"She is killing herself!"--thought the girl in a sudden anguish--"killing herself with work and anxiety. And yet she always says she is so strong. What can I do? There is n.o.body that matters to her--n.o.body!--but me!"
And she recalled all she knew--it was very little--of Gertrude"s personal history. She had been unhappy at home. Her mother, a widow, had never been able to get on with her elder daughter, while petting and spoiling her only son and her younger girl, who was ten years Gertrude"s junior. Gertrude had been left a small sum of money by a woman friend, and had spent it in going to a west-country university and taking honours in history. She never spoke now of either her mother or her sister. Her sister was married, but Gertrude held no communication with her or her children. Delia had always felt it impossible to ask questions about her, and believed, with a thrilled sense of mystery, that some tragic incident or experience had separated the two sisters. Her brother also, it seemed, was as dead to her. But on all such personal matters Gertrude"s silence was insuperable, and Delia knew no more of them than on the first day of their meeting.
Indomitable figure! Worn with effort and struggle--worn above all with _hating_. Delia looked at it with a sob in her throat. Surely, surely, the great pa.s.sion, the great uplifting faith they had felt in common, was vital, was true! Only, somehow, after the large dreams and hopes of the early days, to come down to this perpetual campaign of petty law-breaking, and futile outrage, to these odious meetings and shrieking newspapers, was to be--well, discouraged!--heart-wearied.
"Only, she is not wearied, or discouraged!" thought Delia, despairingly. "And why am I?"
Was it hatefully true--after all--that she was being influenced--drawn away?
The girl flushed, breathing quick. She must master herself!--get rid of this foolish obsession of Winnington"s presence and voice--of a pair of grave, kind eyes--a look now perplexed, now sternly bright--a personality, limited no doubt, not very accessible to what Gertrude called "ideas," not quick to catch the last new thing, but honest, n.o.ble, tender, through and through.
Absurd! She was holding her own with him; she would hold her own. That very day she must grapple with him afresh. She had sent him a note that morning, and he had replied in a message that he would ride over to luncheon.
For the question of money was urgent. Delia was already overdrawn. Yet supplies were wanted for the newly rented flat, for Weston"s operation, for Gertrude"s expenses in London--for a hundred things.
She paced up and down, imagining the conversation, framing eloquent defences for her conduct, and again, from time to time, meanly, shamefacedly reminding herself of Winnington"s benefit under the will.
If she was a nuisance, she was at least a fairly profitable nuisance.
Winnington duly arrived at luncheon. The two ladies appeared to him as usual--Gertrude Marvell, self-possessed and quietly gay, ready to handle politics or books, on so light a note, that Winnington"s acute recollection of her, as the haranguing fury on the Latchford waggon, began to seem absurd even to himself. Delia also, lovely, restless, with bursts of talk, and more significant bursts of silence, produced on him her normal effect--as of a creature made for all delightful uses, and somehow jangled and out of tune.
After luncheon, she led the way to her own sitting-room. "I am afraid I must talk business," she said abruptly as she closed the door and stood confronting him. "I am overdrawn, Mr. Winnington, and I must have some more money."
Winnington laid down his cigarette, and looked at her in open-mouthed amazement.
"Overdrawn!--but--we agreed--"
"I know. You gave me what you thought was ample. Well, I have spent it, and there is nothing left to pay house bills, or servants with, or--or anything."
Her pale defiance gave him at once a hint of the truth.
"I fear I must ask what it has been spent on," he said, after a pause.
"Certainly. I gave 500 of it in one cheque to Miss Marvell. Of course you will guess how it has been spent."
Winnington took up his cigarette again, and smoked it thoughtfully. His colour was, perhaps, a little higher than usual.
"I am sorry you have done that. It makes it rather awkward both for you and for me. Perhaps I had better explain. The lawyers have been settling the debts on your father"s estate. That took a considerable sum. A mortgage has been paid off, according to directions in Sir Robert"s will. And some of the death duties have been paid. For the moment there is no money at all in the Trust account. I hope to have replenished it by the New Year, when I understood you would want fresh funds."
He sat on the arm of a chair and looked at her quietly.
Delia made no attempt at explanation or argument. After a short silence, she said--
"What will you do?"
"I must, of course, lend you some of my own."
Delia flushed violently.
"That is surely absurd, Mr. Winnington! My father left a large sum!"
"As his trustee I can only repeat that until some further securities are realised--which may take a little time--I have no money. But _you_ must have money--servants and tradesmen can"t go unpaid. I will give you, therefore, a cheque on my own bank--to replace that 500."
He drew his cheque book from his breast pocket. Delia was stormily walking up and down. It struck him sharply, first that she was wholly taken by surprise; and next that shock and emotion play finely with such a face as hers. He had never seen her so splendid. His own pulses ran.
"This--this is not at all what I want, Mr. Winnington! I want my own money--my father"s money! Why should I distress and inconvenience you?"
"I have tried to explain."
"Then let the lawyers find it somehow. Aren"t they there to do such things?"
"I a.s.sure you this is simplest. I happen"--he smiled--"to have enough in the bank. Alice and I can manage quite well till January!"
The mention of Mrs. Matheson was quite intolerable in Delia"s ears. She turned upon him--
"I can"t accept it! You oughtn"t to ask it."
"I think you must accept it," he said with decision. "But the important question with me is--the further question--am I not really bound to restore this money to your father"s estate?"
Delia stared at him bewildered.
"What _do_ you mean!"
"Your father made me his trustee in order that I might protect his money--from uses of which he disapproved--and protect you, if I could, from actions and companions he dreaded. This 500 has gone--where he expressly wished it not to go. It seems to me that I am liable, and that I ought to repay."
Delia gasped.
"I never heard anything so absurd!"
"I will consider it," he said gravely. "It is a case of conscience.
Meanwhile"--he began to write the cheque--"here is the money. Only, let me warn you, dear Miss Delia,--if this were repeated, I might find myself embarra.s.sed. I am not a rich man!"
Silence. He finished writing the cheque, and handed it to her. Delia pushed it away, and it dropped on the table between them.
"It is simply tyranny--monstrous tyranny--that I should be coerced like this!" she said, choking. "You must feel it so yourself! Put yourself in my place, Mr. Winnington."
"I think--I am first bound--to try and put myself in your father"s place," he said, with vivacity. "Where has that money gone, Miss Delia?"
He rose, and in his turn began to pace the little room. "It has been proved, in evidence, that a great deal of this outrage is _paid_ outrage--that it could not be carried on without money--however madly and fanatically devoted, however personally disinterested the organisers of it may be--such as Miss Marvell. You have, therefore, taken your father"s money to provide for this payment--payment for all that his soul most abhorred. His will was his last painful effort to prevent this being done. And yet--you have done it!"
He looked at her steadily.
"One may seem to do evil"--she panted--"but we have a faith, a cause, which justifies it!"
He shook his head sadly,
Delia sat very still, tormented by a score of hara.s.sing thoughts. If she could not provide money for the "Daughters" what particular use could she be to Gertrude, or Gertrude"s Committee? She could speak, and walk in processions, and break up meetings. But so could hundreds of others. It was her fortune--she knew it--that had made her so important in Gertrude"s eyes. It had always been a.s.sumed between them that a little daring and a little adroitness would break through the meshes of her father"s will. And how difficult it was turning out to be!