There had been a breeze, a distinct breeze. Perhaps Tom, anxious to propitiate Lady Linden, had been a little more servile than usual. He did not mean to be servile. Alluding to his att.i.tude afterwards to Marjorie, he called it "Pulling the old girl"s leg." And when Marjorie had turned on him, her eyes had flashed scorn on him, her little body had quivered and shaken with indignation.
"If you think it clever currying favour with aunt by--by crawling to her," she cried, "then I don"t! If you want to--to keep my respect, you"ll have to act like a man, a man with self-respect! I--I hate to see you cringing to aunt, it makes me detest you. What does it matter if she has money? Do you want her money? Do you want her money more than you want me?"
"Goo-law, old girl, I--"
"Don"t talk to me!" cried Marjorie. "Be a man, or I shall hate you!" And she had left him rubbing his chin thoughtfully, and wondering at the ways of women and of Marjorie Linden in particular.
"Blinking little spitfire, that"s what she is!" he thought. "If she means to grow like the old girl, then--then--h.e.l.lo, here"s old Alston!"
Hugh could give Tom Arundel a matter of eight years, and therefore Tom regarded him as elderly. "A decent old bird!" was his favourite estimate.
"h.e.l.lo!" said Hugh. "What"s the matter? Not been rowing, have you? Tom, not rowing with the little girl, eh?"
Hugh"s face was serious, for he had caught a glimpse of Marjorie a while ago hurrying through the garden, and the look on her face had sent him to find Tom.
"Not worrying--her or rowing her?"
"No, goodness knows I haven"t said a word, but she flew at me and bit me!"
"Did what?"
"Metaphorically, of course," said Tom. "I say, Alston, do you think Marjorie is going to grow like her aunt?"
"Look here," said Hugh, and he gripped Tom by the shoulder with such strength that Tom was surprised and a little pained. "Look here, I don"t know what Marjorie is going to grow like, but I know this--that she is the sweetest, most tender-hearted, dearest little soul, loyal and true and straight, and because you"ve won her love, my good lad, you ought to go down on your knees and thank Heaven for it. She"s worth ten, fifty, a hundred of you and of me. A good woman--and Marjorie is that--a good woman, I tell you, is better, infinitely better, than the finest man that walks; and you are not that, not by a long way, Tom Arundel. So if you"ve offended the child, go after her. Ask her to forgive you and ask her humbly. You hear me? Ask her deucedly humbly, my lad! And listen to this--if you bring one tear to her eyes, one tear, one little stab to that tender heart of hers, if you--you bring one breath of sorrow and sadness into her life, I"ll break your confounded neck for you! Have you got that, Tom Arundel?"
A final shake that made Tom"s teeth rattle, and Hugh turned and strode away to find Marjorie. Tom Arundel stared after him.
"Well, I--hang me! Hang me if I don"t believe old Alston"s in love with her himself!"
Hugh Alston had meant to run over to Hurst Dormer and see how things were getting on there, and incidentally to collect any letters that might have come for him. But the days pa.s.sed, and Hugh did not go. Lady Linden required her fat horses for her own purposes. Marjorie"s own little ancient car had developed a serious internal complaint that had put it definitely out of commission, so there was no means of getting to Hurst Dormer unless he walked, or wired to his man to bring over his own car, but Hugh did not trouble to do that. They did not want him there, everything would be all right, so Joan"s letter, with others, was propped up on the mantelpiece in his study and dusted carefully every morning; and Joan watched the post in vain, and with a growing sense of anger and humiliation in her breast.
But of this Hugh knew nothing. He was watching Marjorie and Tom. Somehow his sacrifice did not seem to have brought about the happy results that he had hoped for.
So Hugh, though he had little understanding of women, felt yet that things were not as they should be and as Marjorie of course could not possibly be to blame, it must be Tom Arundel, and to Tom he addressed himself forcibly.
Tom listened resentfully. "Look here, Alston, I don"t know what the lay is," he said. "I don"t know what"s the matter. I am not conscious of having offended her. If I have, I am sorry--why goo-law, I worship the ground the little thing treads on!"
And Hugh, looking Tom straight in the eyes, knew that he was speaking the truth.
"Good!" he said. "I"m glad to hear it, and she"s worth it!"
"And--and it hurts me, by George it does, Alston," Tom said, "the way she cuts up rough with me. And now you go for me bald-headed, as if I"d behaved like a pig to her. Why goo-law, man, I"d lie down and let her jump on me. I"d go and drown myself if it would cause her any--any amus.e.m.e.nt."
There was a distinct suggestion of tears in the boy"s eyes, and Hugh turned hastily away.
"Marjorie dear," he was saying a while later, "what"s wrong? Tell me all about it. Tell your old friend Hugh, and see if he can put things right."
"There is nothing--nothing wrong, Hugh!" Marjorie gasped. "Nothing!
Nothing in the world!" And she belied her statement by suddenly sobbing and hiding her face against his shoulder.
"There, there--there!" he said, feeling as awkward as a man must feel when a woman cries to him. He patted her shoulder with the uncomfortable feeling that he was behaving like an idiot.
"It--it is nothing!" she gasped. "Hugh, it is really nothing!"
"Tom"s a good lad, one of the best--clean through and through!"
"Yes, I know he is, and--and oh, I do know it, Hugh, and it isn"t Tom"s fault!"
"Your aunt"s been worrying you?"
"No, it is not that--oh, it is nothing, nothing in the world. It is only that I am a--a--little fool, an ungrateful, silly, little fool!"
And Hugh was frankly puzzled.
"You"re going to be as happy as the day is long, little girl," he said.
"Tom loves you, worships the ground you walk on; I think you"re going to be the happiest girl alive. Dry your tears, dear, and smile as you used to in the old days!" He stooped over her and pressed a kiss on her shining hair; and there came to her a mad, pa.s.sionate longing to lift her arms and clasp them about his neck and confess all, confess her stupidity and her blindness and her folly.
"It is you--you are the man I love. It is you I want--you all the time!"
She longed to say it, but did not, and Hugh Alston never knew.
Hurst Dormer looked empty, and seemed silent and dull after Cornbridge.
No place was dull and certainly no place was silent where Lady Linden was, and coming back to Hurst Dormer, Hugh felt as if he was then entering into a desert of solitude and silence.
"Everything has been quite all right," said Mrs. Morrisey. "The men have got on nicely with their work. Lane has taken advantage of your being away to give the car a thorough overhaul, and--and I think that is all, sir. There are a few letters waiting for you. I"ll get them."
From whom this letter? Whose hand this? He wondered. He had never seen "Her" writing before, yet instinct told him that this was hers.
Two minutes later Hugh Alston was behaving like a lunatic.
"Mrs. Morrisey! Mrs. Morrisey! When did this letter come?"
"Oh, that one, sir? It came ten days ago--the very day you left, the same evening."
"Then why--why in the name of Heaven--" he began, and then stopped himself, for he remembered that he had ordered no letters should be sent on.
"I hope it is not important, sir?"
"Important!" he said. "Oh no, not at all, nothing important!" Again he read--
"Because you have placed me in an intolerable position, and have subjected me to insult and annoyance, past all bearing, I ask you to meet me in London at the earliest opportunity..."
At the earliest opportunity! And those words had been written eleven days ago; and she had underscored the word "earliest" three times.
Eleven days ago! "I feel I have a right to appeal to you for protection...."
She had written that, an appeal to him, and he had not until now read the written words.
What was she thinking of him? What could she think of his long silence?
He could not blame Mrs. Morrisey. There was only himself to blame, no one else! And there had he been, cooling his heels at Cornbridge and interfering with other folks" love affairs, and all the time Joan--Joan was perhaps wondering, watching, waiting for the answer that never came.