," +he threw at her, in a sarcastic voice. + +"Well, even that--would be nicer--than London," she said slowly. "I never +imagined I should like the country so much. Of course I wish there was +more to do. I told Philip so last night." + +"And what did he say?" + +But she suddenly flushed and evaded the question. + +"Oh, well, he hadn't much to say," said Helena, looking a little +conscious. "Anyway, I'm getting a little education. Mrs. Friend's +brushing up my French--which is vile. And I do some reading every week +for Philip--and some drawing. By the way"--she turned upon her +companion--"do you know his drawings?--they're just ripping! He must have +been an awfully good artist. But I've only just got him to show me his +things. He never talks of them himself." + +"I've never seen one. His oldest friends can hardly remember that time in +his life. He seems to want to forget it." + +"Well, naturally!" said Helena, with an energy that astonished her +listener; but before he could probe what she meant, she stooped over him: + +"Geoffrey!" + +"Yes!" + +He saw that she had coloured brightly. + +"Do you remember all that nonsense I talked to you a month ago?" + +"I can remember it if you want me to. Something about old Philip being a +bully and a tyrant, wasn't it?" + +"Some rubbish like that. Well--I don't want to be maudlin--but I wish to +put it on record that Philip _isn't_ a bully and he _isn't_ a tyrant. He +can be a jolly good friend!" + +"With some old-fashioned opinions?" put in Geoffrey mockingly. + +"Old-fashioned opinions?--yes, of course. And you needn't imagine that I +shall agree with them all. Oh, you may laugh, Geoffrey, but it's quite +true. I'm not a bit crushed. That's the delightful part of it. It's +because he has a genius--yes, a genius--for friendship. I didn't know him +when I came down here--I didn't know him a bit--and I was an idiot. But +one could trust him to the very last." + +Her hands lay idly on the bright-coloured knitting, and Geoffrey could +watch the emotion on her face. + +"And one is so glad to be his friend!" she went on softly, "because he +has suffered so!" + +"You mean in his marriage? What do you know about it?" + +"Can't one guess?" she went on in the same low voice. "He never speaks of +her! There isn't a picture of her, of any sort, in the house. He used to +speak of her sometimes, I believe, to mother--of course she never said a +word--but never, never, to anyone else. It's quite clear that he wants to +forget it altogether. Well, you don't want to forget what made you happy. +And he says such bitter things often. Oh, I'm sure it was a tragedy!" + +"Well--why doesn't he marry again?" Geoffrey had turned over on his +elbows, and seemed to be examining the performances of an ant who was +trying to carry off a dead fly four times his size. + +Helena did not answer immediately, and Geoffrey, looking up from the ant, +was aware of conflicting expressions passing across her face. At last she +said, drawing a deep breath: + +"Well, at least, I'm glad he's come to like this dear old place--He never +used to care about it in the least." + +"That's because you've made it so bright for him," said Geoffrey, finding +a seat on a tree-stump near her, and fumbling for a cigarette. The +praises of Philip were becoming monotonous and a reckless wish to test +his own fate was taking possession of him. + +"I haven't!"--said Helena vehemently. "I have asked all sorts of people +down he didn't like--and I've made him live in one perpetual racket. I've +been an odious little beast. But now--perhaps--I shall know better what +he wants." + +"Excellent sentiments!" A scoffer looked down upon her through curling +rings of smoke. "Shall I tell you what Philip wants?" + +"What?" + +"He wants a wife." + +The attentive eyes fixed on him withdrew themselves. + +"Well--suppose he does?" + +"Are you going to supply him with one? Lady Cynthia, I think, would +accommodate you." + +Helena flushed angrily. + +"He hasn't the smallest intention of proposing to Cynthia. Nobody with +eyes in their head would suggest it." + +"No--but if you and he are such great friends--couldn't you pull it off? +It would be very suitable," said Geoffrey coolly. + +Helena broke out--the quick breath beating against her white bodice: + +"Of course I understand you perfectly, Geoffrey--perfectly! You're not +very subtle--are you? What you're thinking is that when I call Philip my +friend I'm meaning something else--that I'm plotting--intriguing--" + +Her words choked her. Geoffrey put out a soothing hand--and touched hers. + +"My dear child:--how could I suggest anything of the kind? I'm only a +little sorry--for Philip," + +"Philip can take care of himself," she said passionately. "Only a +_stupid--conventional_--mind could want to spoil what is really so--so--" + +"So charming?" suggested Geoffrey, springing to his feet. "Very well, +Helena!--then if Philip is really nothing more to you than your guardian, +and your very good friend--why not give some one else a chance?" + +He bent over her, his kind, clever face aglow with the feeling he could +no longer conceal. Their eyes met--Helena's at first resentful, scornful +even--then soft. She too stood up, and put out a pair of protesting +hands--"Please--please, Geoffrey,--_don't_." + +"Why not--you angel!" He possessed himself of one of the hands and made +her move with him along the avenue, looking closely into her eyes. "You +must know what I feel! I wanted to speak to you last night, but you +tricked me. I just adore you, Helena! I've got quite good +prospects--I'm getting on in the House of Commons--and I would work for +you day and night!" + +"You didn't adore me a month ago!" said Helena, a triumphant little smile +playing about her mouth. "How you lectured me!" + +"For you highest good," he said, laughing; though his heart beat to +suffocation. "Just give me a word of hope, Helena! Don't turn me +down, at once." + +"Then you mustn't talk nonsense," she said vehemently, withdrawing her +hand. "I don't want to be engaged! I don't want to be married! Why can't +I be let alone?" + +Geoffrey had turned a little pale. In the pause that followed he fell +back on a cigarette for consolation. "Why can't you be let alone?" he +said at last. "Why?--because--you're Helena!" + +"What a stupid answer!" she said contemptuously. Then, with one of her +quick changes, she came near to him again. "Geoffrey!--it's no good +pressing me--but don't be angry with me, there's a dear. Just be my +friend and help me!" + +She put a hand on his arm, and the face that looked into his would have +bewitched a stone. + +"That's a very old game, Helena. 'Marry you? Rather not! but you may join +the queue of rejected ones if you like.'" + +A mischievous smile danced in Helena's eyes. + +"None of them can say I don't treat them nicely!" + +"I daresay. But I warn you I shan't accept the position for long. I shall +begin again." + +"Well, but not yet!--not for a long time," she pleaded. Then she gave a +little impatient stamp, as she walked beside him. + +"I tell you--I don't want to be bound. I won't be bound! I want to be +free." + +"So you said--_à propos_ of Philip," he retorted drily. + +He saw the shaft strike home--the involuntary dropping of the eyelids, +the soft catch in the breath. But she rallied quickly. + +"That was altogether different! You had no business to say that, +Geoffrey." + +"Well, then, forgive me--and keep me quiet--just--just one kiss, Helena!" + +The last passionate words were hardly audible. They had passed into the +deepest shadow of the avenue. No one was visible in all its green length. +They stood ensiled by summer; the great trees mounting guard. Helena +threw a glance to right and left. + +"Well, then--to keep you quiet--_sans préjudice_!" + +She demurely offered her cheek. But his lips were scarcely allowed to +touch it, she drew away so quickly. + +"Now, then, that's quite settled!" she said in her most matter-of-fact +voice. "Such a comfort! Let's go back." + +They turned back along the avenue, a rather flushed pair, enjoying each +other's society, and discussing the dance, and their respective partners. + +It happened, however, that this little scene--at its most critical +point--had only just escaped a spectator. Philip Buntingford passed +across the further end of the avenue on his way to the Horne Farm, at the +moment when Helena and Geoffrey turned their backs to him, walking +towards the house. They were not aware of him; but he stopped a moment to +watch the young figures disappearing under the green shade. A look of +pleasure was in his blue eyes. It seemed to him that things were going +well in that direction. And he wished them to go well. He had known +Geoffrey since he was a little chap in his first breeches; had watched +him through Winchester and Oxford, had taken as semi-paternal pride in +the young man's distinguished war record, and had helped him with his +election expenses. He himself was intimate with very few of the younger +generation. His companions in the Admiralty work, and certain senior +naval officers with whom that work had made him acquainted:--a certain +intimacy, a certain real friendship had indeed grown up between him and +some of them. But something old and tired in him made the effort of +bridging the gulf between himself and men in their twenties--generally +speaking--too difficult. Or he thought so. The truth was, perhaps, as +Geoffrey had expressed it to Helena, that many of the younger men who had +been brought into close official or business contact with him felt a real +affection for him. Buntingford would have thought it strange that they +should do so, and never for one moment assumed it. + +After its languid morning, Beechmark revived with the afternoon. Its +young men guests, whom the Dansworth rioters would probably have classed +as parasites and idlers battening on the toil of the people, had in fact +earned their holiday by a good many months of hard work, whether in the +winding up of the war, or the re-starting of suspended businesses, or the +renewed activities of the bar; and they were taking it whole-heartedly. +Golf, tennis, swimming, and sleep had filled the day, and it was a crowd +in high spirits that gathered round Mrs. Friend for tea on the lawn, +somewhere about five o'clock. Lucy, who had reached that stage of fatigue +the night before when--like Peter Dale, only for different reasons--her +bed became her worst enemy, had scarcely slept a wink, but was +nevertheless presiding gaily over the tea-table. She looked particularly +small and slight in a little dress of thin grey stuff that Helena had +coaxed her to wear in lieu of her perennial black, but there was that +expression in her pretty eyes as of a lifted burden, and a new friendship +with life, which persons in Philip Buntingford's neighbourhood, when they +belonged to the race of the meek and gentle, were apt to put on. Peter +Dale hung about her, distributing tea and cake, and obedient to all her +wishes. More than once in these later weeks he had found, in the dumb +sympathy and understanding of the little widow, something that had been +to him like shadow in the desert. He was known to fame as one of the +smartest young aide-de-camps in the army, and fabulously rich besides. +His invitation cards, carelessly stacked in his Curzon Street rooms, were +a sight to see. But Helena had crushed his manly spirit. Sitting under +the shadow of Mrs. Friend, he liked to watch from a distance the +beautiful and dazzling creature who would have none of him. He was very +sorry for himself; but, all the same, he had had some rattling games of +tennis; the weather was divine, and he could still gaze at Helena; so +that although the world was evil, "the thrushes still sang in it." + +Buntingford and Geoffrey were seen walking up from the lake when tea was +nearly over. + +All eyes were turned to them. + +"Now, then," said Julian Horne--"for the mystery, and its key. What a +pity mysteries are generally such frauds! They can't keep it up. They let +you down when you least expect it." + +"Well, what news?" cried Helena, as the two men approached. Buntingford +shook his head. + +"Not much to tell--very little, indeed." + +It appeared to Horne that both men looked puzzled and vaguely excited. +But their story was soon told. They had seen Richard Stimson, a labourer, +who reported having noticed a strange lady crossing the park in the +direction of the wood, which, however, she had not entered, having +finally changed her course so as to bear towards the Western Lodge and +the allotments. + +"That, you will observe, was about ten o'clock," interjected French, "and +I saw my lady about eight." Buntingford found a chair, lit a cigarette, +and resumed: + +"She appeared in the village some time yesterday morning and went into +the church. She told the woman who was cleaning there that she had come +to look at an old window which was mentioned in her guide-book. The woman +noticed that she stayed some time looking at the monuments in the church, +and the tombs in the Buntingford chantry, which all the visitors go to +see. She ordered some sandwiches at the Rose-and-Crown and got into talk +with the landlord. He says she asked the questions strangers generally do +ask--'Who lived in the neighbourhood?'--If she took a lodging in the +village for August were there many nice places to go and see?--and so on. +She said she had visited the Buntingford tombs in the chantry, and asked +some questions about the family, and myself--Was I married?--Who was the +heir? etc. Then when she had paid her bill, she enquired the way across +the park to Feetham Station, and said she would have a walk and catch a +six o'clock train back to London. She loved the country, she said--and +liked walking. And that really is--all!" + +"Except about her appearance," put in Geoffrey. "The landlord said he +thought she must be an actress, or 'summat o' that sort.' She had such a +strange way of looking at you. But when we asked what that meant, he +scratched his head and couldn't tell us. All that we got out of him was +he wouldn't like to have her for a lodger--'she'd frighten his missus.' +Oh, and he did say that she looked dead-tired, and that he advised her +not to walk to Feetham, but to wait for the five o'clock bus that goes +from the village to the station. But she said she liked walking, and +would find some cool place in the park to sit in--till it was time to +catch the train." + +"She was well-dressed, he said," added Buntingford, addressing himself to +Cynthia Welwyn, who sat beside him; "and his description of her hat and +veil, etc., quite agreed with old Stimson's account." + +There was a silence, in which everybody seemed to be trying to piece the +evidence together as to the mysterious onlooker of the night, and make a +collected whole of it. Buntingford and Geoffrey were especially +thoughtful and preoccupied. At last the former, after smoking a while +without speaking, got up with the remark that he must see to some letters +before post. + +"Oh, no!"--pleaded Helena, intercepting him, and speaking so that he only +should hear. "To-morrow's Whitsunday, and Monday's Bank Holiday. What's +the use of writing letters? Don't you remember--you promised to show me +those drawings before dinner--and may Geoffrey come, too?" + +A sudden look of reluctance and impatience crossed Buntingford's face. +Helena perceived it at once, and drew back. But Buntingford said +immediately: + +"Oh, certainly. In half an hour, I'll have the portfolios ready." + +He walked away. Helena sat flushed and silent, her eyes on the ground, +twisting and untwisting the handkerchief on her lap. And, presently, she +too disappeared. The rest of the party were left to discuss with Geoffrey +French the ins and outs of the evidence, and to put up various theories +as to the motives of the woman of the yew trees; an occupation that +lasted them till dressing-time. + +Cynthia Welwyn took but little share in it. She was sitting rather apart +from the rest, under a blue parasol which made an attractive combination +with her semi-transparent black dress and the bright gold of her hair. In +reality, her thoughts were busy with quite other matters than the lady of +the yews. It did not seem to her of any real importance that a half-crazy +stranger, attracted by the sounds and sights of the ball, on such a +beautiful night, should have tried to watch it from the lake. The whole +tale was curious, but--to her--irrelevant. The mystery she burned to find +out was nearer home. Was Helena Pitstone falling in love with Philip? And +if so, what was the effect on Philip? Cynthia had not much enjoyed her +dance. The dazzling, the unfair ascendency of youth, as embodied in +Helena, had been rather more galling than usual; and the "sittings out" +she had arranged with Philip during the supper dances had been all +cancelled by her sister's tiresome attack. Julian Horne, who generally +got on with her, chivalrously moved his seat near to her, and tried to +talk. But he found her in a rather dry and caustic mood. The ball had +seemed to her "badly managed"; and the guests, outside the house-party, +"an odd set." + +Meanwhile, exactly at the hour named by Buntingford, he heard a knock at +the library door. Helena appeared. + +She stood just inside the door, looking absurdly young and childish in +her white frock. But her face was grave. + +"I thought just now"--she said, almost timidly,--"that you were bored by +my asking you to show us those things. Are you? Please tell me. I didn't +mean to get in the way of anything you were doing." + +"Bored! Not in the least. Here they are, all ready for you. Come in." + +She saw two or three large portfolios distributed on chairs, and one or +two drawings already on exhibition. Her face cleared. + +"Oh, what a heavenly thing!" + +She made straight for a large drawing of the Val d'Arno in spring, and +the gap in the mountains that leads to Lucca, taken from some high point +above Fiesole. She knelt down before it in an ecstasy of pleasure. + +"Mummy and I were there two years before the war. I do believe you came +too?" She looked up, smiling, at the face above her. + +It was the first time she had ever appealed to her childish recollections +of him in any other than a provocative or half-resentful tone. He could +remember a good many tussles with her in her frail mother's interest, +when she was a long-legged, insubordinate child of twelve. And when +Helena first arrived at Beechmark, it had hurt him to realize how +bitterly she remembered such things, how grossly she had exaggerated +them. The change indicated in her present manner, soothed his tired, +nervous mood. His smile answered her. + +"Yes, I was there with you two or three days. Do you remember the wild +tulips we gathered at Settignano?" + +"And the wild cherries--and the pear-blossoms! Italy in the spring is +_Heaven_!" she said, under her breath, as she dropped to a sitting +posture on the floor while he put the drawings before her. + +"Well!--shall we go there next spring?" + +"Don't tempt me--and then back out!" + +"If I did," he said, laughing, "you could still go with Mrs. Friend." + +She made no answer. Another knock at the door. + +"There's Geoffrey. Come in, old boy. We've only just begun." + +Half an hour's exhibition followed. Both Helena and French were +intelligent spectators, and their amazement at the quality and variety of +the work shown them seemed half-welcome, half-embarrassing to their host. + +"Why don't you go on with it? Why don't you exhibit?" cried Helena. + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +"It doesn't interest me now. It's a past phase." + +She longed to ask questions. But his manner didn't encourage it. And when +the half-hour was done he looked at his watch. + +"Dressing-time," he said, smiling, holding it out to Helena. She rose at +once. Philip was a delightful artist, but the operations of dressing +were not to be trifled with. Her thanks, however, for "a lovely time!" +and her pleading for a second show on the morrow, were so graceful, so +sweet, that French, as he silently put the drawings back, felt his +spirits drop to zero. What could have so changed the thorny, insolent +girl of six weeks before--but the one thing? He stole a glance at +Buntingford. Surely he must realize what was happening--and his huge +responsibility--he _must_. + +Helena disappeared. Geoffrey volunteered to tie up a portfolio they had +only half examined, while Buntingford finished a letter. While he was +handling it, the portfolio slipped, and a number of drawings fell out +pell-mell upon the floor. + +Geoffrey stooped to pick them up. A vehement exclamation startled +Buntingford at his desk. + +"What's the matter, Geoffrey?" + +"Philip! _That's_ the woman I saw!--that's her face!--I could swear to it +anywhere!" + +He pointed with excitement to the drawing of a woman's head and +shoulders, which had fallen out from the very back of the portfolio, +whereof the rotting straps and fastenings showed that it had not been +opened for many years. + +Buntingford came to his side. He looked at the drawing--then at French. +His face seemed suddenly to turn grey and old. + +"My God!" he said under his breath, and again, still lower--"_My God_! Of +course. I knew it!" + +He dropped into a chair beside Geoffrey, and buried his face in +his hands. + +Geoffrey stared at him in silence, a bewildering tumult of ideas and +conjectures rushing through his brain. + +Another knock at the door. Buntingford rose automatically, went to the +door, spoke to the servant who had knocked, and came back with a note in +his hand, which he took to the window to read. Then with steps which +seemed to French to waver like those of a man half drunk he went to his +writing-desk, and wrote a reply which he gave to the servant who was +waiting in the passage. He stood a moment thinking, his hand over his +eyes, before he approached his nephew. + +"Geoffrey, will you please take my place at dinner to-night? I am going +out. Make any excuse you like." He moved away--but turned back again, +speaking with much difficulty--"The woman you saw--is at the Rectory. +Alcott took her in last night. He writes to me. I am going there." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Buntingford walked rapidly across the park, astonishing the old +lodge-keeper who happened to see him pass through, and knew that his +lordship had a large Whitsuntide party at the house, who must at that +very moment be sitting down to dinner. + +The Rectory lay at the further extremity of the village, which was long +and straggling. The village street, still bathed in sun, was full of +groups of holiday makers, idling and courting. To avoid them, Buntingford +stepped into one of his own plantations, in which there was a path +leading straight to the back of the Rectory. + +He walked like one half-stunned, with very little conscious thought. As +to the blow which had now fallen, he had lived under the possibility of +it for fourteen years. Only since the end of the war had he begun to +feel some security, and in consequence to realize a new ferment in +himself. Well--now at least he would _know_. And the hunger to know +winged his feet. + +He found a gate leading into the garden of the Rectory open, and went +through it towards the front of the house. A figure in grey flannels, +with a round collar, was pacing up and down the little grass-plot there, +waiting for him. + +John Alcott came forward at sight of him. He took Buntingford's hand in +both his own, and looked into his face. "Is it true?" he said, gently. + +"Probably," said Buntingford, after a moment. + +"Will you come into my study? I think you ought to hear our story before +you see her." + +He led the way into the tiny house, and into his low-roofed study, packed +with books from floor to ceiling, the books of a lonely man who had found +in them his chief friends. He shut the door with care, suggesting that +they should speak as quietly as possible, since the house was so small, +and sound travelled so easily through it. + +"Where is she?" said Buntingford, abruptly, as he took the chair Alcott +pushed towards him. + +"Just overhead. It is our only spare room." + +Buntingford nodded, and the two heads, the black and the grey, bent +towards each other, while Alcott gave his murmured report. + +"You know we have no servant. My sister does everything, with my help, +and a village woman once or twice a week. Lydia came down this morning +about seven o'clock and opened the front door. To her astonishment she +found a woman leaning against the front pillar of our little porch. My +sister spoke to her, and then saw she must be exhausted or ill. She told +her to come in, and managed to get her into the dining-room where there +is a sofa. She said a few incoherent things after lying down and then +fainted. My sister called me, and I went for our old doctor. He came back +with me, said it was collapse, and heart weakness--perhaps after +influenza--and that we must on no account move her except on to a bed in +the dining-room till he had watched her a little. She was quite unable to +give any account of herself, and while we were watching her she seemed to +go into a heavy sleep. She only recovered consciousness about five +o'clock this evening. Meanwhile I had been obliged to go to a diocesan +meeting at Dansworth and I left my sister and Dr. Ramsay in charge of +her, suggesting that as there was evidently something unusual in the case +nothing should be said to anybody outside the house till I came back and +she was able to talk to us. I hurried back, and found the doctor giving +injections of strychnine and brandy which seemed to be reviving her. +While we were all standing round her, she said quite clearly--'I want to +see Philip Buntingford.' Dr. Ramsay knelt down beside her, and asked her +to tell him, if she was strong enough, why she wanted to see you. She did +not open her eyes, but said again distinctly--'Because I am'--or was--I +am not quite sure which--'his wife.' And after a minute or two she said +twice over, very faintly--'Send for him--send for him.' So then I wrote +my note to you and sent it off. Since then the doctor and my sister have +succeeded in carrying her upstairs--and the doctor gives leave for you to +see her. He is coming back again presently. During her sleep, she talked +incoherently once or twice about a lake and a boat--and once she +said--'Oh, do stop that music!' and moved her head about as though it +hurt her. Since then I have heard some gossip from the village about a +strange lady who was seen in the park last night. Naturally one puts two +and two together--but we have said nothing yet to anyone. Nobody knows +that she--if the woman seen in the park, and the woman upstairs are the +same--is here." + +He looked interrogatively at his companion. But Buntingford, who had +risen, stood dumb. + +"May I go upstairs?" was all he said. + +The rector led the way up a small cottage staircase. His sister, a +grey-haired woman of rather more than middle age, spectacled and prim, +but with the eyes of the pure in heart, heard them on the stairs and came +out to meet them. + +"She is quite ready, and I am in the next room, if you want me. Please +knock on the wall." + +Buntingford entered and shut the door. He stood at the foot of the bed. +The woman lying on it opened her eyes, and they looked at each other long +and silently. The face on the pillow had still the remains of beauty. The +powerful mouth and chin, the nose, which was long and delicate, the +deep-set eyes, and broad brow under strong waves of hair, were all fused +in a fine oval; and the modelling of the features was intensely and +passionately expressive. That indeed was at once the distinction and, so +to speak, the terror of the face,--its excessive, abnormal individualism, +its surplus of expression. A woman to fret herself and others to decay--a +woman, to burn up her own life, and that of her lover, her husband, her +child. Only physical weakness had at last set bounds to what had once +been a whirlwind force. + +"Anna!" said Buntingford gently. + +She made a feeble gesture which beckoned him to come nearer--to sit +down--and he came. All the time he was sharply, irrelevantly conscious of +the little room, the bed with its white dimity furniture, the texts on +the distempered walls, the head of the Leonardo Christ over the +mantelpiece, the white muslin dressing-table, the strips of carpet on the +bare boards, the cottage chairs:--the spotless cleanliness and the +poverty of it all. He saw as the artist, who cannot help but see, even at +moments of intense feeling. + +"You thought--I was dead?" The woman in the bed moved her haggard eyes +towards him. + +"Yes, lately I thought it. I didn't, for a long time." + +"I put that notice in--so that--you might marry again," she said, slowly, +and with difficulty. + +"I suspected that." + +"But you--didn't marry." + +"How could I?--when I had no real evidence?" + +She closed her eyes, as though any attempt to argue, or explain was +beyond her, and he had to wait while she gathered strength again. After +what seemed a long time, and in a rather stronger voice she said: + +"Did you ever find out--what I had done?" + +"I discovered that you had gone away with Rocca--into Italy. I followed +you by motor, and got news of you as having gone over the Splugen. My car +had a bad accident on the pass, and I was ten weeks in hospital at Chur. +After that I lost all trace." + +"I heard of the accident," she said, her eyes all the while searching out +the changed details of a face which had once been familiar to her. "But +Rocca wasn't with me then. I had only old Zélie--you remember?" + +"The old _bonne_--we had at Melun?" + +She made a sign of assent.--"I never lived with Rocca--till after the +child was born." + +"The child! What do you mean?" + +The words were a cry. He hung over her, shaken and amazed. + +"You never knew!"--There was a faint, ghastly note of triumph in her +voice. "I wouldn't tell you--after that night we quarrelled--I concealed +it. But he is your son--sure enough." + +"My son!--and he is alive?" Buntingford bent closer, trying to see her +face. + +She turned to look at him, nodding silently. + +"Where is he?" + +"In London. It was about him--I came down here. I--I--want to get +rid of him." + +A look of horror crossed his face, as though in her faint yet +violent words he caught the echoes of an intolerable past. But he +controlled himself. + +"Tell me more--I want to help you." + +"You--you won't get any joy of him!" she said, still staring at him. +"He's not like other children--he's afflicted. It was a bad doctor--when +I was confined--up in the hills near Lucca. The child was injured. +There's nothing wrong with him--but his brain." + +A flickering light in Buntingford's face sank. + +"And you want to get rid of him?" + +"He's so much trouble," she said peevishly. "I did the best I could for +him. Now I can't afford to look after him. I thought of everything I +could do--before--" + +"Before you thought of coming to me?" + +She assented. A long pause followed, during which Miss Alcott came in, +administered stimulant, and whispered to Buntingford to let her rest a +little. He sat there beside her motionless, for half an hour or more, +unconscious of the passage of time, his thoughts searching the past, and +then again grappling dully with the extraordinary, the incredible +statement that he possessed a son--a living but, apparently, an idiot +son. The light began to fail, and Miss Alcott slipped in noiselessly +again to light a small lamp out of sight of the patient. "The doctor will +soon be here," she whispered to Buntingford. + +The light of the lamp roused the woman. She made a sign to Miss Alcott to +lift her a little. + +"Not much," said the Rector's sister in Buntingford's ear. "It's the +heart that's wrong." + +Together they raised her just a little. Miss Alcott put a fan into +Buntingford's hands, and opened the windows wider. + +"I'm all right," said the stranger irritably. "Let me alone. I've got a +lot to say." She turned her eyes on Buntingford. "Do you want to +know--about Rocca?" + +"Yes." + +"He died seven years ago. He was always good to me--awfully good to me +and to the boy. We lived in a horrible out-of-the-way place--up in the +mountains near Naples. I didn't want you to know about the boy. I wanted +revenge. Rocca changed his name to Melegrani. I called myself Francesca +Melegrani. I used to exhibit both at Naples and Rome. Nobody ever found +out who we were." + +"What made you put that notice in the _Times_?" + +She smiled faintly, and the smile recalled to him an old expression of +hers, half-cynical, half-defiant. + +"I had a pious fit once--when Rocca was very ill. I confessed to an old +priest--in the Abruzzi. He told me to go back to you--and ask your +forgiveness. I was living in sin, he said--and would go to hell. A dear +old fool! But he had some influence with me. He made me feel some +remorse--about you--only I wouldn't give up the boy. So when Rocca got +well and was going to Lyons, I made him post the notice from there--to +the _Times_. I hoped you'd believe it." Then, unexpectedly, she slightly +raised her head, the better to see the man beside her. + +"Do you mean to marry that girl I saw on the lake?" + +"If you mean the girl that I was rowing, she is the daughter of a cousin +of mine. I am her guardian." + +"She's handsome." Her unfriendly eyes showed her incredulity. + +He drew himself stiffly together. + +"Don't please waste your strength on foolish ideas. I am not going to +marry her, nor anybody." + +"You couldn't--till you divorce me--or till I die," she said feebly, her +lids dropping again--"but I'm quite ready to see any lawyers--so that you +can get free." + +"Don't think about that now, but tell me again--what you want me to do." + +"I want--to go to--America. I've got friends there. I want you to pay my +passage--because I'm a pauper--and to take over the boy." + +"I'll do all that. You shall have a nurse--when you are strong +enough--who will take you across. Now I must go. Can you just tell me +first where the boy is?" + +Almost inaudibly she gave an address in Kentish Town. He saw that she +could bear no more, and he rose. + +"Try and sleep," he said in a voice that wavered. "I'll see you again +to-morrow. You're all right here." + +She made no reply, and seemed again either asleep or unconscious. + +As he stood by the bed, looking down upon her, scenes and persons he had +forgotten for years rushed back into the inner light of memory:--that +first day in Lebas's atelier when he had seen her in her Holland overall, +her black hair loose on her neck, the provocative brilliance of her dark +eyes; their close comradeship in the contests, the quarrels, the +ambitions of the atelier; her patronage of him as her junior in art, +though her senior in age; her increasing influence over him, and the +excitement of intimacy with a creature so unrestrained, so gifted, so +consumed with jealousies, whether as an artist or a woman; his proposal +of marriage to her in one of the straight roads that cut the forest of +Compiegne; the ceremony at the Mairie, with only a few of their fellow +students for witnesses; the little apartment on the Rive Gauche, with its +bits of old furniture, and unframed sketches pinned up on the walls; +Anna's alternations of temper, now fascinating, now sulky, and that +steady emergence in her of coarse or vulgar traits, like rocks in an +ebbing sea; their early quarrels, and her old mother who hated him; their +poverty because of her extravagance; his growing reluctance to take her +to England, or to present her to persons of his own class and breeding in +Paris, and her frantic jealousy and resentment when she discovered it; +their scenes of an alternate violence and reconciliation and finally her +disappearance, in the company, as he had always supposed, of Sigismondo +Rocca, an Italian studying in Paris, whose pursuit of her had been +notorious for some time. + +The door opened gently, and Miss Alcott's grey head appeared. + +"The doctor!" she said, just audibly. + +Buntingford followed her downstairs, and found himself presently in +Alcott's study, alone with a country doctor well known to him, a man who +had pulled out his own teeth in childhood, had attended his father and +grandfather before him, and carried in his loyal breast the secrets and +the woes of a whole countryside. + +They grasped hands in silence. + +"You know who she is?" said Buntingford quietly. + +"I understand that she tells Mr. Alcott that she was Mrs. Philip Bliss, +that she left you fifteen years ago, and that you believed her dead?" + +He saw Buntingford shrink. + +"At times I did--yes, at times I did--but we won't go into that. Is she +ill--really ill?" + +Ramsay spoke deliberately, after a minute's thought: + +"Yes, she is probably very ill. The heart is certainly in a dangerous +state. I thought she would have slipped away this morning, when they +called me in--the collapse was so serious. She is not a strong woman, and +she had a bad attack of influenza last week. Then she was out all last +night, wandering about, evidently in a state of great excitement. It was +as bad a fainting fit as I have ever seen." + +"It would be impossible to move her?" + +"For a day or two certainly. She keeps worrying about a boy--apparently +her own boy?" + +"I will see to that." + +Ramsay hesitated a moment and then said--"What are we to call her? It +will not be possible, I imagine, to keep her presence here altogether a +secret. She called herself, in talking to Miss Alcott, Madame Melegrani." + +"Why not? As to explaining her, I hardly know what to say." + +Buntingford put his hand across his eyes; the look of weariness, of +perplexity, intensified ten-fold. + +"An acquaintance of yours in Italy, come to ask you for help?" +suggested Ramsay. + +Buntingford withdrew his hand. + +"No!" he said with decision. "Better tell the truth! She was my wife. She +left me, as she has told the Alcotts, and took steps eleven years ago to +make me believe her dead. And up to seven years ago, she passed as the +wife of a man whom I knew by the name of Sigismondo Rocca. When the +announcement of her death appeared, I set enquiries on foot at once, with +no result. Latterly, I have thought it must be true; but I have never +been quite certain. She has reappeared now, it seems, partly because she +has no resources, and partly in order to restore to me my son." + +"Your son!" said Ramsay, startled. + +"She tells me that a boy was born after she left me, and that I am the +father. All that I must verify. No need to say anything whatever about +that yet. Her main purpose, no doubt, was to ask for pecuniary +assistance, in order to go to America. In return she will furnish my +lawyers with all the evidence necessary for my divorce from her." + +Ramsay slowly shook his head. + +"I doubt whether she will ever get to America. She has worn herself out." + +There was a silence. Then Buntingford added: + +"If these kind people would keep her, it would be the best solution. +I would make everything easy for them. To-morrow I go up to Town--to +the address she has given me. And--I should be glad if you would +come with me?" + +The doctor looked surprised. + +"Of course--if you want me--" + +"The boy--his mother says--is abnormal--deficient. An injury at birth. If +you will accompany me I shall know better what to do." + +A grasp of the hand, a look of sympathy answered; and they parted. +Buntingford emerged from the little Rectory to find Alcott again waiting +for him in the garden. The sun had set some time and the moon was peering +over the hills to the east. The mounting silver rim suddenly recalled to +Buntingford the fairy-like scene of the night before?--the searchlight on +the lake, the lights, the music, and the exquisite figure of Helena +dancing through it all. Into what Vale of the Shadow of Death had he +passed since then?-- + +Alcott and he turned into the plantation walk together. Various practical +arrangements were discussed between them. Alcott and his sister would +keep the sick woman in their house as long as might be necessary, and +Buntingford once more expressed his gratitude. + +Then, under the darkness of the trees, and in reaction from the +experience he had just passed through, an unhappy man's hitherto +impenetrable reserve, to some extent, broke down. And the companion +walking beside him showed himself a true minister of Christ---humble, +tactful, delicate, yet with the courage of his message. What struck him +most, perhaps, was the revelation of what must have been Buntingford's +utter loneliness through long years; the spiritual isolation in which a +man of singularly responsive and confiding temper had passed perhaps a +quarter of his life, except for one blameless friendship with a woman now +dead. His utmost efforts had not been able to discover the wife who had +deserted him, or to throw any light upon her subsequent history. The law, +therefore, offered him no redress. He could not free himself; and he +could not marry again. Yet marriage and fatherhood were his natural +destiny, thwarted by the fatal mistake of his early youth. Nothing +remained but to draw a steady veil over the past, and to make what he +could of the other elements in life. + +Alcott gathered clearly from the story that there had been no other woman +or women in the case, since his rupture with his wife. Was it that his +marriage, with all its repulsive episodes, had disgusted a fastidious +nature with the coarser aspects of the sex relation? The best was denied +him, and from the worse he himself turned away; though haunted all the +time by the natural hunger of the normal man. + +As they walked on, Alcott gradually shaped some image for himself of +what had happened during the years of the marriage, piecing it +together from Buntingford's agitated talk. But he was not prepared for +a sudden statement made just as they were reaching the spot where +Alcott would naturally turn back towards the Rectory. It came with a +burst, after a silence. + +"For God's sake, Alcott, don't suppose from what I have been telling you +that all the fault was on my wife's side, that I was a mere injured +innocent. Very soon after we married, I discovered that I had ceased to +love her, that there was hardly anything in common between us. And there +was a woman in Paris--a married woman, of my own world--cultivated, and +good, and refined--who was sorry for me, who made a kind of spiritual +home for me. We very nearly stepped over the edge--we should have +done--but for her religion. She was an ardent Catholic and her religion +saved her. She left Paris suddenly, begging me as the last thing she +would ever ask me, to be reconciled to Anna, and to forget her. For some +days I intended to shoot myself. But, at last, as the only thing I could +do for her, I did as she bade me. Anna and I, after a while, came +together again, and I hoped for a child. Then, by hideous ill luck, Anna, +about three months after our reconciliation, discovered a fragment of a +letter--believed the very worst--made a horrible scene with me, and went +off, as she has just told me,--not actually with Rocca as I believed, but +to join him in Italy. From that day I lost all trace of her. Her +concealment of the boy's birth was her vengeance upon me. She knew how +passionately I had always wanted a son. But instead she punished him--the +poor, poor babe!" + +There was an anguish in the stifled voice which made sympathy +impertinent. Alcott asked some practical questions, and Buntingford +repeated his wife's report of the boy's condition, and her account of an +injury at birth, caused by the unskilful hands of an ignorant doctor. + +"But I shall see him to-morrow. Ramsay and I go together. Perhaps, after +all, something can be done. I shall also make the first arrangements for +the divorce." + +Alcott was silent a moment--hesitating in the dark. + +"You will make those arrangements immediately?" + +"Of course." + +"If she dies? She may die." + +"I would do nothing brutal--but--She came to make a bargain with me." + +"Yes--but if she dies--might you not have been glad to say, 'I forgive'?" + +The shy, clumsy man was shaken as he spoke, with the passion of his own +faith. The darkness concealed it, as it concealed its effect on +Buntingford. Buntingford made no direct reply, and presently they parted, +Alcott engaging to send a messenger over to Beechmark early, with a +report of the patient's condition, before Buntingford and Dr. Ramsay +started for London. Buntingford walked on. And presently in the dim +moonlight ahead he perceived Geoffrey French. + +The young man approached him timidly, almost expecting to be denounced as +an intruder. Instead, Buntingford put an arm through his, and leaned upon +him, at first in a pathetic silence that Geoffrey did not dare to break. +Then gradually the story was told again, as much of it as was necessary, +as much as Philip could bear. Geoffrey made very little comment, till +through the trees they began to see the lights of Beechmark. + +Then Geoffrey said in an unsteady voice: + +"Philip!--there is one person you must tell--perhaps first of all. You +must tell Helena--yourself." + +Buntingford stopped as though under a blow. + +"Of course, I shall tell Helena--but why?--" + +His voice spoke bewilderment and pain. + +"Tell her _yourself_--that's all," said Geoffrey, resolutely--"and, if +you can, before she hears it from anybody else." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Buntingford and French reached home between ten and eleven o'clock. When +they entered the house, they heard sounds of music from the drawing-room. +Peter Dale was playing fragments from the latest musical comedy, with a +whistled accompaniment on the drawing-room piano. There seemed to be +nothing else audible in the house, in spite of the large party it +contained. Amid the general hush, unbroken by a voice or a laugh, the +"funny bits" that Peter was defiantly thumping or whistling made a kind +of goblin chorus round a crushed and weary man, as he pushed past the +door of the drawing-room to the library. Geoffrey followed him. + +"No one knows it yet," said the young man, closing the door behind them. +"I had no authority from you to say anything. But of course they all +understood that something strange had happened. Can I be any help with +the others, while--" + +"While I tell Helena?" said Buntingford, heavily. "Yes. Better get it +over. Say, please--I should be grateful for no more talk than is +inevitable." + +Geoffrey stood by awkwardly, not knowing how to express the painful +sympathy he felt. His very pity made him abrupt. + +"I am to say--that you always believed--she was dead?" + +Under what name to speak of the woman lying at the Rectory puzzled him. +The mere admission of the thought that however completely in the realm of +morals she might have forfeited his name, she was still Buntingford's +wife in the realm of law, seemed an outrage. + +At the question, Buntingford sprang up suddenly from the seat on which he +had fallen; and Geoffrey, who was standing near him involuntarily +retreated a few steps, in amazement at the passionate animation which for +the moment had transformed the whole aspect of the elder man. + +"Yes, you may say so--you must say so! There is no other account you can +give of it!--no other account I can authorize you to give it. It is +four-fifths true--and no one in this house--not even you--has any right +to press me further. At the same time, I am not going to put even the +fraction of a lie between myself and you, Geoffrey, for you have been--a +dear fellow--to me!" He put his hand a moment on Geoffrey's shoulder, +withdrawing it instantly. "The point is--what would have come about--if +this had not happened? That is the test. And I can't give a perfectly +clear answer." He began to pace the room--thinking aloud. "I have been +very anxious--lately--to marry. I have been so many years alone; and +I--well, there it is!--I have suffered from it, physically and morally; +more perhaps than other men might have suffered. And lately--you must try +and understand me, Geoffrey!--although I had doubts--yes, deep down, I +still had doubts--whether I was really free--I have been much more ready +to believe than I used to be, that I might now disregard the +doubts--silence them!--for good and all. It has been my obsession--you +may say now my temptation. Oh! the divorce court would probably have +freed me--have allowed me to presume my wife's death after these fifteen +years. But the difficulty lay in my own conscience. Was I certain? No! I +was not certain! Anna's ways and standards were well known to me. I could +imagine various motives which might have induced her to deceive me. At +the same time"--he stopped and pointed to his writing-table--"these +drawers are stuffed full of reports and correspondence, from agents all +over Europe, whom I employed in the years before the war to find out +anything they could. I cannot accuse myself of any deliberate or wilful +ignorance. I made effort after effort--in vain. I was entitled--at +last--it often seemed to me to give up the effort, to take my freedom. +But then"--his voice dropped--"I thought of the woman I might love--and +wish to marry. I should indeed have told her everything, and the law +might have been ready to protect us. But if Anna still lived, and were +suddenly to reappear in my life--what a situation!--for a sensitive, +scrupulous woman!" + +"It would have broken--spoiled--everything!" said Geoffrey, under his +breath, but with emphasis. He was leaning against the mantelpiece, and +his face was hidden from his companion. Buntingford threw him a strange, +deprecating look. + +"You are right--you are quite right. Yet I believe, Geoffrey, I might +have committed that wrong--but for this--what shall I call it?--this 'act +of God' that has happened to me. Don't misunderstand me!" He came to +stand beside his nephew, and spoke with intensity. "It was _only_ a +possibility--and there is no guilt on my conscience. I have no real +person in my mind. But any day I might have failed my own sense of +justice--my own sense of honour--sufficiently--to let a woman risk it!" + +Geoffrey thought of one woman--if not two women--who would have risked +it. His heart was full of Helena. It was as though he could only +appreciate the situation as it affected her. How deep would the blow +strike, when she knew? He turned to look at Buntingford, who had resumed +his restless walk up and down the room, realizing with mingled affection +and reluctance the charm of his physical presence, the dark head, the +kind deep eyes, the melancholy selfishness that seemed to enwrap him. +Yet all the time he had not been selfless! There had been no individual +woman in the case. But none the less, he had been consumed with the same +personal longing--the same love of loving; the _amor amandi_--as other +men. That was a discovery. It brought him nearer to the young man's +tenderness; but it made the chance of a misunderstanding on Helena's +part greater. + +"Shall I tell Helena you would like to speak to her?" he said, breaking +the silence. + +Buntingford assented. + +Philip, left alone, tried to collect his thoughts. He did not conceal +from himself what had been implied rather than said by Geoffrey. The hint +had startled and disquieted him. But he could not believe it had any real +substance; and certainly he felt himself blameless. A creature so +radiant, with the world at her feet!--and he, prematurely aged, who had +seemed to her, only a few weeks ago, a mere old fogy in her path! That +she should have reconsidered her attitude towards him, was surely +natural, considering all the pains he had taken to please her. But as to +anything else--absurd! + +Latterly, indeed, since she had come to that tacit truce with Jim, he was +well aware how much her presence in his house had added to the pleasant +moments of daily life. In winning her good will, in thinking for her, in +trying to teach her, in watching the movements of her quick untrained +intelligence and the various phases of her enchanting beauty, he had +found not only a new occupation, but a new joy. Rachel's prophecy for him +had begun to realize itself. And, all the time, his hopes as to +Geoffrey's success with her had been steadily rising. He and Geoffrey had +indeed been at cross-purposes, if Geoffrey really believed what he seemed +to believe! But it was nothing--it could be nothing--but the fantasy of a +lover, starting at a shadow. + +And suddenly his mind, as he stood waiting, plunged into matters which +were not shadows--but palpitating realities. _His son_!--whom he was to +see on the morrow. He believed the word of the woman who had been his +wife. Looking back on her character with all its faults, he did not think +she would have been capable of a malicious lie, at such a moment. Forty +miles away then, there was a human being waiting and suffering, to whom +his life had given life. Excitement--yearning--beat through his pulses. +He already felt the boy in his arms; was already conscious of the ardour +with which every device of science should be called in, to help restore +to him, not only his son's body, but his mind. + +There was a low tap at the door. He recalled his thoughts and went +to open it. + +"Helena!--my dear!" + +He took her hand and led her in. She had changed her white dress of the +afternoon for a little black frock, one of her mourning dresses for her +mother, with a bunch of flame-coloured roses at her waist. The +semi-transparent folds of the black brought out the brilliance of the +white neck and shoulders, the pale carnations of the face, the beautiful +hair, following closely the contours of the white brow. Even through all +his pain and preoccupation, Buntingford admired; was instantly conscious +of the sheer pleasure of her beauty. But it was the pleasure of an +artist, an elder brother--a father even. Her mother was in his mind, and +the strong affection he had begun to feel for his ward was shot through +and through by the older tenderness. + +"Sit there, dear," he said, pushing forward a chair. "Has Geoffrey told +you anything?" + +"No. He said you wanted to tell me something yourself, and he would speak +to the others." + +She was very pale, and the hand he touched was cold. But she was +perfectly self-possessed. + +He sat down in front of her collecting his thoughts. + +"Something has happened, Helena, to-day--this very evening--which must--I +fear--alter all your plans and mine. The poor woman whom Geoffrey saw in +the wood, whose bag you found, was just able to make her escape, when you +and Geoffrey landed. She wandered about the rest of the night, and in the +early morning she asked for shelter--being evidently ill--at the Rectory, +but it was not till this evening that she made a statement which induced +them to send for me. Helena!--what did your mother ever tell you about my +marriage?" + +"She told me very little--only that you had married someone abroad--when +you were studying in Paris--and that she was dead." + +Buntingford covered his eyes with his hand. + +"I told your mother, Helena, all I knew. I concealed nothing from +her--both what I knew--and what I didn't know." + +He paused, to take from his pocket a small leather case and to extract +from it a newspaper cutting. He handed it to her. It was from the first +column of the _Times_, was dated 1907, and contained the words:--"On July +19th at Lyons, France, Anna, wife of Philip Bliss, aged 28." + +Helena read it, and looked up. Buntingford anticipated the words that +were on her lips. + +"Wait a moment!--let me go on. I read that announcement in the _Times_, +Helena, three years after my wife had deserted me. I had spent those +three years, first in recovering from a bad accident, and then in +wandering about trying to trace her. Naturally, I went off to Lyons at +once, and could discover--nothing! The police there did all they could to +help me--our own Embassy in Paris got at the Ministry of the +Interior--useless! I recovered the original notice and envelope from the +_Times_. Both were typewritten, and the Lyons postmark told us no more +than the notice had already told. I could only carry on my search, and +for some years afterwards, even after I had returned to London, I spent +the greater part of all I earned and possessed upon it. About that time +my friendship with your mother began. She was already ill, and spent most +of her life--as you remember--except for those two or three invalid +winters in Italy--in that little drawing-room, I knew so well. I could +always be sure of finding her at home; and gradually--as you +recollect--she became my best friend. She was the only person in England +who knew the true story of my marriage. She always suspected, from the +time she first heard of it, that the notice in the _Times_--" + +Helena made a quick movement forward. Her lips parted. + +"--was not true?" + +Buntingford took her hand again, and they looked at each other, she +trembling involuntarily. + +"And the woman last night?" she said, breathlessly--"was she someone who +knew--who could tell you the truth?" + +"She was my wife--herself!" + +Helena withdrew her hand. + +"How strange!--how strange!" She covered her eyes. There was a silence. +After it, Buntingford resumed: + +"Has Geoffrey told you the first warning of it--you left this room?" + +"No." + +He described the incident of the sketch. + +"It was a drawing I had made of her only a few weeks before she left me. +I had no idea it was in that portfolio. We had scarcely time to put it +away before Mr. Alcott's note arrived--sending for me at once." + +Helena's hands had dropped, while she hung upon his story. And a +wonderful unconscious sweetness had stolen into her expression. Her young +heart was in her eyes. + +"Oh, I am so glad--so glad--you had that warning!" + +Buntingford was deeply touched. + +"You dear child!" he said in a rather choked voice, and, rising, he +walked away from her to the further end of the room. When he returned, he +found a pale and thoughtful Helena. + +"Of course, Cousin Philip, this will make a great change--in your +life--and in mine." + +He stood silently before her--preferring that she should make her own +suggestions. + +"I think--I ought to go away at once. Thanks to you--I have Mrs. +Friend--who is such a dear." + +"There is the London house, Helena. You can make any use of it you like." + +"No, I think not," she said resolutely. Then with an odd laugh which +recalled an earlier Helena--"I don't expect Lucy Friend would want to +have the charge of me in town; and you too--perhaps--would still be +responsible--and bothered about me--if I were in your house." + +Buntingford could not help a smile. + +"My responsibility scarcely depends--does it--upon where you are?" Then +his voice deepened. "I desire, wherever you are, to cherish and care for +you--in your mother's place. I can't say what a joy it has been to me to +have you here." + +"No!--that's nonsense!--ridiculous!--" she said, suddenly breaking down, +and dashing the tears from her eyes. + +"It's very true," he said gently. "You've been the dearest pupil, and +forgiven me all my pedantic ways. But if not London--I will arrange +anything you wish." + +She turned away, evidently making a great effort not to weep. He too was +much agitated, and for a little while he busied himself with some letters +on his table. + +When, at her call, he returned to her, she said, quite in her +usual voice: + +"I should like to go somewhere--to some beautiful place--and draw. That +would take a month--perhaps. Then we can settle." After a pause, she +added without hesitation--"And you?--what is going to happen?" + +"It depends--upon whether it's life at the Rectory--or death." + +She was evidently startled, but said nothing, only gave him her beautiful +eyes again, and her unspoken sympathy. + +Then an impulse which seemed invincible came upon him to be really frank +with her--to tell her more. + +"It depends, also,--upon something else. But this I asked Geoffrey not +to tell the others in the drawing-room--just yet--and I ask you the +same. Of course you may tell Mrs. Friend." She saw his face work with +emotion. "Helena, this woman that was my wife declares to me--that I +have a son living." + +He saw the light of amazement that rushed into her face, and hurried +on:--"But in the same breath that she tells me that, she tells me the +tragedy that goes with it." And hardly able to command his voice, he +repeated what had been told him. + +"Of course everything must be enquired into--verified. I go to town +to-morrow--with Ramsay. Possibly I shall bring him back--perhaps to +Ramsay's care, for the moment. Possibly, I shall leave him with +someone in town." + +"Couldn't I help," she said, after a moment, "if I stayed?" + +"No, no!" he said with repugnance, which was almost passion. "I couldn't +lay such a burden upon you, or any young creature. You must go and be +happy, dear Helena--it is your duty to be happy! And this home for a time +will be a tragic one. Well, but now, where would you like to go? Will you +and Geoffrey and Mrs. Friend consult? I will leave any money you want in +Geoffrey's hands." + +"You mean"--she said abruptly--"that I really ought to go at +once--to-morrow." + +"Wouldn't it be best? It troubles me to think of you here--under the +shadow--of this thing." + +"I see!--I see! All right. You are going to London to-morrow morning?" +She had risen, and was moving towards the door. + +"Yes, I shall go to the Rectory first for news. And then on to the +station." + +She paused a moment. + +"And if--if she--I don't know what to call her--if she lives?" + +"Well, then--I must be free," he said, gravely; adding immediately--"She +passed for fifteen years after she left me as the wife of an Italian I +used to know. It would be very quickly arranged. I should provide for +her--and keep my boy. But all that is uncertain." + +"Yes, I understand." She held out her hand. "Cousin Philip--I am awfully +sorry for you. I--I realized--somehow--only after I'd come down +here--that you must have had--things in your life--to make you unhappy. +And you've been so nice--so awfully nice to me! I just want to thank +you--with all my heart." + +And before he could prevent her, she had seized his hands and kissed +them. Then she rushed to the door, turning to show him a face between +tears and laughter. + +"There!--I've paid you back!" + +And with that she vanished. + +Helena was going blindly through the hall, towards her own room, when +Peter Dale emerged from the shadows. He caught her as she passed. + +"Let me have just a word, Helena! You know, everything will be broken up +here. I only want to say my mother would just adore to have you for the +season. We'd all make it nice for you--we'd be your slaves--just let me +wire to Mater to-morrow morning." + +"No, thank you, Peter. Please--please! don't stop me! I want to see +Mrs. Friend." + +"Helena, do think of it!" he implored. + +"No, I can't. It's impossible!" she said, almost fiercely. "Let me go, +Peter! Good-night!" + +He stood, a picture of misery, at the foot of the stairs watching her run +up. Then at the top she turned, ran down a few steps again, kissed her +hand to him, and vanished, the bright buckles on her shoes flashing along +the gallery overhead. + +But in the further corner of the gallery she nearly ran into the arms of +Geoffrey French, who was waiting for her outside her room. + +"Is it too late, Helena--for me to have just a few words in your +sitting-room?" + +He caught hold of her. The light just behind him showed him a tense and +frowning Helena. + +"Yes--it is much too late! I can't talk now." + +"Only a few words?" + +"No"--she panted--"no!--Geoffrey, I shall _hate_ you if you don't +let me go!" + +It seemed to her that everybody was in league to stand between her and +the one thing she craved for--to be alone and in the dark. + +She snatched her dress out of his grasp, and he fell back. + +She slipped into her own room, and locked the door. He shook his head, +and went slowly downstairs. He found Peter pacing the hall, and they went +out into the June dark together, a discomfited pair. + +Meanwhile Mrs. Friend waited for Helena. She heard voices in the passage +and the locking of Helena's door. She was still weak from her illness, so +it seemed wisest to get into bed. But she had no hope or intention of +sleep. She sat up in bed, with a shawl round her, certain that Helena +would come. She was in a ferment of pity and fear,--she scarcely knew +why--fear for the young creature she had come to love with all her heart; +and she strained her ears to catch the sound of an opening door. + +But Helena did not come. Through her open window Lucy could hear steps +along the terrace coming and going--to and fro. Then they ceased; all +sounds in the house ceased. The church clock in the distance struck +midnight, and a little owl close to the house shrieked and wailed like a +human thing, to the torment of Lucy's nerves. A little later she was +aware of Buntingford coming upstairs, and going to his room on the +further side of the gallery. + +Then, nothing. Deep silence--that seemed to flow through the house and +all its rooms and passages like a submerging flood. + +Except!--What was that sound, in the room next to hers--in Helena's room? + +Lucy Friend got up trembling, put on a dressing-gown, and laid an ear +to the wall between her and Helena. It was a thin wall, mostly indeed a +panelled partition, belonging to an old bit of the house, in which the +building was curiously uneven in quality--sometimes inexplicably +strong, and sometimes mere lath and plaster, as though the persons, +building or re-building, had come to an end of their money and were +scamping their work. + +Lucy, from the other side of the panels, had often heard Helena singing +while she dressed, or chattering to the housemaid. She listened now in an +anguish, her mind haunted alternately by the recollection of the scene in +the drawing-room, and the story told by Geoffrey French, and by her +rising dread and misgiving as to Helena's personal stake in it. She had +observed much during the preceding weeks. But her natural timidity and +hesitancy had forbidden her so far to draw hasty deductions. And +now--perforce!--she drew them. + +The sounds in the next room seemed to communicate their rhythm of pain to +Lucy's own heart. She could not bear it after a while. She noiselessly +opened her own door, and went to Helena's. To her scarcely audible knock +there was no answer. After an interval she knocked again--a pause. Then +there were movements inside, and Helena's muffled voice through the door. + +"Please, Lucy, go to sleep! I am all right." + +"I can't sleep. Won't you let me in?" + +Helena seemed to consider. But after an interval which seemed +interminable to Lucy Friend, the key was slowly turned and the +door yielded. + +Helena was standing inside, but there was so little light in the room +that Lucy could only see her dimly. The moon was full outside, but the +curtains had been drawn across the open window, and only a few faint rays +came through. As Mrs. Friend entered Helena turned from her, and groping +her way back to the bed, threw herself upon it, face downwards. It was +evidently the attitude from which she had risen. + +Lucy Friend followed her, trembling, and sat down beside her. Helena was +still fully dressed, except for her hair, which had escaped from combs +and hairpins. As her eyes grew used to the darkness, Lucy could see it +lying, a dim mass on the white pillow, also a limp hand upturned. She +seized the hand and cherished it in hers. + +"You are so cold, dear! Mayn't I cover you up and help you into bed?" + +No answer. She found a light eiderdown that had been thrown aside, and +covered the prone figure, gently chafing the cold hands and feet. After +what seemed a long time, Helena, who had been quite still, said in a +voice she had to stoop to hear: + +"I suppose you heard me crying. Please, Lucy, go back to bed. I won't cry +any more." + +"Dear--mayn't I stay?" + +"Well, then--you must come and lie beside me. I am a brute to keep +you awake." + +"Won't you undress?" + +"Please let me be! I'll try and go to sleep." + +Lucy slipped her own slight form under the wide eiderdown. There was a +long silence, at the end of which Helena said: + +"I'm only--sorry--it's all come to an end--here." + +But with the words the girl's self-control again failed her. A deep sob +shook her from head to foot. Lucy with the tears on her own cheeks, hung +over her, soothing and murmuring to her as a mother might have done. But +the sob had no successor, and presently Helena said faintly--"Good-night, +Lucy. I'm warm now. I'm going to sleep." + +Lucy listened for the first long breaths of sleep, and seemed to hear +them, just as the dawn was showing itself, and the dawn-wind was pushing +at the curtains. But she herself did not sleep. This young creature lying +beside her, with her full passionate life, seemed to have absolutely +absorbed her own. She felt and saw with Helena. Through the night, +visions came and went--of "Cousin Philip,"--the handsome, melancholy, +courteous man, and of all his winning ways with the girl under his care, +when once she had dropped her first foolish quarrel with him, and made it +possible for him to show without reserve the natural sweetness and +chivalry of his character. Buntingford and Helena riding, their +well-matched figures disappearing under the trees, the sun glancing from +the glossy coats of their horses; Helena, drawing in some nook of the +park, her face flushed with the effort to satisfy her teacher, and +Buntingford bending over her; or again, Helena dancing, in pale green and +apple-blossom, while Buntingford leaned against the wall, watching her +with folded arms, and eyes that smiled over her conquests. + +It all grew clear to Lucy--Helena's gradual capture, and the innocence, +the unconsciousness, of her captor. Her own shrewdness, nevertheless, put +the same question as Buntingford's conscience. Could he ever have been +quite sure of his freedom? Yet he had taken the risks of a free man. But +she could not, she did not blame him. She could only ask herself the +breathless question that French had already asked: + +"How far has it gone with her? How deep is the wound?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Cynthia and Georgina Welwyn were dining at Beechmark on the eventful +evening. They took their departure immediately after the scene in the +drawing-room when Geoffrey French, at his cousin's wish, gathered +Buntingford's guests together, and revealed the identity of the woman in +the wood. In the hurried conversation that followed, Cynthia scarcely +joined, and she was more than ready when Georgina proposed to go. Julian +Horne found them their wraps, and saw them off. It was a beautiful night, +and they were to walk home through the park. + +"Shall I bring you any news there is to-morrow?" said Horne from the +doorstep--"Geoffrey has asked me to stay till the evening. Everybody else +of course is going early. It will be some time, won't it,"--he lowered +his voice--"before we shall see the bearing of all this?" + +Cynthia assented, rather coldly; and when she and her sister were walking +through the moonlit path leading to the cottage, her silence was still +marked, whereas Georgina in her grim way was excited and eager to talk. + +The truth was that Cynthia was not only agitated by the news of the +evening. She was hurt--bitterly hurt. Could not Buntingford have spared +her a word in private? She was his kinswoman, his old and particular +friend, neglectful as he had shown himself during the war. Had he not +only a few weeks before come to ask her help with the trouble-some girl +whose charge he had assumed? She had been no good, she knew. Helena had +not been ready to make friends; and Cynthia's correctness had always been +repelled by the reckless note in Helena. Yet she had done her best on +that and other occasions and she had been rewarded by being treated in +this most critical, most agitated moment like any other of Buntingford's +week-end guests. Not a special message even--just the news that everybody +might now know, and--Julian Horne to see them off! Yet Helena had been +sent for at once. Helena had been closeted with Philip for half an hour. +No doubt he had a special responsibility towards her. But what use could +she possibly be? Whereas Cynthia felt herself the practical, experienced +woman, able to give an old friend any help he might want in a grave +emergency. + +"Of course we must all hope she will die--and die quickly!" said Lady +Georgina, with energy, after some remarks to which Cynthia paid small +attention. "It would be the only sensible course for Providence--after +making such a terrible mistake." + +"Is there any idea of her dying?" Cynthia looked down upon her sister +with astonishment. "Geoffrey didn't say so." + +"He said she was 'very ill,' and from her conduct she must be crazy. So +there's hope." + +"You mean, for Philip?" + +"For the world in general," said Georgina, cautiously, with an unnoticed +glance at her companion. "But of course Philip has only himself to blame. +Why did he marry such a woman?" + +"She may have been very beautiful--or charming--you don't know." + +Lady Georgina shrugged her shoulders. + +"Well, of course there must have been something to bait the hook! But +when a man marries out of his own class, unless the woman dies, the man +goes to pieces." + +"Philip has not gone to pieces!" cried Cynthia indignantly. + +"Because she removed herself. For practical purposes that was as good as +dying. He has much to be grateful for. Suppose she had come home with +him! She would have ruined him socially and morally." + +"And if she doesn't die," said Cynthia slowly, "what will Philip do +then?" + +"Ship her off to America, as she asks him, and prove a few little facts +in the divorce court--simple enough! It oughtn't to take him much more +than six months to get free--which he never has been yet!" added +Georgina, with particular emphasis. + +"It's a mercy, my dear, that you didn't just happen to be Lady +Buntingford!" + +"As if I had ever expected to be!" said Cynthia, much nettled. + +"Well, you would, and you wouldn't have been!" said Georgina +obstinately. "It's very complicated. You would have had to be married +again--after the divorce." + +"I don't know why you are so unkind, Georgie!" There was a little +quaver in Cynthia's voice. "Philip's a very old friend of mine, and I'm +very sorry and troubled about him. Why do you smirch it all with these +horrid remarks?" + +"I won't make any more, if you don't like them," said Georgina, +unabashed--"except just to say this, Cynthia--for the first time I +begin to believe in your chance. There was always something not cleared +up about Philip, and it might have turned out to be something past +mending. Now it is cleared up; and it's bad--but it might have been +worse. However--we'll change the subject. What about that handsome +young woman, Helena?" + +"Now, if you'd chanced to say it was a mercy _she_ didn't happen to be +Lady Buntingford, there'd have been some sense in it!" Cynthia's tone +betrayed the soreness within. + +Lady Georgina laughed, or rather chuckled. + +"I know Philip a great deal better than you do, my dear, though he is +your friend. He has made himself, I suspect, as usual, much too nice to +that child; and he may think himself lucky if he hasn't broken her +heart. He isn't a flirt--I agree. But he produces the same +effect--without meaning it. Without meaning anything indeed--except to +be good and kind to a young thing. The men with Philip's manners and +Philip's charm--thank goodness, there aren't many of them!--have an +abominable responsibility. The poor moth flops into the candle before +she knows where she is. But as to marrying her--it has never entered his +head for a moment, and never would." + +"And why shouldn't it, please?" + +"Because she is much too young for him--and Philip is a tired man. +Haven't you seen that, Cynthy? Before you knew him, Philip had +exhausted his emotions--that's my reading of him. I don't for a moment +believe his wife was the only one, if what Geoffrey said of her, and +what one guesses, is true. She would never have contented him. And now +it's done. If he ever marries now, it will be for peace--not passion. +As I said before, Cynthy--and I mean no offence--your chances are +better than they were." + +Cynthia winced and protested again, but all the same she was secretly +soothed by her odd sister's point of view. They began to discuss the +situation at the Rectory,--how Alice Alcott, their old friend, with her +small domestic resources, could possibly cope with it, if a long illness +developed. + +"Either the woman will die, or she will be divorced," said Georgina +trenchantly. "And as soon as they know she isn't going to die, what on +earth will they do with her?" + +As she spoke they were passing along the foot of the Rectory garden. The +Rectory stood really on the edge of the park, where it bordered on the +highroad; and their own cottage was only a hundred yards beyond. There +were two figures walking up and down in the garden. The Welwyns +identified them at once as the Rector and his sister. + +Cynthia stopped. + +"I shall go and ask Alice if we can do anything for her." + +She made for the garden gate that opened on the park and called softly. +The two dim figures turned and came towards her. It was soon conveyed to +the Alcotts that the Welwyns shared their knowledge, and a conversation +followed, almost in whispers under a group of lilacs that flung round +them the scents of the unspoilt summer. Alice Alcott, to get a breath of +air, had left her patient in the charge of their old housemaid, for a +quarter of an hour, but must go back at once and would sit up all night. +A nurse was coming on the morrow. + +Then, while Georgina employed her rasping tongue on Mr. Alcott, Cynthia +and the Rector's sister conferred in low tones about various urgent +matters--furniture for the nurse's room, sheets, pillows, and the rest. +The Alcotts were very poor, and the Rectory had no reserves. + +"Of course, we could send for everything to Beechmark," murmured +Miss Alcott. + +"Why should you? It is so much further. We will send in everything you +want. What are we to call this--this person?" said Cynthia. + +"Madame Melegrani. It is the name she has passed by for years." + +"You say she is holding her own?" + +"Just--with strychnine and brandy. But the heart is very weak. She told +Dr. Ramsay she had an attack of flu last week--temperature up to 104. But +she wouldn't give in to it--never even went to bed. Then came the +excitement of travelling down here and the night in the park. This is the +result. It makes me nervous to think that we shan't have Dr. Ramsay +to-morrow. His partner is not quite the same thing. But he is going to +London with Lord Buntingford." + +"Buntingford--going to London?" said Cynthia in amazement. + +Miss Alcott started. She remembered suddenly that her brother had told +her that no mention was to be made, for the present, of the visit to +London. In her fatigue and suppressed excitement she had forgotten. She +could only retrieve her indiscretion--since white lies were not practised +at the Rectory--by a hurried change of subject and by reminding her +brother it was time for them to go back to the house. They accordingly +disappeared. + +"What is Buntingford going to London for?" said Georgina as they neared +their own door. + +Cynthia could not imagine--especially when the state of the Rectory +patient was considered. "If she is as bad as the Alcotts say, they will +probably want to-morrow to get a deposition from her of some kind," +remarked Georgina, facing the facts as usual. Cynthia acquiesced. But she +was not thinking of the unhappy stranger who lay, probably dying, under +the Alcotts' roof. She was suffering from a fresh personal stab. For, +clearly, Geoffrey French had not told all there was to be known; there +was some further mystery. And even the Alcotts knew more than she. +Affection and pride were both wounded anew. + +But with the morning came consolation. Her maid, when she called her, +brought in the letters as usual. Among them, one in a large familiar +hand. She opened it eagerly, and it ran:-- + +"Saturday night, 11 p.m. + +"MY DEAR CYNTHIA:--I was so sorry to find when I went to the drawing-room +just now that you had gone home. I wanted if possible to walk part of the +way with you, and to tell you a few things myself. For you are one of my +oldest friends, and I greatly value your sympathy and counsel. But the +confusion and bewilderment of the last few hours have been such--you will +understand! + +"To-morrow we shall hardly meet--for I am going to London on a strange +errand! Anna--the woman that was my wife--tells me that six months after +she left me, a son was born to me, whose existence she has till now +concealed from me. I have no reason to doubt her word, but of course for +everybody's sake I must verify her statement as far as I can. My son--a +lad of fifteen--is now in London, and so is the French _bonne_--Zélie +Ronchicourt--who originally lived with us in Paris, and was with Anna at +the time of her confinement. You will feel for me when you know that he +is apparently deaf and dumb. At any rate he has never spoken, and the +brain makes no response. Anna speaks of an injury at birth. There might +possibly be an operation. But of all this I shall know more presently. +The boy, of course, is mine henceforth--whatever happens. + +"With what mingled feelings I set out to-morrow, you can imagine. I feel +no bitterness towards the unhappy soul who has come back so suddenly into +my life. Except so far as the boy is concerned--(_that_ I feel +cruelly!)--I have not much right--For I was not blameless towards her in +the old days. She had reasons--though not of the ordinary kind--for the +frantic jealousy which carried her away from me. I shall do all I can for +her; but if she gets through this illness, there will be a divorce in +proper form. + +"For me, in any case, it is the end of years of miserable +uncertainty--of a semi-deception I could not escape--and of a moral +loneliness I cannot describe. I must have often puzzled you and many +others of my friends. Well, you have the key now. I can and will speak +freely when we meet again. + +"According to present plans, I bring the boy back to-morrow. Ramsay is to +find me a specially trained nurse and will keep him under his own +observation for a time. We may also have a specialist down at once. + +"I shall of course hurry back as soon as I can--Anna's state is +critical-- + +"Yours ever effectionately, + +"BUNTINGFORD." + +"P.S.--I don't know much about the domestic conditions in the Ramsays' +house. Ramsay I have every confidence in. He has always seemed to me a +very clever and a very nice fellow. And I imagine Mrs. Ramsay is a +competent woman." + +"She isn't!" said Cynthia, suddenly springing up in bed. "She is an +incompetent goose! As for looking after that poor child and his +nurse--properly--she couldn't!" + +Quite another plan shaped itself in her mind. But she did not as yet +communicate it to Georgina. + +After breakfast she loaded her little pony carriage with all the invalid +necessaries she had promised Miss Alcott, and drove them over to the +Rectory. Alcott saw her arrival from his study, and came out, his finger +on his lip, to meet her. + +"Many, many thanks," he said, looking at what she had brought. "It is +awfully good of you. I will take them in--but I ask myself--will she ever +live through the day? Lord Buntingford and Ramsay hurried off by the +first train this morning. She has enquired for the boy, and they will +bring him back as soon as they can. She gives herself no chance! She is +so weak--but her will is terribly strong! We can't get her to obey the +doctor's orders. Of course, it is partly the restlessness of the +condition." + +Cynthia's eyes travelled to the upper window above the study. +Buntingford's wife lay there! It seemed to her that the little room held +all the secrets of Buntingford's past. The dying woman knew them, and she +alone. A new jealousy entered into Cynthia--a despairing sense of the +irrevocable. Helena was forgotten. + +At noon Julian Horne arrived, bringing a book that Cynthia had lent him. +He stayed to gossip about the break-up of the party. + +"Everybody has cleared out except myself and Geoffrey. Miss Helena and +her chaperon went this morning before lunch. Buntingford of course had +gone before they came down. French tells me they have gone to a little +inn in Wales he recommended. Miss Helena said she wanted something to +draw, and a quiet place. I must say she looked pretty knocked up!--I +suppose by the dance?" + +His sharp greenish eyes perused Cynthia's countenance. She made no reply. +His remark did not interest a preoccupied woman. Yet she did not fail to +remember, with a curious pleasure, that there was no mention of Helena in +Buntingford's letter. + +Between five and six that afternoon a party of four descended at a +station some fifteen miles from Beechmark, where Buntingford was not very +likely to be recognized. It consisted of Buntingford, the doctor, a +wrinkled French _bonne_, in a black stuff dress, and black bonnet, and a +frail little boy whom a spectator would have guessed to be eleven or +twelve years old. Buntingford carried him, and the whole party passed +rapidly to a motor standing outside. Then through a rainy evening they +sped on at a great pace towards the Beechmark park and village. The boy +sat next to Buntingford who had his arm round him. But he was never +still. He had a perpetual restless motion of the head and the emaciated +right hand, as though something oppressed the head, and he were trying to +brush it away. His eyes wandered round the faces in the car,--from his +father to the doctor, from the doctor to the Frenchwoman. But there was +no comprehension in them. He saw and did not see. Buntingford hung over +him, alive to his every movement, absorbed indeed in his son. The boy's +paternity was stamped upon him. He had Buntingford's hair and brow; every +line and trait in those noticeable eyes of his father seemed to be +reproduced in him; and there were small characteristics in the hands +which made them a copy in miniature of his father's. No one seeing him +could have doubted his mother's story; and Buntingford had been able to +verify it in all essential particulars by the evidence of the old +_bonne_, who had lived with Anna in Paris before her flight, and had been +present at the child's birth. The old woman was very taciturn, and +apparently hostile to Buntingford, whom she perfectly remembered; but she +had told enough. + +The June evening was in full beauty when the car drew up at the +Rectory. Alcott and Dr. Ramsay's partner received them. The patient +they reported had insisted on being lifted to a chair, and was +feverishly expecting them. + +Buntingford carried the boy upstairs, the _bonne_ following. The doctors +remained on the landing, within call. At sight of her mistress, Zélie's +rugged face expressed her dismay. She hurried up to her, dropped on her +knees beside her, and spoke to her in agitated French. Anna Melegrani +turned her white face and clouded eyes upon her for a moment; but made no +response. She looked past her indeed to where Buntingford stood with the +boy, and made a faint gesture that seemed to summon him. + +He put him down on his feet beside her. The pathetic little creature was +wearing a shabby velveteen suit, with knickerbockers, which bagged about +his thin frame. The legs like white sticks appearing below the +knickerbockers, the blue-veined hollows of the temples, and the tiny +hands--together with the quiet wandering look--made so pitiable an +impression that Miss Alcott standing behind the sick woman could not keep +back the tears. The boy himself was a centre of calm in the agitated +room, except for the constant movement of the head. He seemed to perceive +something familiar in his mother's face, but when she put out a feeble +hand to him, and tried to kiss him, he began to whimper. Her expression +changed at once; with what strength she had she pushed him away. "_Il est +afreux_!" she said sombrely, closing her eyes. + +Buntingford lifted him up, and carried him to Zélie, who was in a +neighbouring room. She had brought with her some of the coloured bricks, +and "nests" of Japanese boxes which generally amused him. He was soon +sitting on the floor, aimlessly shuffling the bricks, and apparently +happy. As his father was returning to the sickroom a note was put into +his hand by the Rector. It contained these few words--"Don't make final +arrangements with the Ramsays till you have seen me. Think I could +propose something you would like better. Shall be here all the evening. +Yours affectionately--Cynthia." + +He had just thrust it into his pocket, when the Rector drew him aside at +the head of the stairs, while the two doctors were with the patient. + +"I don't want to interfere with any of your arrangements," whispered the +Rector, "but I think perhaps I ought to tell you that Mrs. Ramsay is no +great housewife. She is a queer little flighty thing. She spends her time +in trying to write plays and bothering managers. There's no harm in her, +and he's very fond of her. But it is an untidy, dirty little house! And +nothing ever happens at the right time. My sister said I must warn you. +She's had it on her mind--as she's had a good deal of experience of Mrs. +Ramsay. And I believe Lady Cynthia has another plan." + +Buntingford thanked him, remembering opportunely that when he had +proposed to Ramsay to take the boy into his house, the doctor had +accepted with a certain hesitation, which had puzzled him. "I will go +over and see my cousin when I can be spared." + +But a sudden call from the sickroom startled them both. Buntingford +hurried forward. + +When Buntingford entered he found the patient lying in a deep +old-fashioned chair propped up by pillows. She had been supplied with the +simplest of night-gear by Miss Alcott, and was wearing besides a blue +cotton overall or wrapper in which the Rector's sister was often +accustomed to do her morning's work. There was a marked incongruity +between the commonness of the dress, and a certain cosmopolitan stamp, a +touch of the grand air, which was evident in its wearer. The face, even +in its mortal pallor and distress, was remarkable both for its intellect +and its force. Buntingford stood a few paces from her, his sad eyes +meeting hers. She motioned to him. + +"Send them all away." + +The doctors went, with certain instructions to Buntingford, one of them +remaining in the room below. Buntingford came to sit close by her. + +"They say I shall kill myself if I talk," she said in her gasping +whisper. "It doesn't matter. I must talk! So--you don't doubt the boy?" +Her large black eyes fixed him intently. + +"No. I have no doubts--that he is my son. But his condition is very +piteous. I have asked a specialist to come down." + +There was a gleam of scorn in her expression. + +"That'll do no good. I suppose--you think--we neglected the boy. +_Niente_. We did the best we could. He was under a splendid man--in +Naples--as good as any one here. He told me nothing could be done--and +nothing can be done." + +Buntingford had the terrible impression that there was a certain +triumph in the faint tone. He said nothing, and presently the whisper +began again. + +"I keep seeing those people dancing--and hearing the band. I dropped a +little bag--did anybody find it?" + +"Yes, I have it here." He drew it out of his pocket, and put it in her +hand, which feebly grasped it. + +"Rocca gave it to me at Florence once, I am very fond of it. I suppose +you wonder that--I loved him?" + +There was a strange and tragic contrast between the woman's weakness, and +her bitter provocative spirit; just as there was between the picturesque +strength of Buntingford--a man in his prime--and the humble, deprecating +gentleness of his present voice and manner. + +"No," he answered. "I am glad--if it made you happy." + +"Happy!" She opened her eyes again. "Who's ever happy? We were +never happy!" + +"Yes--at the beginning," he said, with a certain firmness. "Why take +that away?" + +She made a protesting movement. + +"No--never! I was always--afraid. Afraid you'd get tired of me. I was +only happy--working--and when they hung my picture--in the Salon--you +remember?" + +"I remember it well." + +"But I was always jealous--of you. You drew better--than I did. That made +me miserable." + +After a long pause, during which he gave her some of the prepared +stimulant Ramsay had left ready, she spoke again, with rather more +vigour. + +"Do you remember--that Artists' Fête--in the Bois--when I went as +Primavera--Botticelli's Primavera?" + +"Perfectly." + +"I was as handsome then--as that girl you were rowing. And now--But I +don't want to die!"--she said with sudden anguish--"Why should I die? I +was quite well a fortnight ago. Why does that doctor frighten me so?" She +tried to sit more erect, panting for breath. He did his best to soothe +her, to induce her to go back to bed. But she resisted with all her +remaining strength; instead, she drew him down to her. + +"Tell me!--confess to me!"--she said hoarsely--"Madame de Chaville was +your mistress!" + +"Never! Calm yourself, poor Anna! I swear to you. Won't you believe me?" + +She trembled violently. "If I left you--for nothing--" + +She closed her eyes, and tears ran down her cheeks. + +He bent over her--"Won't you rest now--and let them take you back to bed? +You mustn't talk like this any more. You will kill yourself." + +He left her in Ramsay's charge, and went first to find Alcott, begging +him to pray with her. Then he wandered out blindly, into the summer +evening. It was clear to him that she had only a few more hours--or at +most--days to live. In his overpowering emotion--a breaking up of the +great deeps of thought and feeling--he found his way into the shelter of +one of the beechwoods that girdled the park, and sat there in a kind of +moral stupor, till he had somehow mastered himself. The "old unhappy +far-off things" were terribly with him; the failures and faults of his +own distant life, far more than those of the dying woman. The only +thought--the only interest--which finally gave him fresh strength--was +the recollection of his boy. + +Cynthia!--her letter--what was it she wanted to say to him? He got up, +and resolutely turned his steps towards the cottage. + +Cynthia was waiting for him. She brought him into the little drawing-room +where a lamp had been lighted, and a tray of food was waiting of which +she persuaded him to eat some mouthfuls. But when he questioned her as to +the meaning of her letter, she evaded answering for a little while, till +he had eaten something and drunk a glass of wine. Then she stretched out +a hand to him, with a quiet smile. + +"Come and see what I have been doing upstairs. It will be dreadful if you +don't approve!" + +He followed her in surprise, and she led him upstairs through the +spotless passages of the cottage, bright with books and engravings, where +never a thing was out of place, to a room with a flowery paper and bright +curtains, looking on the park. + +"I had it all got ready in a couple of hours. We have so much room--and +it is such a pleasure--" she said, in half apology. "Nobody ever gets any +meals at the Ramsays'--and they can't keep any servants. Of course you'll +change it, if you don't like it. But Dr. Ramsay himself thought it the +best plan. You see we are only a stone's throw from him. He can run in +constantly. He really seemed relieved!" + +And there in a white bed, with the newly arrived special +nurse--kind-faced and competent--beside him, lay his recovered son, +deeply and pathetically asleep. For in his sleep the piteous head +movement had ceased, and he might have passed for a very delicate child +of twelve, who would soon wake like other children to a new summer day. + +Into Buntingford's strained consciousness there fell a drop of balm as he +sat beside him, listening to the quiet breathing, and comforted by the +mere peace of the slight form. + +He looked up at Cynthia and thanked her; and Cynthia's heart sang for +joy. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +The Alcotts' unexpected guest lingered another forty-eight hours under +their roof,--making a hopeless fight for life. But the influenza poison, +recklessly defied from the beginning, had laid too deadly a grip on an +already weakened heart. And the excitement of the means she had taken to +inform herself as to the conditions of Buntingford's life and +surroundings, before breaking in upon them, together with the exhaustion +of her night wandering, had finally destroyed her chance of recovery. +Buntingford saw her whenever the doctors allowed. She claimed his +presence indeed, and would not be denied. But she talked little more; and +in her latest hours it seemed to those beside her both that the desire to +live had passed, and that Buntingford's attitude towards her had, in the +end, both melted and upheld her. On the second night after her arrival, +towards dawn she sent for him. She then could not speak. But her right +hand made a last motion towards his. He held it, till Ramsay who had his +fingers on the pulse of the left, looked up with that quiet gesture which +told that all was over. Then he himself closed her eyes, and stooping, he +kissed her brow-- + +"_Pardonnons--nous! Adieu_!" he said, under his breath, in the language +familiar to their student youth together. Then he went straight out of +the room, and through the dewy park, and misty woods already vocal with +the awakening birds; he walked back to Beechmark, and for some hours shut +himself into his library, where no one disturbed him. + +When he emerged it was with the air of a man turning to a new chapter in +life. Geoffrey French was still with him. Otherwise the big house was +empty and seemed specially to miss the sounds of Helena's voice, and +tripping feet. Buntingford enquired about her at once, and Geoffrey was +able to produce a letter from Mrs. Friend describing the little Welsh +Inn, near the pass of Aberglasslyn, where they had settled themselves; +the delicious river, shrunken however by the long drought, which ran past +their windows, and the many virtues--qualified by too many children--of +the primitive Welsh pair who ran the inn. + +"I am to say that Miss Pitstone likes it all very much, and has found +some glorious things to draw. Also an elderly gentleman who is sketching +on the river has already promised her a lesson." + +"You'll be going down there sometime?" said Buntingford, turning an +enquiring look on his nephew. + +"The week-end after next," said Geoffrey--"unless Helena forbids it. I +must inspect the inn, which I recommended--and take stock of the elderly +gentleman!" + +The vision of Helena, in "fresh woods and pastures new" radiantly +transfixing the affections of the "elderly gentleman," put them both for +the moment in spirits. Buntingford smiled, and understanding that +Geoffrey was writing to his ward, he left some special messages for her. + +But in the days that followed he seldom thought of Helena. He buried his +wife in the village church-yard, and the wondering villagers might +presently read on the headstone he placed over her grave, the short +inscription--"Anna Buntingford, wife of Philip, Lord Buntingford," with +the dates of her birth and death. The Alcotts, authorized by Philip, made +public as much of the story as was necessary, and the presence of the +poor son and heir in the Welwyns' house, together with his tragic +likeness to his father, both completed and verified it. A wave of +unspoken but warm sympathy spread through the countryside. Buntingford's +own silence was unbroken. After the burial, he never spoke of what had +happened, except on one or two rare occasions to John Alcott, who had +become his intimate friend. But unconsciously the attitude of his +neighbours towards him had the effect of quickening his liking for +Beechmark, and increasing the probability of his ultimate settlement +there, at least for the greater part of the year. + +Always supposing that it suited the boy--Arthur Philip--the names under +which, according to Zélie, he had been christened in the church of the +hill village near Lucca where he was born. For the care of this innocent, +suffering creature became, from the moment of his mother's death, the +dominating thought of Buntingford's life. The specialist, who came down +before her death, gave the father however little hope of any favourable +result from operation. But he gave a confident opinion that much could be +done by that wonderful system of training which modern science and +psychology combined have developed for the mentally deficient or idiot +child. For the impression left by the boy on the spectator was never that +of genuine idiocy. It was rather that of an imprisoned soul. The normal +soul seemed somehow to be there; but the barrier between it and the world +around it could not be broken through. By the specialist's advice, +Buntingford's next step was to appeal to a woman, one of those remarkable +women, who, unknown perhaps to more than local or professional fame, are +every year bringing the results of an ardent moral and mental research to +bear upon the practical tasks of parent and teacher. This woman, whom we +will call Mrs. Delane, combined the brain of a man of science with the +passion of motherhood. She had spent her life in the educational service +of a great municipality, varied by constant travel and investigation; and +she was now pensioned and retired. But all over England those who needed +her still appealed to her; and she failed no one. She came down to see +his son at Buntingford's request, and spent some days in watching the +child, with Cynthia as an eager learner beside her. + +The problem was a rare one. The boy was a deaf-mute, but not blind. His +very beautiful eyes--; his father's eyes--seemed to be perpetually +interrogating the world about him, and perpetually baffled. He cried--a +monotonous wailing sound--but he never smiled. He was capable of throwing +all his small possessions into a large basket, and of taking them out +again; an operation which he performed endlessly hour after hour; but of +purpose, or any action that showed it, he seemed incapable. He could not +place one brick upon another, or slip one Japanese box inside its fellow. +His temper seemed to be always gentle; and in simple matters of daily +conduct and habit Zélie had her own ways of getting from him an automatic +obedience. But he heard nothing; and in his pathetic look, however +clearly his eyes might seem to be meeting those of a companion, there was +no answering intelligence. + +Mrs. Delane set patiently to work, trying this, and testing that; and at +the end of the first week, she and Cynthia were sitting on the floor +beside the boy, who had a heap of bricks before him. For more than an +hour Mrs. Delane had been guiding his thin fingers in making a tower of +bricks one upon another, and then knocking them down. Then, at one +moment, it began to seem to her that each time his hand enclosed in hers +knocked the bricks down, there was a certain faint flash in the blue +eyes, as though the sudden movement of the bricks gave the child a thrill +of pleasure. But to fall they must be built up. And his absorbed teacher +laboured vainly, through sitting after sitting, to communicate to the +child some sense of the connection between the two sets of movements. + +Time after time the small waxen hand lay inert in hers as she put a brick +between its listless fingers, and guided it towards the brick waiting for +it. Gradually the column of bricks mounted--built by her action, her +fingers enclosing his passive ones--and, finally, came the expected +crash, followed by the strange slight thrill in the child's features. But +for long there was no sign of spontaneous action of any kind on his part. +The ingenuity of his teacher attempted all the modes of approach to the +obstructed brain that were known to her, through the two senses left +him--sight and touch. But for many days in vain. + +At last, one evening towards the end of June, when his mother had been +dead little more than a fortnight, Cynthia, Mrs. Delane's indefatigable +pupil, was all at once conscious of a certain spring in the child's hand, +as though it became--faintly--self-moved, a living thing. She cried out. +Buntingford was there looking on; and all three hung over the child. +Cynthia again placed the brick in his hand, and withdrew her own. Slowly +the child moved it forward--dropped it--then, with help, raised it +again--and, finally, with only the very slight guidance from Cynthia, put +it on top of the other. Another followed, and another, his hand growing +steadier with each attempt. Then breathing deeply,--flushed, and with a +puckered forehead--the boy looked up at his father. Tears of +indescribable joy had rushed to Buntingford's eyes. Cynthia's were hidden +in her handkerchief. + +The child's nurse peremptorily intervened and carried him off to bed. +Mrs. Delane first arranged with Buntingford for the engagement of a +special teacher, taught originally by herself, and then asked for +something to take her to the station. She had set things in train, and +had no time to lose. There were too many who wanted her. + +Buntingford and Cynthia walked across the park to Beechmark. From the +extreme despondency they were lifted to an extreme of hope. Buntingford +had felt, as it were, the spirit of his son strain towards his own; the +hidden soul had looked out. And in his deep emotion, he was very +naturally conscious of a new rush of affection and gratitude towards his +old playfellow and friend. The thought of her would be for ever connected +in his mind with the efforts and discoveries of the agitating days +through which--with such intensity--they had both been living. When he +remembered that wonder-look in his son's, eyes, he would always see +Cynthia bending over the child, no longer the mere agreeable and +well-dressed woman of the world, but, to him, the embodiment of a +heavenly pity, "making all things new." + +Cynthia's spirits danced as she walked beside him. There was in her a +joyous, if still wavering certainty that through the child, her hold upon +Philip, whether he spoke sooner or later, was now secure. But she was +still jealous of Helena. It had needed the moral and practical upheaval +caused by the reappearance and death of Anna, to drive Helena from Philip +and Beechmark; and if Helena--enchanting and incalculable as ever, even +in her tamer mood--were presently to resume her life in Philip's house, +no one could expect the Fates to intervene again so kindly. Georgina +might be certain that in Buntingford's case the woman of forty had +nothing to fear from the girl of nineteen. Cynthia was by no means so +certain; and she shivered at the risks to come. + +For it was soon evident that the question of his ward's immediate future +was now much on Philip's mind. He complained that Helena wrote so little, +and that he had not yet heard from Geoffrey since the week-end he was to +spend in Wales. Mrs. Friend reported indeed in good spirits. But +obviously, whatever the quarters might be, Helena could not stay there +indefinitely. + +"Of course I suggested the London house to her at once--with Mrs. +Friend for chaperon. But she didn't take to it. This week I must go +back to my Admiralty work. But we can't take the boy to London, and I +intended to come back here every night. We mustn't put upon you much +longer, my dear Cynthia!" + +The colour rushed to Cynthia's face. + +"You are going to take him away?" she said, with a look of consternation. + +"Mustn't I bring him home, some time?" was his half-embarrassed reply. + +"But not yet! And how would it suit--with week-ends and dances for +Helena?" + +"It wouldn't suit at all," he said, perplexed--"though Helena seems to +have thrown over dancing for the present." + +"That won't last long!" + +He laughed. "I am afraid you never took to her!" he said lightly. + +"She never took to me!" + +"I wonder if that was my fault? She suspected that I had called you in to +help me to keep her in order!" + +"What was it brought her to reason--so suddenly?" said Cynthia, seeking +light at last on a problem that had long puzzled her. + +"Two things, I imagine. First that she was the better man of us all, that +day of the Dansworth riot. She could drive my big car, and none of the +rest of us could! That seemed to put her right with us all. And +secondly--the reports of that abominable trial. She told me so. I only +hope she didn't read much of it!" + +They had just passed the corner of the house, and come out on the sloping +lawn of Beechmark, with the lake, and the wood beyond it. All that had +happened behind that dark screen of yew, on the distant edge of the +water, came rushing back on Philip's imagination, so that he fell silent. +Cynthia on her side was thinking of the moment when she came down to the +edge of the lake to carry off Geoffrey French, and saw Buntingford and +Helena push off into the puckish rays of the searchlight. She tasted +again the jealous bitterness of it--and the sense of defeat by something +beyond her fighting--the arrogance of Helena's young beauty. Philip was +not in love with Helena; that she now knew. So far she, Cynthia, had +marvellously escaped the many chances that might have undone her. But if +Helena came back? + +Meanwhile there were some uneasy thoughts at the back of Philip's mind; +and some touching and tender recollections which he kept sacred to +himself. Helena's confession and penitence--there, on that still +water--how pretty they were, how gracious! Nor could he ever forget her +sweetness, her pity on that first tragic evening. Geoffrey's alarms were +absurd. Yet when he thought of merely reproducing the situation as it had +existed before the night of the ball, something made him hesitate. And +besides, how could he reproduce it? All his real mind was now absorbed in +this overwhelming problem of his son; of the helpless, appealing creature +to whose aid the whole energies of his nature had been summoned. + +He walked back some way with Cynthia, talking of the boy, with an +intensity of hope that frightened her. + +"Don't, or don't be too certain--yet!" she pleaded. "We have only just +seen the first sign--the first flicker. If it were all to vanish again!" + +"Could I bear it?" he said, under his breath--"Could I?" + +"Anyway, you'll let me keep him--a little longer?" + +She spoke very softly and sweetly. + +"If your kindness really wishes it," he said, rather reluctantly. "But +what does Georgina say?" + +"Georgina is just as keen as I am," said Cynthia boldly. "Don't you see +how fond she is of him already?" + +Buntingford could not truthfully say that he had seen any signs on +Georgina's part, so far, of more than a decent neutrality in the matter. +Georgina was a precisian; devoted to order, and in love with rules. The +presence of the invalid boy, his nurse, and his teacher, must upset every +rule and custom of the little house. Could she really put up with it? In +general, she made the impression upon Philip of a very wary cat, often +apparently asleep, but with her claws ready. He felt uncomfortable; but +Cynthia had her way. + +A specially trained teacher, sent down by Mrs. Delane, arrived a few days +later, and a process began of absorbing and fascinating interest to all +the spectators, except Georgina, who more than kept her head. + +Every morning Buntingford would motor up to town, spend some strenuous +hours in demobilization work at the Admiralty, returning in the evening +to receive Cynthia's report of the day. Miss Denison, the boy's teacher, +who had been trained in one of the London Special Schools, was a little +round-faced lady with spectacles, apparently without any emotions, but +really filled with that educator's passion which in so many women of our +day fills the place of motherhood. From the beginning she formed the +conclusion that the pitiable little fellow entrusted to her was to a +great extent educable; but that he would not live to maturity. This +latter conclusion was carefully hidden from Buntingford, though it was +known to Cynthia; and Philip knew, for a time, all the happiness, the +excitement even of each day's slight advance, combined with a boundless +hope for the future. He spent his evenings absorbed in the voluminous +literature dealing with the deaf-mute, which has grown up since the days +of Laura Bridgman and Helen Keller. But Laura Bridgman and Helen +Keller--as he eagerly reminded himself--were both of them blind; only one +sense--that of touch--was left to them. Arthur's blue eyes, the copy of +his own, already missed his father when he left home in the morning, and +greeted him when he came home at night. They contained for Philip a +mystery and a promise that he was never tired of studying. Every evening +he would ride over from Dansworth station to the cottage, put up his +horse, and spend the long summer twilights in carrying his son about the +garden or the park, or watching Miss Denison at her work. The boy was +physically very frail, and soon tired. But his look was now placid; the +furrows in the white brow were smoothed away; his general nutrition was +much better; his delicate cheeks had filled out a little; and his ghostly +beauty fascinated Philip's artistic sense, while his helplessness +appealed to the tenderest instinct of a strong man. Buntingford had +discovered a new and potent reason for living; and for living happily. + +And meanwhile with all this slowly growing joy, Cynthia was more and more +closely connected. She and Buntingford had a common topic, which was +endlessly interesting and delightful to them both. Philip was no longer +conscious of her conventionalities and limitations, as he had been +conscious of them on his first renewed acquaintance with her after the +preoccupations of the war. He saw her now as Arthur's fairy godmother, +and as his own daily companion and helper in an exquisite task. + +But Georgina was growing impatient. One evening she came home tired and +out of temper. She had been collecting the rents of some cottages +belonging to her, and the periodical operation was always trying to +everybody concerned. Georgina's secret conviction that "the poor in a +loomp is bad" was stoutly met by her tenants' firm belief that all +landlords are extortionate thieves. She came home, irritated by a number +of petty annoyances, to find the immaculate little drawing-room, where +every book and paper-knife knew its own place and kept it, given up to +Arthur and Miss Denison, with coloured blocks, pictures and models used +in that lady's teaching, strewn all over the floor, while the furniture +had been pushed unceremoniously aside. + +"I won't have this house made a bear-garden!" she said, angrily, to the +dismayed teacher; and she went off straightway to find her sister. + +Cynthia was in her own little den on the first floor happily engaged in +trimming a new hat. Georgina swept in upon her, shut the door, and stood +with her back to it. + +"Cynthia--is this house yours or mine?" + +As a matter of fact the house was Buntingford's. But Georgina was +formally the tenant of it, while the furniture was partly hers and partly +Cynthia's. In fact, however, Georgina had been always tacitly held to be +the mistress. + +Cynthia looked up in astonishment, and at once saw that Georgina was +seriously roused. She put down her work and faced her sister. + +"I thought it belonged to both of us," she said mildly. "What is the +matter, Georgie?" + +"I beg you to remember that I am the tenant. And I never consented to +make it an institution for the training of imbeciles!" + +"Georgie!--Arthur is not an imbecile!" + +"Of course I know he is an interesting one," said Georgina, curtly. "But +all the same, from my point of view--However, I won't repeat the word, if +it annoys you. But what I want to know is, when are we to have the house +to ourselves again? Because, if this is to go on indefinitely, I depart!" + +Cynthia came nearer to her sister. Her colour fluttered a little. + +"Don't interfere just at present, Georgie," she said imploringly, in a +low voice. + +The two sisters looked at each other--Georgina covered with the dust and +cobwebs of her own cottages, her battered hat a little on one side, and +her coat and skirt betraying at every seam its venerable antiquity; and +Cynthia, in pale grey, her rose-pink complexion answering to the gold of +her hair, with every detail of her summer dress as fresh and dainty as +the toil of her maid could make it. + +"Well, I suppose--I understand," said Georgina, at last, in her gruffest +voice. "All the same, I warn you, I can't stand it much longer. I shall +be saying something rude to Buntingford." + +"No, no--don't do that!" + +"I haven't your motive--you see." + +Cynthia coloured indignantly. + +"If you think I'm only pretending to care for the child, Georgie, you're +very much mistaken!" + +"I don't think so. You needn't put words into my mouth, or thoughts into +my head. All the same, Cynthia,--cut it short!" + +And with that she released the door and departed, leaving an anxious and +meditative Cynthia behind her. + +A little later, Buntingford's voice was heard below. Cynthia, descending, +found him with Arthur in his arms. The day had been hot and rainy--an +oppressive scirocco day--and the boy was languid and out of sorts. The +nurse advised his being carried up early to bed, and Buntingford had +arrived just in time. + +When he came downstairs again, he found Cynthia in a garden hat, and they +strolled out to look at the water-garden which was the common hobby of +both the sisters. There, sitting among the rushes by the side of the +little dammed-up stream, he produced a letter from Mrs. Friend, with the +latest news of his ward. + +"Evidently we shan't get Helena back just yet. I shall run up next week +to see her, I think, Cynthia, if you will let me. I really will take +Arthur to Beechmark this week. Mrs. Mawson has arranged everything. His +rooms are all ready for him. Will you come and look at them to-morrow?" + +Cynthia did not reply at once, and he watched her a little anxiously. He +was well aware what giving up the boy would mean to her. Her devotion had +been amazing. But the wrench must come some time. + +"Yes, of course--you must take him," said Cynthia, at last. "If only--I +hadn't come to love him so!" + +She didn't cry. She was perfectly self-possessed. But there was something +in her pensive, sorrowful look that affected Philip more than any +vehement emotion could have done. The thought of all her devotion--their +long friendship--her womanly ways--came upon him overwhelmingly. + +But another thought checked it--Helena!--and his promise to her dead +mother. If he now made Cynthia the mistress of Beechmark, Helena would +never return to it. For they were incompatible. He saw it plainly. And to +Helena he was bound; while she needed the shelter of his roof. + +So that the words that were actually on Philip's lips remained unspoken. +They walked back rather silently to the cottage. + +At supper Cynthia told her sister that the boy, with Zélie and his +teacher, would soon trouble her no more. Georgina expressed an ungracious +satisfaction, adding abruptly--"You'll be able to see him there, Cynthy, +just as well as here." + +Cynthia made no reply. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +Mrs. Friend was sitting in the bow-window of the "Fisherman's Rest," a +small Welsh inn in the heart of Snowdonia. The window was open, and a +smell of damp earth and grass beat upon Lucy in gusts from outside, +carried by a rainy west wind. Beyond the road, a full stream, white and +foaming after rain, was dashing over a rocky bed towards some rapids +which closed the view. The stream was crossed by a little bridge, and +beyond it rose a hill covered with oak-wood. Above the oak-wood and along +the road to the right--mountain forms, deep blue and purple, were +emerging from the mists which had shrouded them all day. The sun +was breaking through. A fierce northwest wind which had been tearing the +young leaf of the oak-woods all day, and strewing it abroad, had just +died away. Peace was returning, and light. The figure of Helena had just +disappeared through the oak-wood; Lucy would follow her later. + +Behind Mrs. Friend, the walls of the inn parlour were covered deep in +sketches of the surrounding scenery--both oil and water-colour, bad and +good, framed and unframed, left there by the artists who haunted the inn. +The room was also adorned by a glass case full of stuffed birds, badly +moth-eaten, a book-case containing some battered books mostly about +fishing, and a large Visitors' Book lying on a centre-table, between a +Bradshaw and an old guide-book. Shut up, in winter, the little room would +smell intolerably close and musty. But with the windows open, and a rainy +sun streaming in, it spoke pleasantly of holidays for plain hard-working +folk, and of that "passion for the beauty flown," which distils, from the +summer hours of rest, strength for the winter to come. + +Lucy had let Helena go out alone, of set purpose. For she knew, or +guessed, what Nature and Earth had done for Helena during the month they +had passed together in this mountain-land, since that night at Beechmark. +Helena had made no moan--revealed nothing. Only a certain paleness in her +bright cheek, a certain dreamy habit that Lucy had not before noticed in +her; a restlessness at night which the thin partitions of the old inn +sometimes made audible, betrayed that the youth in her was fighting its +first suffering, and fighting to win. Lucy had never dared to +speak--still less to pity. But her love was always at hand, and Helena +had repaid it, and the silence it dictated, with an answering love. Lucy +believed--though with trembling--that the worst was now over, and that +new horizons were opening on the stout soul that had earned them. But +now, as before, she held her peace. + +Her diary lay on her lap, and she was thoughtfully turning it over. It +contained nothing but the barest entries of facts. But they meant a good +deal to her, as she looked through them. Every letter, for instance, from +Beechmark had been noted. Lord Buntingford had written three times to +Helena, and twice to herself. She had seen Helena's letters; and Helena +had read hers. It seemed to her that Helena had deliberately shown her +own; that the act was part of the conflict which Lucy guessed at, but +must not comment on, by word or look. All the letters were the true +expression of the man. The first, in which he described in words, few; +but singularly poignant, the death of his wife, his recognition of his +son, and the faint beginnings of hope for the boy's maimed life, had +forced tears from Lucy. Helena had read it dry-eyed. But for several +hours afterwards, on an evening of tempest, she had vanished out of ken, +on the mountainside; coming back as night fell, her hair and clothes, +dripping with rain, her cheeks glowing from her battle with the storm, +her eyes strangely bright. + +Her answers to her guardian's letters had been, to Lucy's way of +thinking, rather cruelly brief; at least after the first letter written +in her own room, and posted by herself. Thenceforward, only a few +post-cards, laid with Lucy's letters, for her or any one else to read, if +they chose. And meanwhile Lucy was tolerably sure that she was slowly but +resolutely making her own plans for the months ahead. + +The little diary contained also the entry of Geoffrey French's visit--a +long week-end, during which as far as Lucy could remember, Helena and he +had never ceased "chaffing" from morning till night, and Helena had +certainly never given him any opportunity for love-making. She, Lucy, had +had a few short moments alone with him, moments in which his gaiety had +dropped from him, like a ragged cloak, and a despondent word or two had +given her a glimpse of the lover he was not permitted to be, beneath the +role of friend he was tired of playing. He was coming again soon. Helena +had neither invited nor repelled him. Whereas she had peremptorily bidden +Peter Dale for this particular Sunday, and he had thrown over half a +dozen engagements to obey her. + +"Good afternoon, Mrs. Friend. Is Miss Pitstone at home?" + +The speaker was a shaggy old fellow in an Inverness cape and an ancient +wide-awake, carrying a portfolio and a camp-stool. He had stopped in his +walk outside the open window, and his disappointed look searched the inn +parlour for a person who was not there. + +"Oh, Mr. McCready, I'm so sorry!--but Miss Pitstone is out, and I don't +know when she will be back." + +The artist undid his portfolio, and laid a half-finished sketch--a sketch +of Helena's--on the window-sill. + +"Will you kindly give her this? I have corrected it--made some notes on +the side. Do you think Miss Helena will be likely to be sketching +to-morrow?" + +"I'm afraid I can't promise for her. She seems to like walking better +than anything else just now." + +"Yes, she's a splendid walker," said the old man, with a sigh. "I envy +her strength. Well, if she wants me, she knows where to find me--just +beyond that bend there." He pointed to the river. + +"I'll tell her--and I'll give her the sketch. Good-bye." + +She watched him heavily cross the foot-bridge to the other side of the +river. Her quick pity went with him, for she herself knew well what it +meant to be solitary and neglected. He seldom sold a picture, and nobody +knew what he lived on. The few lessons he had given Helena had been as a +golden gleam in a very grey day. But alack, Helena had soon tired of her +lessons, as she had tired of the mile of coveted trout-fishing that Mr. +Evans of the farm beyond the oak-wood had pressed upon her--or of the +books the young Welsh-speaking curate of the little mountain church near +by was so eager to lend her. Through and behind a much gentler manner, +the girl's familiar self was to be felt--by Lucy at least--as clearly as +before. She was neither to be held nor bound. Attempt to lay any fetter +upon her--of hours, or habit--and she was gone; into the heart of the +mountains where no one could follow her. Lucy would often compare with it +the eager docility of those last weeks at Beechmark. + + * * * * * + +Helena's walk had taken her through the dripping oak-wood and over the +crest of the hill to a ravine beyond, where the river, swollen now by the +abundant rains which had made an end of weeks of drought, ran, noisily +full, between two steep banks of mossy crag. From the crag, oaks hung +over the water, at fantastic angles, holding on, as it seemed, by one +foot and springing from the rock itself; while delicate rock plants, and +fern fringed every ledge down to the water. A seat on the twisted roots +of an overhanging oak, from which, to either side, a little green path, +as though marked for pacing, ran along the stream, was one of her +favourite haunts. From up-stream a mountain peak now kerchiefed in wisps +of sunlit cloud peered in upon her. Above it, a lake of purest blue from +which the wind, which had brought them, was now chasing the clouds; and +everywhere the glory of the returning sun, striking the oaks to gold, and +flinging a chequer of light on the green floor of the wood. + +Helena sat down to wait for Peter, who would be sure to find her wherever +she hid herself. This spot was dear to her, as those places where life +has consciously grown to a nobler stature are dear to men and women. It +was here that within twenty-four hours of her last words with Philip +Buntingford, she had sat wrestling with something which threatened vital +forces in her that her will consciously, desperately, set itself to +maintain. Through her whole ripened being, the passion of that inner +debate was still echoing; though she knew that the fight was really won. +It had run something like this: + +"Why am I suffering like this? + +"Because I am relaxed--unstrung. Why should I have everything I +want--when others go bare? Philip went bare for years. He endured--and +suffered. Why not I? + +"But it is worse for me--who am young! I have a right to give way to what +I feel--to feel it to the utmost. + +"That was the doctrine for women before the war--the old-fashioned women. +The modern woman is stronger. She is not merely nerves and feeling. She +must _never_ let feeling--pain--destroy her will! Everything depends upon +her will. If I choose I _can_ put this feeling down. I have no right to +it. Philip has done me no wrong. If I yield to it, if it darkens my life, +it will be another grief added to those he has already suffered. It +shan't darken my life. I will--and can master it. There is so much still +to learn, to do, to feel. I must wrench myself free--and go forward. How +I chattered to Philip about the modern woman!--and how much older I feel, +than I was then! If one can't master oneself, one is a slave--all the +same. I didn't know--how could I know?--that the test was so near. If +women are to play a greater and grander part in the world, they must be +much, much greater in soul, firmer in will. + +"Yet--I must cry a little. No one could forbid me that. But it must be +over soon." + +Then the letters from Beechmark had begun to arrive, each of them +bringing its own salutary smart as part of a general cautery. No guardian +could write more kindly, more considerately. But it was easy to see that +Philip's whole being was, and would be, concentrated on his unfortunate +son. And in that ministry Cynthia Welwyn was his natural partner, had +indeed already stepped into the post; so that gratitude, if not passion, +would give her sooner or later all that she desired. + +"Cynthia has got the boy into her hands--and Philip with him. Well, that +was natural. Shouldn't I have done the same? Why should I feel like a +jealous beast, because Cynthia has had her chance, and taken it? I won't +feel like this! It's vile!--it's degrading! Only I wish Cynthia was +bigger, more generous--because he'll find it out some day. She'll never +like me, just because he cares for me--or did. I mean, as my guardian, or +an elder brother. For it was never--no never!--anything else. So when she +comes in at the front door, I shall go out at the back. I shall have to +give up even the little I now have. Let me just face what it means. + +"Yet perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps Cynthia isn't as mean-spirited as I +think. + +"It's wonderful about the boy. I envy Cynthia--I can't help it. I would +have given my whole life to it. I would have been trained--perhaps +abroad. No one should have taught him but me. But then--if Philip had +loved me--only that was never possible!--he would have been jealous of +the boy--and I should have lost him. I never do things in moderation. I +go at them so blindly. But I shall learn some day." + +Thoughts like these, and many others, were rushing through Helena's mind, +as after a long walk she found her seat again over the swollen stream. +The evening had shaken itself free of the storm, and was pouring an +incredible beauty on wood and river. The intoxication of it ran through +Helena's veins. For she possessed in perfection that earth-sense, that +passionate sense of kinship, kinship both of the senses and the spirit, +with the eternal beauty of the natural world, which the gods implant in a +blest minority of mortals. No one who has it can ever be wholly forlorn, +while sense and feeling remain. + +Suddenly:--a little figure on the opposite bank, and a child's cry. + +Helena sprang to her feet in dismay. She saw the landlord's small son, a +child of five, who had evidently lost his footing on the green bank above +the crag which faced her, and was sliding down, unable to help himself, +towards the point where nothing could prevent his falling headlong into +the stream below. The bank, however, was not wholly bare. There were some +thin gnarled oaks upon it, which might stop him. + +"Catch hold of the trees, Bobby!" she shouted to him, in an agony. + +The child heard, turned a white face to her, and tried to obey. He was +already a stalwart little mountaineer, accustomed to trot over the fells +after his father's sheep, and the physical instinct in his, sturdy limbs +saved him. He caught a jutting root, held on, and gradually dragged +himself up to the cushion of moss from which the tree grew, sitting +astride the root, and clasping the tree with both arms. The position was +still extremely dangerous, but for the moment he was saved. + +"All right, Bobby--clever boy! Hold tight--I'm coming!" + +And she rushed towards a little bridge at the head of the ravine. But +before she could reach it, she saw the lad's father, cautiously +descending the bank, helped by a rope tied to an oak tree at the top. He +reached the child, tied the rope to the stem of the tree where the little +fellow was sitting, and then with the boy under one arm and hauling on +the rope with the other hand, he made his way up the few perilous yards +that divided them from safety. At the top he relieved his parental +feelings by a good deal of smacking and scolding. For Bobby was a +notorious "limb," the terror of his mother and the inn generally. He +roared vociferously under the smacking. But when Helena arrived on the +scene, he stopped at once, and put out a slim red tongue at her. Helena +laughed, congratulated the father on his skill, and returned to her seat. + +"That's a parable of me!" she thought, as she sat with her elbows on her +knees, staring at the bank opposite. + +"I very nearly slipped in!--like Bobby--but not quite. I'm sound--though +bruised. No desperate harm done." She drew a long breath--laughing to +herself--though her eyes were rather wet. "Well, now, then--what am I +going to do? I'm not going into a convent. I don't think I'm even going +to college. I'm going to take my guardian's advice. 'Marry--my dear +child--and bring up children.' 'Marry?'--Very well!"--she sprang to her +feet--"I shall marry!--that's settled. As to the children--that remains +to be seen!" + +And with her hands behind her, she paced the little path, in a strange +excitement and exaltation. Presently from the tower of the little church, +half a mile down the river, a bell began to strike the hour. "Six +o'clock!--Peter will be here directly. Now, _he's_ got to be +lectured--for his good. I'm tired of lecturing myself. It's somebody +else's turn--" + +And taking a letter from her pocket, she read and pondered it with +smiling eyes. "Peter will think I'm a witch. Dear old Peter! ... Hullo!" + +For the sound of her name, shouted by some one still invisible, caught +her ear. She shouted back, and in another minute the boyish form of +Peter Dale emerged among the oaks above her. Three leaps, and he was +at her side. + +"I say, Helena, this is jolly! You were a brick to write. How I got +here I'm sure I don't know. I seem to have broken every rule, and +put everybody out. My boss will sack me, I expect. Never mind!--I'd +do it again!" + +And dropping to a seat beside her, on a fallen branch that had somehow +escaped the deluge of the day, he feasted his eyes upon her. She had +clambered back into her seat, and taken off her water-proof hat. Her hair +was tumbling about her ears, and her bright cheeks were moist with rain, +or rather with the intermittent showers that the wind shook every now and +then from the still dripping oak trees above her. Peter thought her +lovelier than ever--a wood-nymph, half divine. Yet, obscurely, he felt a +change in her, from the beginning of their talk. Why had she sent for +him? The wildest notions had possessed him, ever since her letter reached +him. Yet, now that he saw her, they seemed to float away from him, like +thistle-down on the wind. + +"Helena!--why did you send for me?" + +"I was very dull, Peter,--I wanted you to amuse me!" + +The boy laughed indignantly. + +"That's all very well, Helena--but it won't wash. You're jolly well used +to getting all you want, I know--but you wouldn't have ordered me up +from Town--twelve hours in a beastly train--packed like sardines--just +to tell me that." + +Helena looked at him thoughtfully. She began to eat some unripe +bilberries which she had gathered from the bank beside her, and they made +little blue stains on her white teeth. + +"Old boy--I wanted to give you some advice." + +"Well, give it quick," said Peter impatiently. + +"No--you must let me take my time. Have you been to a great many dances +lately, Peter?" + +"You bet!" The young Adonis shrugged his shoulders. "I seem to have been +through a London season, which I haven't done, of course, since 1914. +Never went to so many dances in my life!" + +"Somebody tells me, Peter, that--you're a dreadful flirt!" said Helena, +still with those grave, considering eyes. + +Peter laughed--but rather angrily. + +"All very well for you to talk, Miss Helena! Please--how many men were +you making fools of--including your humble servant--before you went down +to Beechmark? You have no conscience, Helena! You are the 'Belle Dame +sans merci.'" + +"All that is most unjust--and ridiculous!" said Helena mildly. + +Peter went off into a peal of laughter. Helena persisted. + +"What do you call flirting, Peter?" + +"Turning a man's head--making him believe that you're gone on him--when, +in fact, you don't care a rap!" + +"Peter!--then of course you _know_ I never flirted with you!" said +Helena, with vigour. Peter hesitated, and Helena at once pursued her +advantage. + +"Let's talk of something more to the point. I'm told, Peter, that +you've been paying great attentions--marked attentions--to a very +nice girl--that everybody's talking about it,--and that you ought +long ago either to have fixed it up,--or cleared out. What do you say +to that, Peter?" + +Peter flushed. + +"I suppose you mean--Jenny Dumbarton," he said slowly. "Of course, she's +a very dear, pretty, little thing. But do you know why I first took to +her?" He looked defiantly at his companion. + +"No." + +"Because--she's rather like you. She's your colour--she has your +hair--she's a way with her that's something like you. When I'm dancing +with her, if I shut my eyes, I can sometimes fancy--it's you!" + +"Oh, goodness!" cried Helena, burying her face in her hands. It was a cry +of genuine distress. Peter was silent a moment. Then he came closer. + +"Just look at me, please, Helena!" + +She raised her eyes unwillingly. In the boy's beautiful clear-cut +face the sudden intensity of expression compelled her--held her +guiltily silent. + +"Once more, Helena"--he said, in a voice that shook--"is there no +chance for me?" + +"No, no, dear Peter!" she cried, stretching out her hands to him. "Oh, I +thought that was all over. I sent for you because I wanted just to say to +you--don't trifle!--don't shilly-shally! I know Jenny Dumbarton a little. +She's charming--she's got a delicate, beautiful character--and such a +warm heart! Don't break anybody's heart, Peter--for my silly sake!" + +The surge of emotion in Peter subsided slowly. He began to study the moss +at his feet, poking at it with his stick. + +"What makes you think I've been breaking Jenny's heart?" he said at last +in another voice. + +"Some of your friends, Peter, yours and mine--have been writing to +me. She's--she's very fond of you, they say, and lately she's been +looking a little limp ghost--all along of you, Mr. Peter! What have +you been doing?" + +"What any other man in my position would have been doing--wishing +to Heaven I knew _what_ to do!" said Peter, still poking vigorously +at the moss. + +Helena bent forward from the oak tree, and just whispered--"Go back +to-morrow, Peter,--and propose to Jenny Dumbarton!" + +Peter could not trust himself to look up at what he knew must be the +smiling seduction of her eyes and lips. He was silent; and Helena +withdrew--dryad-like--into the hollow made by the intertwined stems of +the oak, threw her head back against the main trunk, dropped her eyelids, +and waited. + +"Are you asleep, Helena?" said Peter's voice at last. + +"Not at all." + +"Then sit up, please, and listen to me." + +She obeyed. Peter was standing over her, his hands on his sides, looking +very manly, and rather pale. + +"Having disposed of me for the last six months--you may as well dispose +of me altogether," he said slowly. "Very well--I will go--and propose +to Jenny Dumbarton---the day after to-morrow. Her people asked me for +the week-end. I gave a shuffling answer. I'll wire to her to-morrow +that I'm coming--" + +"Peter--you're a darling!" cried Helena in delight, clapping her hands. +"_Oh_!--I wish I could see Jenny's face when she opens the wire! You'll +be very good to her, Peter?" + +She looked at him searchingly, stirred by one of the sudden tremors that +beset even the most well-intentioned match-maker. + +Peter smiled, with a rather twisted lip, straightening his shoulders. + +"I shouldn't ask any girl to marry me, that I couldn't love and honour, +not even to please you, Helena! And she knows all about you!" + +"She doesn't!" said Helena, in consternation. + +"Yes, she does. I don't mean to say that I've told her the exact number +of times you've refused me. But she knows quite enough. She'll take +me--if she does take me--with her eyes open. Well, now that's +settled!--But you interrupted me. There's one condition, Helena!" + +"Name it." She eyed him nervously. + +--"That in return for managing my life, you give me some indication of +how you're going to manage your own!" + +Helena fell back on the bilberry stalk, to gain time. + +--"Because--" resumed Peter--"it's quite clear the Beechmark situation is +all bust up. Philip's got an idiot-boy to look after--with Cynthia Welwyn +in constant attendance. I don't see any room for you there, Helena!" + +"Neither do I," said Helena, quietly. "You needn't tell me that." + +"Well, then, what are you going to do?" + +"You forget, Peter, that I possess the dearest and nicest little +chaperon. I can roam the world where I please--without making any +scandals." + +"You'll always make scandals--" + +"_Scandals_, Peter!" protested Helena. + +"Well, victories, wherever you go--unless somebody has you pretty tightly +in hand. But you and I--both know a man--that would be your match!" + +He had moved, so as to stand firmly across the little path that ran +from Helena's seat to the inn. She began to fidget--to drop one foot, +that had been twisted under her, to the ground, as though "on tiptoe +for a flight." + +"It's time for supper, Peter. Mrs. Friend will think we're drowned. And I +caught such a beautiful dish of trout yesterday,--all for your benefit! +There's a dear man here who puts on the worms." + +"You don't go, till I get an answer, Helena." + +"There's nothing to answer. I've no plans. I draw, and fish, and read +poetry. I have some money in the bank; and Cousin Philip will let me +do what I like with it. Lastly--I have another month in which to make +up my mind." + +"About what?" + +"Goose!--where to go next, of course." + +Peter shook his head. His mood was now as determined, as hot in pursuit, +as hers had been, a little earlier. + +"I bet you'll have to make up your mind about something much more +important than that--before long. I happened to be--in the Gallery of the +House of Commons yesterday--" + +"Improving your mind?" + +"Listening to a lot of wild men talking rot about the army. But there was +one man who didn't talk rot, though I agreed with scarcely a thing he +said. But then he's a Labour man--or thinks he is--and I know that I'm a +Tory--as blue as you make 'em. Anyway I'm perfectly certain you'd have +liked to be there, Miss Helena!" + +"Geoffrey?" said Helena coolly. + +"Right you are. Well, I can tell you he made a ripping success! The man +next to me in the gallery, who seemed to have been born and bred +there--knew everybody and everything--and got as much fun out of it as I +do out of 'Chu-Chin-Chow'--he told me it was the first time Geoffrey had +really got what he called the 'ear of the House'--it was pretty full +too!--and that he was certain to get on--office, and all that kind of +thing--if he stuck to it. He certainly did it jolly well. He made even an +ignorant ass like me sit up. I'd go and hear him again--I vow I would! +And there was such a fuss in the lobby! I found Geoffrey there, +shovelling out hand-shakes, and talking to press-men. An old uncle of +mine--nice old boy--who's sat for a Yorkshire constituency for about a +hundred years, caught hold of me. 'Know that fellow, Peter?' 'Rather!' +'Good for you! _He's_ got his foot on the ladder--he'll climb.'" + +"Horrid word!" said Helena. + +"Depends on what you mean by it. If you're to get to the top, I suppose +you must climb. Now, then, Helena!--if you won't take a man like me whom +you can run--take a man like Geoffrey who can run you--and make you jolly +happy all the same! There--I can give advice too, you see--and you've no +right to be offended!" + +Helena could not keep her features still. Her eyes shot fire, though of +what kind the fire might be Peter was not quite sure. The two young +creatures faced each other. There was laughter in each face, but +something else; something strenuous, tragic even; as though "Life at its +grindstone set" had been at work on the radiant pair, evoking the +Meredithian series of intellect from the senses,--"brain from blood"; +with "spirit," or generous soul, for climax. + +But unconsciously Peter had moved aside. In a flash Helena had slipped +past him, and was flying through the wood, homeward, looking back to mock +him, as he sped after her in vain. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +A week had passed. Mrs. Friend at ten o'clock in the morning had just +been having a heart to heart talk with the landlady of the inn on the +subject of a decent luncheon for three persons, and a passable dinner for +four. Food at the inn was neither good nor well-cooked, and as criticism, +even the mildest, generally led to tears, Mrs. Friend's morning lot, when +any guest was expected, was not a happy one. It was a difficult thing +indeed to get anything said or settled at all; since the five-year old +Bobby was generally scrimmaging round, capturing his mother's broom and +threatening to "sweep out" Mrs. Friend, or brandishing the meat-chopper, +as a still more drastic means of dislodging her. The little villain, +having failed to drown himself, was now inclined to play tricks with his +small sister, aged eight weeks; and had only that morning, while his +mother's back was turned, taken the baby out of her cradle, run down a +steep staircase with her in his arms, and laid her on a kitchen chair, +forgetting all about her a minute afterwards. Even a fond mother had been +provoked to smacking, and the inn had been filled with howls and +roarings, which deadened even the thunder of the swollen stream outside. +Then Helena, her fingers in her ears, had made a violent descent upon the +kitchen, and carried off the "limb" to the river, where, being given +something to do in the shape of damming up a brook that ran into the main +stream, he had suddenly developed angelic qualities, and tied himself to +Helena's skirts. + +There they both were, on the river's pebbly bank, within hail, Helena in +a short white skirt with a green jersey and cap. She was alternately +helping Bobby to build the dam, and lying with her hands beneath her +head, under the shelter of the bank. Moderately fine weather had +returned, and the Welsh farmer had once more begun to hope that after all +he might get in his oats. The morning sun sparkled on the river, on the +freshly washed oak-woods, and on Bobby's bare curly head, as he sat +busily playing beside Helena. + +What was Helena thinking of? Lucy Friend would have given a good deal to +know. On the little table before Lucy lay two telegrams: one signed +"Geoffrey" announced that he would reach Bettws station by twelve, and +the "Fisherman's Rest" about half an hour later. The other announced the +arrival of Lord Buntingford by the evening train. Lord Buntingford's +visit had been arranged two or three days before; and Mrs. Friend wished +it well over. He was of course coming to talk about plans with his ward, +who had now wasted the greater part of the London season in this +primitive corner of Wales. And both he and Geoffrey were leaving historic +scenes behind them in order to spend these few hours with Helena. For +this was Peace Day, when the victorious generals and troops of the +Empire, and the Empire's allies, were to salute England's king amid the +multitudes of London, in solemn and visible proof that the long nightmare +of the war had found its end. Buntingford had naturally no heart for +pageants; but Helena had been astonished by Geoffrey's telegram, which +had arrived the night before from the Lancashire town he represented in +Parliament. As an M.P. he ought surely to have been playing his part in +the great show. Moreover, she had not expected him so soon, and she had +done nothing to hurry his coming. His telegram had brought a great flush +of colour into her face. But she made no other sign. + +"Oh, well, we can take them out to see bonfires!" she had said, putting +on her most careless air, and had then dismissed the subject. For that +night the hills of the north were to run their fiery message through the +land, blazoning a greater victory than Drake's; and Helena, who had by +now made close friends with the mountains, had long since decided on the +best points of view. + +Since then Lucy had received no confidences, and asked no questions. A +letter had reached her, however; by the morning's post, from Miss Alcott, +giving an account of the situation at Beechmark, of the removal of the +boy to his father's house, and of the progress that had been made in +awakening his intelligence and fortifying his bodily health. + +"It is wonderful to see the progress he has made--so far, entirely +through imitation and handwork. He begins to have some notion of counting +and numbers--he has learnt to crochet and thread beads---poor little lad +of fifteen!--he has built not only a tower but something like a house, of +bricks--and now his enthusiastic teacher is attempting to teach him the +first rudiments of speech, in this wonderful modern way--lip-reading and +the like. He has been under training for about six weeks, and certainly +the results are most promising. I believe his mother protested to Lord +Buntingford that he had not been neglected. Nobody can believe her, who +sees now what has been done. Apparently a brain-surgeon in Naples was +consulted as to the possibility of an operation. But when that was +dropped, nothing else was ever tried, no training was attempted, and the +child would have fared very badly, if it had not been for the old +_bonne_--Zélie--who was and is devoted to him. His mother was ashamed of +him, and came positively to hate the sight of him. + +"But the tragic thing is that as his mind develops, his body seems to +weaken. Food, special exercise, massage--poor Lord Buntingford has been +trying everything--but with small result. It is pitiful to see him +watching the child, and hanging on the doctors. 'Shall we stop all the +teaching?' he said to John the other day in despair--'my first object is +that he should _live_,' But it would be cruel to stop the teaching now. +The child would not allow it. He himself has caught the passion of it. +He seems to me to live in a fever of excitement and joy, as one step +follows another, and the door opens a little wider for his poor prisoned +soul. He adores his father, and will sit beside him, stroking his silky +beard, with his tiny fingers, and looking at him with his large pathetic +eyes ... They have taken him to Beechmark, as you know, and given him a +set of rooms, where he and his wonderful little teacher, Miss +Denison--trained in the Séguin method, they say--and the old _bonne_ +Zélie live. The nurse has gone. + +"I am so sorry for Lady Cynthia--she seems to miss him so. Of course +she goes over to Beechmark a good deal, but it is not the same as +having him under her own roof. And she was so good to him! She looks +tired of late, and rather depressed. I wonder if her dragoon of a +sister has been worrying her. Of course Lady Georgina is enchanted to +have got rid of Arthur. + +"I am very glad to hear Lord Buntingford is going to Wales. Miss Pitstone +has been evidently a great deal on his mind. He said to John the other +day that he had arranged everything at Beechmark so that, when you and +she came back, he did not think you would find Arthur in the way. The +boy's rooms are in a separate wing, and would not interfere at all with +visitors. I said to him once that I was sure Miss Helena would be very +fond of the little fellow. But he frowned and looked distressed. 'I +should scarcely allow her to see him,' he said. I asked why. 'Because a +young girl ought to be protected from anything irremediably sad. Life +should be always bright for her. And I can still make it bright for +Helena--I intend to make it bright.' + +"Good-bye, my dear Mrs. Friend. John and I miss you very much." + +A last sentence which gave Lucy Friend a quite peculiar pleasure. Her +modest ministrations in the parish and the school had amply earned it. +But it amazed her that anyone should attach any value to them. And that +Mr. Alcott should miss her--why, it was ridiculous! + +Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Helena, returning to the +inn along the river bank, with Bobby clinging to her skirt. + +"Take him in tow, please," said Helena through the window. "I am going to +walk a little way to meet Geoffrey." + +Bobby's chubby hand held her so firmly that he could only be detached +from her by main force. He was left howling in Mrs. Friend's grasp, till +Helena, struck with compunction, turned back from the bend of the road, +to stuff a chocolate into his open mouth, and then ran off again, +laughing at the sudden silence which had descended on hill and stream. + +Through the intermittent shade and sunshine of the day, Helena stepped +on. She had never held herself so erect; never felt so conscious of an +intense and boundless vitality. Yet she was quite uncertain as to what +the next few hours would bring her. Peter had given a hint--that she was +sure; and she was now, it seemed, to be wooed in earnest. On Geoffrey's +former visit, she had teased him so continuously, and put so many petty +obstacles of all kinds in his way, that he had finally taken his cue from +her, and they had parted, in a last whirlwind of "chaff," but secretly +angry, with each other or themselves. + +"He might have held out a little longer," thought Helena. "When shall I +ever get a serious word from her?" thought French. + +Slowly she descended the long and winding hill leading to the village. +From the few scattered cottages and farms in sight, flags were fluttering +out. Groups of school children were scattered along the road, waving +little flags and singing. Over the wide valley below her, with its woody +hills and silver river, floated great cloud-shadows, chasing and chased +by the sun. There were wild roses in the hedges, and perfume in every +gust of wind. The summer was at its height, and the fire and sap of it +were running full-tilt in Helena's pulses. + +Far down the winding road she saw at last a man on a motor +bicycle--bare-headed, and long-bodied. + +Up he came, and soon was near enough to wave to her, while Helena was +still scolding her own emotions. When he flung himself off beside her, +she saw at once that he had come in an exultant mood expecting triumph. +And immediately something perverse in her--or was it merely the old +primeval instinct of the pursued maiden--set itself to baffle him. + +"Very nice to see you!" she smiled, as she gave him a passive hand--"but +why aren't you in the Mall?" + +"My Sovereign had not expressed any burning desire for my presence. Can't +we go to-night and feed a bonfire?" + +"Several, if you like. I have watched the building of three. But it +will rain." + +"That won't matter," he said joyously. "Nothing will matter!" And again +his ardent look challenged in her the Eternal Feminine. + +"I don't agree. I hate a wet mackintosh dripping into my boots, and +Cousin Philip won't see any fun in it if it rains." + +He drew up suddenly. + +"Philip!" he said, with a frown of irritation. "What has Philip to +do with it?" + +"He arrives to-night by the London train." + +He resumed his walk beside her, in silence, pushing his bicycle. Had +she done it of malice prepense? No--impossible! He had only +telegraphed his own movements to her late on the previous evening, +much too late to make any sudden arrangement with Philip, who was +coming from an Eastern county. + +"He is coming to find out your plans?" + +"I suppose so. But I have no plans." + +He stole a look at her. Yes--there was change in her, even since they had +met last:--a richer, intenser personality, suggested by a new +self-mastery. She seemed to him older--and a thought remote. Fears flew +through him. What had been passing in her mind since he had seen her +last? or in Philip's? Had he been fooled after all by those few wild +words from Peter, which had reached him in Lancashire, bidding him catch +his opportunity, or rue the loss of it for ever? + +She saw the effervescence in him die down, and became gracious at once. +Especially because they were now in sight of the inn, and of Lucy +Friend sitting in the little garden beside the road. Geoffrey pulled +himself together, and prepared to play the game that Helena set him, +until the afternoon and the walk she could not deny him, should give +him his chance. + +The little meal passed gaily, and after it Lucy Friend watched--not +without trepidation--Helena's various devices for staving off the crisis. +She had two important letters to write; she must go and watch Mr. +McCready sketching, as she had promised to do, or the old fellow would +never forgive her; and finally she invited the fuming M.P. to fish the +preserved water with her, accompanied by the odd-man as gilly. At this +Geoffrey's patience fairly broke. He faced her, crimson, in the inn +parlour; forgetting Lucy altogether and standing in front of the door, so +that Lucy could not escape and could only roll herself in a curtain and +look out of the window. + +"I didn't come here to fish, Helena--or to sketch--but simply and solely +to talk to you! And I have come a long way. Suppose we take a walk?" + +Helena eyed him. She was a little pale--but composed. + +"At your service. Lead on, Sir Oracle!" + +They went out together, Geoffrey taking command, and Lucy watched them +depart, across the foot-bridge, and by a green path that would lead them +before long to the ferny slopes of the mountain beyond the oak-wood. As +Helena was mounting the bridge, a servant of the inn ran out with a +telegram which had just arrived and gave it her. + +Helena peered at the telegram, and then with a dancing smile thrust it +into her pocket without a word. + +Her mood, as they walked on, was now, it seemed, eagerly political. She +insisted on hearing his own account of his successful speech in the +House; she wished to discuss his relations with the Labour party, which +were at the moment strained, on the question of Coal Nationalization; she +asked for his views on the Austrian Treaty, and on the prospects of the +Government. He lent himself to her caprice, so long as they were walking +one behind the other through a crowded oak-wood and along a narrow path +where she could throw her questions back over her shoulder, herself well +out of reach. But presently they came out on a glorious stretch of fell, +clothed with young green fern, and running up into a purple crag fringed +with junipers. Then he sprang to her side, and Helena knew that the hour +had come and the man. There was a flat rock on the slope below the crag, +under a group of junipers, and Helena presently found herself sitting +there, peremptorily guided by her companion, and feeling dizzily that she +was beginning to lose control of the situation, as Geoffrey sank down +into the fern beside her. + +"At last!" he said, drawing a long breath--"_At last_!" + +He lay looking up at her, his long face working with emotion--the face of +an intellectual, with that deep scar on the temple, where a fragment of +shrapnel had struck him on the first day of the Somme advance. + +"Unkind Helena!" he said, in a low voice that shook--"_unkind Helena_!" + +Her lips framed a retort. Then suddenly the tears rushed into her eyes, +and she covered them with her hands. + +"I'm not unkind. I'm afraid!" + +"Afraid of what?" + +"I told you," she said piteously, "I didn't want to marry--I didn't want +to be bound!" + +"And you haven't changed your mind at all?" + +She didn't answer. There was silence a moment. Then she said abruptly: + +"Do you want to hear secrets, Geoffrey?" + +He pondered. + +"I don't know. I expect I guess them." + +"What do you guess?" She lifted a proud face. He touched her hand +tenderly. + +"I guess that when you came here--you were unhappy?" + +Her lip trembled. + +"I was--very unhappy." + +"And now?" he asked, caressing the hand he held. + +"Well, now--I've walked myself back into--into common sense. There!--I +had it out with myself. I may as well have it out with you! Two months +ago I was a bit in love with Cousin Philip. Now, of course, I love him--I +always shall love him--but I'm not _in_ love with him!" + +"Thank the Lord!" cried French--"since it has been the object of my life +for much more than two months to persuade you to be in love with me!" + +"I don't think I am--yet," said Helena slowly. + +Her look was strange--half repellent. On both sides indeed there was a +note of something else than prosperous love-making. On his, the +haunting doubt lest she had so far given her heart to Philip that full +fruition for himself, that full fruition which youth at its zenith +instinctively claims from love and fortune, could never be his. On +hers, the consciousness, scarcely recognized till now, of a moment of +mental exhaustion caused by mental conflict. She was half indignant +that he should press her, yet aware that she would miss the pressure if +it ceased; while he, believing that his cause was really won, and urged +on by Peter's hints, resented the barriers she would still put up +between them. + +There was a short silence after her last speech. Then Helena said +softly--half laughing: + +"You haven't talked philosophy to me, Geoffrey, for such a long time!" + +"What's the use?" said Geoffrey, who was lying on his face, his eyes +covered by his hands--"I'm not feeling philosophical." + +"All the same, you made me once read half a volume of Bergson. I didn't +understand much of it, except that--whatever else he is, he's a great +poet. And I do know something about poetry! But I remember one sentence +very well--Life--isn't it Life?--is 'an action which is making itself, +across an action of the same kind which is unmaking itself.' And he +compares it to a rocket in a fire-works display rushing up in flame +through the falling cinders of the dead rockets." + +She paused. + +"Go on--" + +"Give the cinders a little time to fall, Geoffrey!" she said in a +faltering voice. + +He looked up ardently. + +"Why? It's only the living fire that matters! Darling--let's come to +close quarters. You gave a bit of your warm heart to Philip, and you +imagined that it meant much more than it really did. And poor Philip all +the time was determined--cribbed and cabined--by his past,--and now by +his boy. We both know that if he marries anybody it will be Cynthia +Welwyn; and that he would be happier and less lonely if he married her. +But so long as your life is unsettled he will marry nobody. He remembers +that your mother entrusted you to him in the firm belief that, in his +uncertainty about his wife, he neither could nor would marry anybody. So +that for these two years, at any rate, he holds himself absolutely bound +to his compact with her and you." + +"And the moral of that is--" said Helena, flushing. + +"Marry me!--Nothing simpler. Then the compact falls--and at one stroke +you bring two men into port." + +The conflict of expressions passing through her features showed her +shaken. He waited. + +"Very well, Geoffrey--" she said at last, with a long, quivering breath, +as though some hostile force rent her and came out. + +"If you want me so much--take me!" + +But as she spoke she became aware of the lover in him ready to spring. +She drew back instantly from his cry of joy, and his outstretched arms. + +"Ah, but give me time--dear Geoffrey, give me time! You have my word." + +He controlled himself, warned by her agitation, and her pallor. + +"Mayn't we tell Philip--when he comes?" + +"Yes, we'll tell Philip--and Lucy--to-night. Not a word!--till then." She +jumped up--"Are you going to climb that crag before tea? I am!" + +She led him breathlessly up its steep side and down again. When they +regained the inn, Geoffrey had not even such a butterfly kiss to remember +as she had once given him in the lime-walk at Beechmark; and Lucy, trying +in her eager affection to solve the puzzle they presented her with, had +simply to give it up. + + * * * * * + +The day grew wilder. Great flights of clouds came up from the west and +fought the sun, and as the afternoon declined, light gusts of rain, +succeeded by bursts of sunshine, began to sweep across the oak-woods. The +landlord of the inn and his sons, who had been mainly responsible for +building the great bonfire on Moel Dun, and the farmers in their gigs who +stopped at the inn door, began to shake their heads over the prospects of +the night. Helena, Lucy Friend, and Geoffrey spent the afternoon chiefly +in fishing and wandering by the river. Helena clung to Lucy's side, +defying her indeed to leave her, and Geoffrey could only submit, and +count the tardy hours. They made tea in a green meadow beside the stream, +and immediately afterwards Geoffrey, looking at his watch, announced to +Mrs. Friend that he proposed to bicycle down to Bettws to meet Lord +Buntingford. + +Helena came with him to the inn to get his bicycle. They said little to +each other, till, just as he was departing, French bent over to her, as +she stood beside his machine. + +"Do I understand?--I may tell him?" + +"Yes." And then for the first time she smiled upon him; a smile that was +heavenly soft and kind; so that he went off in mounting spirits. + +Helena retraced her steps to the river-side, where they had left Lucy. +She sat down on a rock by Lucy's side, and instinctively Lucy put down +some knitting she held, and turned an eager face--her soul in her eyes. + +"Lucy--I am engaged to Geoffrey French." + +Lucy laughed and cried; held the bright head in her arms and kissed the +cheek that lay upon her shoulder. Helena's eyes too were wet; and in both +there was the memory of that night at Beechmark which had made them +sisters rather than friends. + +"And of course," said Helena--"you'll stay with me for ever." + +But Lucy was far too happy to think of her own future. She had made +friends--real friends--in these three months, after years of loneliness. +It seemed to her that was all that mattered. And half guiltily her +memory cherished those astonishing words--"_Mr. Alcott_ and I miss you +very much." + +A drizzling rain had begun when towards eight o'clock they heard the +sound of a motor coming up the Bettws road. Lucy retreated into the inn, +while Helena stood at the gate waiting. + +Buntingford waved to her as they approached, then jumped out and followed +her into the twilight of the inn parlour. + +"My dear Helena!" He put his arm round her shoulder and kissed her +heartily. "God bless you!--good luck to you! Geoffrey has given me the +best news I have heard for many a long day." + +"You are pleased?" she said, softly, looking at him. + +He sat down by her, holding her hands, and revealing to her his own +long-cherished dream of what had now come to pass. "The very day you came +to Beechmark, I wrote to Geoffrey, inviting him. And I saw you by chance +the day after the dance, together, in the lime-walk." Helena's start +almost drew her hands away. He laughed. "I wasn't eavesdropping, dear, +and I heard nothing. But my dream seemed to be coming true, and I went +away in tip-top spirits--just an hour, I think, before Geoffrey found +that drawing." + +He released her, with an unconscious sigh, and she was able to see how +much older he seemed to have grown; the touches of grey in his thick +black hair, and the added wrinkles round his eyes,--those blue eyes +that gave him his romantic look, and were his chief beauty. But he +resumed at once: + +"Well, now then, the sooner you come back to Beechmark the better. Think +of the lawyers--the trousseau--the wedding. My dear, you've no time to +waste!--nor have I. Geoffrey is an impatient fellow--he always was." + +"And I shall see Arthur?" she asked him gently. + +His look thanked her. But he did not pursue the subject. + +Then Geoffrey and Lucy Friend came in, and there was much talk of plans, +and a merry dinner _à quatre_. Afterwards, the rain seemed to have +cleared off a little, and through the yellow twilight a thin stream of +people, driving or on foot, began to pour past the inn, towards the +hills. Helena ran upstairs to put on an oilskin hat and cape over her +white dress. + +"You're coming to help light the bonfire?" said Geoffrey, +addressing Philip. + +Buntingford shook his head. He turned to Lucy. + +"You and I will let the young ones go--won't we? I don't see you climbing +Moel Dun in the rain, and I'm getting too old! We'll walk up the road a +bit, and look at the people as they go by. I daresay we shall see as much +as the other two." + +So the other two climbed, alone and almost in silence. Beside them and in +front of them, scattered up and along the twilight fell, were dim groups +of pilgrims bent on the same errand with themselves. It was not much past +nine o'clock, and the evening would have been still light but for the +drizzle of rain and the low-hanging clouds. As it was, those bound for +the beacon-head had a blind climb up the rocks and the grassy slopes that +led to the top. Helena stumbled once or twice, and Geoffrey caught her. +Thenceforward he scarcely let her go again. She protested at first, +mountaineer that she was; but he took no heed, and presently the warmth +of his strong clasp seemed to hypnotize her. She was silent, and let him +pull her up. + +On the top was a motley crowd of farmers, labourers and visitors, with a +Welsh choir from a neighbouring village, singing hymns and patriotic +songs. The bonfire was to be fired on the stroke of ten, by a +neighbouring landowner, whose white head and beard flashed hither and +thither through the crowd and the mist, as he gave his orders, and +greeted the old men, farmers and labourers, he had known for a lifetime. +The sweet Welsh voices rose in the "Men of Harlech," "Land of My +Fathers," or in the magnificent "Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory of the +Coming of the Lord." And when the moment arrived, and the white-haired +Squire, with his three chosen men, fired the four corners of the +high-built pile, out rushed the blaze, flaring up to heaven, defying the +rain, and throwing its crimson glow on the faces ringed round it. "God +Save the King!" challenged the dark, and then, hand in hand, the crowd +marched round about the pyramid of fire in measured rhythm, while "Auld +Lang Syne," sorrowfully sweet, echoed above the haunted mountain-top +where in the infancy of Britain, Celt and Roman in succession had built +their camps and reared their watch-towers. And presently from all +quarters of the great horizon sprang the answering flames from mountain +peaks that were themselves invisible in the murky night, while they sent +forward yet, without fail or break, the great torch-race of victory, +leaping on, invincible by rain or dark, far into the clouded north. + +But Geoffrey's eyes could not tear themselves from Helena. He saw her +bathed in light, from top to toe, now gold, now scarlet, a fire-goddess, +inimitably beautiful. They danced hand in hand, intoxicated by the music, +and by the movement of their young swaying bodies. He felt Helena +unconsciously leaning on him, her soft breath on his cheek. Her eyes were +his now, and her smiling lips, just parted over her white teeth, tempted +him beyond his powers of resistance. + +"Come!" he whispered to her, and with a quick turn of the hand he had +swung her out of the fiery circle, and drawn her towards the surrounding +dark. A few steps and they were on the mountainside again, while behind +them the top was still aflame, and black forms still danced round the +drooping fire. + +But they were safely curtained by night and the rising storm. After the +first stage of the descent, suddenly he flung his arms round her, his +mouth found hers, and all Helena's youth rushed at last to meet him as he +gathered her to his breast. + +"Geoffrey--my Tyrant!--let me go!" she panted. + +"Are you mine--are you mine, at last?--you wild thing!" + +"I suppose so--" she said, demurely. "Only, let me breathe!" + +She escaped, and he heard her say with low sweet laughter as though +to herself: + +"I seem at any rate to be following my guardian's advice!" + +"What advice? Tell me! you darling, tell me everything. I have a right +now to all your secrets." + +"Some day--perhaps." + +Darkness hid her eyes. Hand in hand they went down the hillside, while +the Mount of Victory still blazed behind them. + +Philip and Lucy were waiting for them. And then, at last, Helena +remembered her telegram of the afternoon, and read it to a group of +laughing hearers. + +"Right you are. I proposed last night to Jennie Dumbarton. Wedding, +October--Await reply. PETER." + +"He shall have his reply," said Helena. And she wrote it with Geoffrey +looking on. + +Not quite twenty-four hours later, Buntingford was walking up through +the late twilight to Beechmark. After the glad excitement kindled in him +by Helena's and Geoffrey's happiness, his spirits had dropped steadily +all the way home. There before him across the park, rose his large +barrack of a house, so empty, but for that frail life which seemed now +part of his own. + +He walked on, his eyes fixed on the lights in the rooms where his boy +was. When he reached the gate into the gardens, a figure came suddenly +out of the shrubbery towards him. + +"Cynthia!" + +"Philip! We didn't expect you till to-morrow." + +He turned back with her, inexpressibly comforted by her companionship. +The first item in his news was of course the news of Helena's engagement. +Cynthia's surprise was great, as she showed; so also was her relief, +which she did not show. + +"And the wedding is to be soon?" + +"Geoffrey pleads for the first week in September, that they may have time +to get to some favourite places of his in France before Parliament meets. +Helena and Mrs. Friend will be here to-morrow." + +After a pause he turned to her, with another note in his voice: + +"You have been with Arthur?" + +She gave an account of her day. + +"He misses you so. I wanted to make up to him a little." + +"He loves you--so do I!" said Buntingford. "Won't you come and take +charge of us both, dear Cynthia? I owe you so much already--I would do my +best to pay it." + +He took her hand and pressed it. All was said. + +Yet through all her gladness, Cynthia felt the truth of Georgina's +remark--"When he marries it will be for peace--not passion." Well, she +must accept it. The first-fruits were not for her. With all his chivalry +he would never be able to give her what she had it in her to give him. +It was the touch of acid in the sweetness of her lot. But sweet it was +all the same. + +When she told Georgina, her sister broke into a little laugh--admiring, +not at all unkind. + +"Cynthia, you are a clever woman! But I must point out that Providence +has given you every chance." + +Peace indeed was the note of Philip's mood that night, as he paced up and +down beside the lake after his solitary dinner. He was, momentarily at +least, at rest, and full of patient hope. His youth was over. He resigned +it, with a smile and a sigh; while seeming still to catch the echoes of +it far away, like music in some invisible city that a traveller leaves +behind him in the night. His course lay clear before him. Politics would +give him occupation, and through political life power might come to him. +But the real task to which he set his most human heart, in this moment of +change and reconstruction, was to make a woman and a child happy. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Helena, by Mrs. Humphry Ward + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13071 *** |