_Dear Lord Taborley:
I have been given to understand that you are exceedingly anxious to make my acquaintance. If this is so, I shall be at home when you call to-morrow afternoon. Asking your lenience for this liberty, I remain,
Yours very truly,
Maisie P. Lockwood._
"To-morrow afternoon! Written yesterday! That means the afternoon of to-day.--And why the _P_--Maisie _P._ Lockwood? Is that for Pollock, her first husband?--Unusual! A rather nave person!" Then his face went blank. "She must be a thought-reader! How the d.i.c.kens did she guess that I wanted to make her acquaintance? I scarcely knew it myself at the time that she wrote this letter."
Crushing the scented sheet in his hand, he tossed it into the empty grate. "My dear lady, if you can read minds so accurately at a distance, be a.s.sured of this: to-day I shall be too busy with Terry to have any time to spare on you."
The door from the narrow hall partly opened. "May I come in?"
At sound of her voice, he sprang to his feet, upsetting his chair. She made bold to look in at him. "Why, Tabs, you _are_ a late breakfaster.
Daddy told me you were planning to see me at eleven; to save you the trouble, I hurried round."
Like a flurry of March sunshine, Terry entered.
II
He scarcely knew how to greet her. How does one greet a girl whose permission he has yet to gain, whereas her father has already consented?
Moreover, there was his last memory of her, at midnight dodging into the taxi to avoid him.
She spared him the trouble of deciding by holding out her hand. "I know that you saw me. That"s what I"ve come to talk about."
Her smile as she said it was both embarra.s.sed and frank. She looked like an honest youngster who had come voluntarily to confess and, if need be, to be spanked. Tabs noticed that her lower lip was tremulous and that she was whipping up her courage. His mind went back to days when she had really been a child and he a man--when he had bound up cut fingers for her, had taken her on fishing expeditions, had taught her to cast her first fly and, as a reward, before the nursery lights went out, had been allowed to see her snuggled safe in bed. Little Terry, she had been his tiny sister in those days whom he had loved with no thought of gain--just a small companion for whom he bought exciting presents wherever he voyaged across the world--a doll"s house in China, a quirt in Mexico, a scarlet riding-saddle in Persia. It hurt him to see her afraid of him now--afraid of him because he was about to offer her the greatest of all presents. Was she afraid because he was too old for her?
"You don"t need to talk about it unless you like," he said kindly.
"Whatever you do or have done is right."
"That"s not true." She wrung her hands. "Oh, Tabs, you make it so hard for me when you"re generous. I haven"t done right. I"m in a tangle. I don"t know whether what I"ll do in the future will be any better."
They were still standing just as they had confronted each other when she had entered. Tabs glanced round the room at the used breakfast-table, Maisie"s crumpled pet.i.tion lying in the grate, the flood of sunlight and the tops of the heads of pa.s.sers-by stealing across the pane above the stiff row of tulips. His eyes went back to the flower-face of this young girl as she stood before him, fashionably attired and battling to conceal the storm of her distress. The setting struck him as inadequate and unprivate. The hats which stole by above the row of tulips seemed to belong to spies. At any moment Ann might tap and request that she be allowed to clear the table. He believed that in the next half-hour his dream of the last five years was to be shattered; otherwise, if it had not been to spare him, why should Terry have paid him so unconventional a visit, at such an unconventional hour, when by every law of usage she should have been waiting for him to call on her?
"How about upstairs?" he suggested. "In my study we shall be sure to be undisturbed."
"No, Tabs, dear," and the little added word touched him strangely, "I"ve got to say at once what has to be said. It"s like waiting at the dentist"s--it"s the waiting that"s so wearing." Her face lit up with the ghost of a smile. "When you"ve faced the real pain, it"s over in a second."
She seated herself. Reluctantly he followed her example. But when she was seated, she found herself at a loss for words. She drew off her gloves, and sat there folding and refolding them. He waited for her to commence; the silence was unbroken, save for the laughter of children playing in the Square and the occasional tapping of footsteps on the pavement. He leant across the table and took her hand. "Terry, after all these years you"re not afraid of me? You don"t need to be. Remember what you"ve just said: it"s the waiting that"s so wearing; the real pain"s over in a second. Get the real pain over; then we"ll plan for the best."
She looked up gratefully with eyes that were almost clear of trouble.
"You"re gentle--so different from other men. I could almost love you; I do love you. But not quite in the way---- You understand. I trust you more than any one in the world."
"Then why----?"
"Ah, why?" she echoed. "That"s what I wish you could tell me. Why should I be able to offer more to--to some one else whom I trust less? So much less?"
"But is that love, Terry? Isn"t it infatuation? Could you keep on offering? Loving means marrying and marrying means being together without respite."
"I know," she nodded wisely. "I know all that. I know it so well that I don"t want to marry him or anybody--at least, not yet."
"Then why----?"
She took his other hand in hers, clinging to it as if she were drowning.
"That"s the second time you"ve asked me why. I"ll tell you. Because if I don"t say "Yes," I shall lose him. Even though I may not want him forever, I can"t bear to lose him for now. You must know the feeling--you who are in love. And that"s why," her voice choked with the tears that she kept back from her eyes, "that"s why I promised him last night."
"Last night!" Tabs spoke slowly, trying to bring the finality home to himself.
"Last night," she repeated; "the night that should have been yours. The night I had promised to you for years." Then, in a flame of self-derision, "Why don"t you let go my hands and hate me, now that you know how treacherous I am?"
"You"re not treacherous." He smoothed the slim fingers as though he were coaxing a child. "You mustn"t be unjust to yourself. When we"re in love we"re all apt to be unjust; I was yesterday, to this man. Injustice, whether to oneself or to some one else, works most of our mischief; one never knows where it ends. We can"t control our hearts, Terry; you"ve tried. You"ve tried to make your heart love me and it"s refused. Don"t be miserable because of it; you couldn"t help that. And this man--he"s a fine fellow. I always knew he was a fine fellow, until seeing him with you yesterday made me jealous and blinded my eyes. He"s a finer fellow than ever now. You couldn"t love him if he weren"t."
She wasn"t giving him the enthusiastic attention that his praise deserved. Somewhere at the back of her mind there lay a doubt with which she wrestled while he strove to comfort her. He believed that he had guessed her doubt. "As for not trusting him the way you trust me," he explained, "that"s natural. We know the whole of each other"s lives; our families are the same kind of families and we share the same kind of friends. Whereas----"
"Whereas," she broke in, "I know nothing about his past, where he lived, who his people were or anything. I know nothing that he enjoyed or laughed at before I saw him lying quietly in our hospital-ward in France. I"ve questioned him as much as I dared; but always he grows vague. There"s something that he"s hiding from me. I only gathered that he had known you from the way he p.r.i.c.ked up and listened whenever your name was mentioned. That was why, without warning either of you, I----You see, I had to find out. And then, when he met you face to face he--he lied."
"Hush, Terry."
"But he did. He lied."
She had withdrawn her hands from his and sat back eyeing him with a clear look of challenge. Tabs was at a loss to explain her change of att.i.tude. Yesterday she had been all for defending this man. What did she gain by accusing him now that she was engaged to him? In any case she had employed too ugly a word. And here was a strange state of affairs, that it should be left to him to defend his successful rival.
"A man is not compelled to know another man unless he likes," he said cautiously. "They may have met some time in the past under unfortunate circ.u.mstances--circ.u.mstances which are embarra.s.sing to remember. The man to whom that memory is a disadvantage has a right to protect himself by sweeping it clean from his mind."
"But not to lie about it to the girl he says he loves," she declared.
"There can be only one motive for such a denial: that it covers up something which is dishonorable."
"But there never was anything dishonorable. That I swear."
"Then he believes that I would think it dishonorable," she insisted; "which means that he doesn"t trust me. That"s the reason I can"t trust him in return. If we don"t trust each other now, how can we hope that things would be better if we married?"
Her logic was unanswerable, but she was arguing on the wrong side. At what was she driving? He gave it up. Was she wanting him to tell her where and when he and her future husband had met? The eagerness of her silence seemed to demand as much. But there are rules to every game. No pressure that she could bring to bear could make him tell her that. She recognized those rules by refraining from putting her request into words.
It was he who broke the silence. His tones were puzzled. "You come to me on the morning that I had hoped to be engaged to you myself and you confide all these secrets about this other man. You insist that neither of you trusts the other and that you could find no happiness in marriage. Then why, in heaven"s name, Terry, did you pledge yourself to him last night?"
"The fear of losing him----" Her face quivered pitifully. She was on the verge of weeping. "He overheard what Daddy said about forbidding him the house. It seemed our last time together. I couldn"t bear that it should be the last. It was to keep him near me for just a little longer that I----"
Tabs rose and limped to the window. He dared not let himself go, the way his instincts urged. They might carry him too far. She looked so much like the little girl in short skirts he had known, as she sat there bravely trying not to cry. He wanted to take her on his knees, as in the old days. Now that she loved another man, he was not allowed to show her comfort in that way any longer. That she should run to him for help and yet love some one else, wounded his pride. What was the matter with him that he had failed to stir her pa.s.sion? Why could he appeal only to her helplessness?
Inside the communal garden, with its surrounding railings and locked gates, nurses in uniforms were pushing prams. Toddlers were tossing a ball across the lawn and tottering after it with excited shouts. Beneath a tree in the clear sunshine a young mother sat sewing. Other men"s women! Other men"s babies! He would have to set out in search of his kingdom afresh; all his old quests had been mistaken. But he was older now and lame; he lacked the energy for a new journey. It seemed to him that he would be alone and unwanted always.
A telegraph-girl was mounting the steps. He heard the bell ring without interest. Gazing out, with his back towards Terry, he put to her what he intended should be his final question. "You promised him last night--then why did you hurry round to me this morning?"
Her dress rustled and her breathing quickened. "Because----" she commenced and failed. He did not turn his head. She tried again in a lower voice, "Because I want you to get my promise back."
He swung round and crossed to where she was still sitting. With his hands resting lightly on her shoulders, he stared down at her golden head. "But, Terry dear, why? Look at me. You must tell me."
She did not look at him. "I"m frightened. n.o.body knows as yet; so before they know---- Oh, Tabs, you"re so clever; you can do anything." And then she repeated whimperingly, like a child over a broken toy, "I want you to get my promise back."