And she went off followed by Joseph, the groom, a man of forty, lean and jockey-like, with a russet and wrinkled countenance which might mean anything or nothing.
"A ridiculous hat!" said Alice, maliciously. "n.o.body wears such a hat in England to ride in. Think of her appearing like that in the Row!"
"It becomes her." The voice was Nora"s, sharp and impatient.
"It is theatrical, like everything Connie does," said Mrs. Hooper severely. "I beg that neither of you will copy her."
Nora walked to the door opening on the back garden, and stood there frowning and smiling unseen.
Meanwhile Joseph followed close at Connie"s side, directing her, till they pa.s.sed through various crowded streets, and left the railway behind. Then trotting under a sunny sky, on a broad vacant road, they made for a line of hills in the middle distance.
The country was early June at its best. The river meadows blazed with b.u.t.tercups; the river itself, when Constance occasionally caught a glimpse of its windings, lay intensely blue under a wide azure sky, magnificently arched on a great cornice built of successive strata of white and purple cloud, which held the horizon. Over the Lathom Woods the cloud-line rose and fell in curves that took the line of the hill.
The woods themselves lay in a haze of heat, the sunlight on the rounded crests of the trees, and the shadows cast by the westerly sun, all fused within the one shimmering veil of blue. The air was fresh and life-giving. Constance felt herself in love with life and the wide Oxford scene. The physical exercise delighted her, and the breathless sense of adventure.
But it was disagreeable to reflect, as she must do occasionally, that the sphinx-like groom knew perfectly well that she was going to the Lathom Woods, that he had the key of the nearest gate in his pocket, that he would be a witness of her meeting with Falloden, whatever they did with him afterwards, and that Falloden had in all probability paid him largely to hold his tongue. All that side of it was odious--degrading. But the thought of the green rides, and the man waiting for her, set all the blood in her wild veins dancing. Yet there was little or nothing in her feeling of a girl"s yearning for a lover.
She wanted to see Falloden--to talk with him and dispute with him. She could not be content for long without seeing him. He excited her--provoked her--haunted her. And to feel her power over him was delightful, if it had not been spoilt by a kind of recurrent fear--a panic fear of his power over her.
What did she know of him after all? She was quite aware that her friends, the Kings, had made some enquiries at Cannes before allowing her to see so much of him as she had done during his stay with the rich and hospitable Jaroslavs. She believed Colonel King had not liked him personally. But Douglas Falloden belonged to one of the oldest English families, settled on large estates in Yorkshire, with distinguished records in all the great services; he was heir presumptive to a marquisate, so long as his uncle, Lord Dagnall, now past seventy, did not take it into his head to marry; and there was his brilliant career at Oxford, his good looks and all the rest of it. Constance had a strong dash of the worldling in her mixed character. She had been brought up with Italian girl friends of the n.o.ble cla.s.s, in whom the practical instincts of a practical race were closely interwoven with what the Englishman thinks of as Italian "romance" or "pa.s.sion." She had discussed dowries and settlements since she was fifteen; and took the current values of wealth and birth for granted. She was quite aware of her own advantages, and was not at all minded to throw them away. A brilliant marriage was, perhaps, at the back of her mind, as it is at the back of the minds of so many beautiful creatures who look and breathe poetry, while they are aware, within a few pounds, of what can be done in London on five thousand--or ten thousand--a year. She inevitably thought of herself as quite different from the girls of poor or middle-cla.s.s families, who must earn their living--Nora, for instance.
And yet there was really a gulf between her and the ordinary worldling.
It consisted in little else than a double dose of personality--a richer supply of nerve and emotion. She could not imagine life without money, because she had always lived with rich people. But money was the mere substratum; what really mattered was the excitement of loving, and being loved. She had adored her parents with an absorbing affection. Then, as she grew up, everywhere in her Roman life, among her girl friends, or the handsome youths she remembered riding in the Villa Borghese gymkhana, she began to be aware of pa.s.sion and s.e.x; she caught the hints of them, as it were of a lightning playing through the web of life, flashing, and then gone--illuminating or destroying. Her mind was full of love stories. At twenty she had been the confidante of many, both from her married and her unmarried friends. It was all, so far, a great mystery to her. But there was in her a thrilled expectation. Not of a love, tranquil and serene, such as shone on her parents" lives, but of something overwhelming and tempestuous; into which she might fling her life as one flings a flower into the current of Niagara.
It was the suggestion of such a possibility that had drawn her first to Douglas Falloden. For three golden days she had imagined herself blissfully in love with him. Then had come disillusion and repulsion.
What was violent and imperious in him had struck on what was violent and imperious in her. She had begun to hold him off--to resist him. And that resistance had been more exciting even than the docility of the first phase. It had ended in his proposal, the s.n.a.t.c.hed kiss, and a breach.
And now, she had little idea of what would happen; and would say to herself, recklessly, that she did not care. Only she must see him--must go on exploring him. And as for allowing her intimacy with him to develop in any ordinary way--under the eyes of the Hoopers--or of Oxford--it was not to be thought of. Rather than be tamely handed over to him in a commonplace wooing, she would have broken off all connection with him; and that she had not the strength to do.
"Here is the gate, my lady."
The man produced a key from his pocket and got down to open it.
Constance pa.s.sed into a green world. Three "drives" converged in front of her, moss-carpeted, and close-roofed by oak-wood in its first rich leaf. After the hot sun on the straight and shadeless road outside, these cool avenues stretching away into a forest infinity, seemed to beckon a visitant towards some distant Elysian scene--some glade haunted of Pan.
Constance looked down them eagerly. Which was she to take?--suddenly, far down the right hand drive, a horseman--coming into view. He perceived her, gave a touch to his horse, and was quickly beside her.
Both were conscious of the groom, who had reined in a few yards behind, and sat impa.s.sive.
Falloden saluted her joyously. He rode a handsome Irish horse, nearly black, with a white mark on its forehead; a nervous and spirited creature, which its rider handled with the ease of one trained from his childhood to the hunting field. His riding dress, with its knee-breeches and leggings pleased the feminine eye; so did his strong curly head as he bared it, and the animation of his look.
"This is better, isn"t it, than ""ammer, "ammer, "ammer on the "ard "igh road!" I particularly want to show you the bluebells--they"re gorgeous!
But they"re quite on the other side--a long way off. And then you"ll be tired--you"ll want tea. I"ve arranged it."
"Joseph"--he turned to the groom--"you know the head keeper"s cottage?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, go off there and wait. Tell the keeper"s wife that I shall bring a lady to tea there in about an hour. She knows." Joseph turned obediently, took the left hand road, and was soon out of sight.
The two riders paced side by side through the green shadows of the wood.
Constance was flushed--but "she looked happy and gracious. Falloden had not seen her so gracious since Oxford had brought them again across each other. They fell at once, for the first time since her arrival, into the easy talk of their early Riviera days; and he found himself doing his very best to please her. She asked him questions about his approaching schools; and it amused him, in the case of so quick a pupil, to frame a "chaffing" account of Oxford examinations and degrees; to describe the rush of an Honour man"s first year before the mods" gate is leaped; the loitering and "slacking" of the second year and part of the third; and then the setting of teeth and girding of loins, when a man realises that some of the lost time is gone forever, and that the last struggle is upon him.
"What I am doing now is degrading!--getting "tips" from the tutors--pinning up lists--beastly names and dates--in my rooms--learning hard bits by heart--cribbing and stealing all I can. And I have still some of my first year"s work to go through again. I must cut Oxford for the last fortnight--and go into retreat."
Constance expressed her wonder that any one could ever do any work in the summer term--
"You are all so busy lunching each other"s Sisters and cousins and aunts! It is a great picnic--not a university," she said flippantly.
"Distracting, I admit--but--"
He paused.
"But--what?"
After a moment, he turned a glowing countenance towards her.
"That is not my chief cause of flight!"
She professed not to understand.
"It is persons distract me--not tea-parties. Persons I want to be seeing and talking to--persons I can not keep myself away from."
He looked straight before him. The horses ambled on together, the reins on their necks. In the distance a cuckoo called from the river meadows, and round the two young figures one might have fancied an attendant escort of birds, as wrens, t.i.ts, pippets, fled startled by their approach.
Constance laughed. The laugh, though very musical, was sarcastic.
"I don"t see you as a shuttlec.o.c.k!"
"Tossed by the winds of fate? You think I can always make myself do what I wish?"
"That"s how I read you--at present."
"Hm--a charming character! Everything calculated--nothing spontaneous.
That I think is what you mean?"
"No. But I doubt your being carried away."
He flushed hotly.
"Lady Connie!--"
He paused. Her colour rushed too. She saw what he was thinking of; she perceived her blunder.
"For what else did you castigate me at Cannes?" he said, in a low voice.
And his black eyes looked pa.s.sionately into hers. But she recovered herself quickly.
"At any rate, you have more will than most people," she said lightly.