"No, indeed. Miss Garston is almost too frank; not that that is a fault.
Oh yes, Miss Locke"s illness has been a tedious affair: even Giles got weary of it, and used to grumble at having to go every day. Of course, seeing Giles once or twice a day, you heard all our news, so we did not expect you to toil up here: that would have been unnecessary trouble after your hard work."
Miss Darrell spoke quite civilly, and I do not know why her speech rankled and made me reply, rather quickly,--
"Nurses do not gossip with the doctor, Miss Darrell. Mr. Hamilton has told me no news, I a.s.sure you. Gladys"s letters tell me far more."
I was angry with myself when I said this, for why need I have answered her at all or taken notice of her remark? and, above all, why need I have mentioned Gladys"s name? Miss Darrell"s colour rose in a moment.
"Dear me! I am glad to hear dear Gladys writes to you. She does not honour us. Lady Betty gets a note sometimes, but Giles and I are never favoured with a word. Giles feels terribly hurt about it sometimes, but I tell him it is only Gladys"s way. Girls are careless sometimes. Of course she does not mean to slight him."
"Of course not," rather gravely from Max.
"All the same it is very neglectful on Gladys"s part. If you are a real friend, Miss Garston, you will tell her what a mistake it is,--really a fatal mistake, though I do not dare to tell her so. I see Giles"s look of disappointment when the post brings him nothing but dry business letters.
He is so anxious about her health. He let her go so willingly, and yet not one word of recognition for her own, I may say her only, brother."
Max was looking so exceedingly grave by this time that I longed to change the subject. I would say a word in defence of Gladys when we were alone, he and I. It would be worse than useless to speak before Miss Darrell.
She would twist my words before my face. I never said a word in Gladys"s behalf that she did not make me repent it.
The next moment, however, she had started on a different tack.
"Oh, do you know, Mr. Cunliffe," she said carelessly, as she crossed the hearth-rug to ring the bell, "we have heard again from Captain Hamilton?"
Max raised his head quickly. "Indeed! I hope he is quite well. By the bye, I remember you told me he had a touch of fever; but I trust he has got the better of that."
"We hope so," in a very impressive tone; "but it was a sharp attack, and no doubt home-sickness and worry of mind accelerated the mischief. Poor Claude! I fear he has suffered much; not that he says so himself: he is far too proud to complain. But he is likely to come home on sick-leave; next mail will settle the question, but I believe we may expect him about the end of July."
"Indeed! That is good news for all of you"; but the poker that Max had taken up fell with a little crash among the fire-irons. Miss Darrell gave a faint scream, and then laughed at her foolish nervousness.
"It was very clumsy on my part," stammered Max. Could it be my fancy, or had he turned suddenly pale, as though something had startled him too?
"Oh no, it was only my poor nerves," replied Miss Darrell, with her brightest smile. "What was I saying? Oh yes, I remember now,--about Claude: he wrote to Gladys to ask if he might come, and she said yes.
Ah, here comes tea, and I believe I heard Giles"s ring at the bell."
I cannot tell which of the two revealed it to me,--whether it was the sudden pallor on Max"s face, or the curious watchful look that I detected in Miss Darrell"s eyes: it was only there for a moment, but it reminded me of the look with which a cat eyes the mouse she has just drawn within her claws. I saw it all then with a quick flash of intuition. I had partly guessed it before, but now I was sure of it.
My poor Max, so brave and cheery and patient! But she should not torment him any longer in my presence. If he had to suffer,--and the cause of that suffering was still a mystery to me,--she should not spy out his weakness. He had turned his face aside with a quick look of pain as he spoke, and the next moment I had mounted the breach and was begging Miss Darrell to a.s.sist me in the case of a poor family,--old hospital acquaintances of mine, who were emigrating to New Zealand.
My importunity seemed to surprise her. My sudden loquacity was an interruption; but I would not be repressed or silenced. I took the chair beside her, and made her look at me. I fixed her wandering attention and pressed her until she grew irritable with impatience. I saw Max was recovering himself: by and by he gave a forced laugh.
"You will have to give in, Miss Darrell. Ursula always gets her own way.
How much do you want, child? You must be merciful to a poor vicar. Will that satisfy you?" offering me a sovereign, and Miss Darrell, after a moment"s hesitation, produced the same sum from her purse.
I took her money coolly, but I would not resign the reins of the conversation any more into her hands. When Mr. Hamilton entered the room he stopped and looked at me with visible astonishment: he had never heard me so fluent before; but somehow my eloquence died a natural death after his entrance. I was still a little shy with Mr. Hamilton.
His manner was unusually genial this afternoon. I was sure he was delighted to see us both there again. He spoke to Max in a jesting tone, and then looked benignly at his cousin, who was superintending the tea-table. She certainly looked uncommonly well that day; her dress of dark maroon cashmere and velvet fitted her fine figure exquisitely; her white, well-shaped hands were, as usual, loaded with brilliant rings. She was a woman who needed ornaments: they would have looked lavish on any one else, they suited her admirably. Once I caught her looking with marked disfavour on my black serge dress: the pearl hoop that had been my mother"s keeper was my sole adornment. I daresay she thought me extremely dowdy. I once heard her say, in a pointed manner, that "her cousin Giles liked to see his women-folk well dressed; he was very fastidious on that point, and exceedingly hard to please."
Mr. Hamilton seemed in the best of humours. I do not think that he remarked how very quiet Max was all tea-time. He pressed us to remain to dinner, and wanted to send off a message to the vicarage; but we were neither of us to be persuaded, though Miss Darrell joined her entreaties to her cousin"s.
I was anxious to leave the house as quickly as possible, and I knew by instinct what Max"s feelings must be. I could not enjoy Mr. Hamilton"s conversation, amusing as it was. I wanted to be alone with Max; I felt I could keep silence with him no longer. But we could not get rid of Mr.
Hamilton; as we rose to take our departure he coolly announced his intention of walking with us.
"The Tylcotes have sent for me again," he said casually. "I may as well walk down with you now." He looked at me as he spoke, but I am afraid my manner disappointed him. For once Mr. Hamilton was decidedly _de trop_.
I am sure he must have noticed my hesitation, but it made no difference to his purpose. I had found out by this time that when Mr. Hamilton had made up his mind to do a certain thing, other people"s moods did not influence him in the least. He half smiled as he went out to put on his greatcoat, and, as though he intended to punish me for my want of courtesy, he talked to Max the whole time; not that I minded it in the least, only it was just his lordly way.
To my great relief, however, he left us as soon as we reached the vicarage, so I wished him good-night quite amiably, and of course Max walked on with me to the cottage.
He was actually leaving me at the gate without a word except "Good-night, Ursula," but I laid my hand on his arm.
"You must come in, Max. I want to speak to you."
"Not to-night, my dear," he returned hurriedly. "I have business letters to write before dinner."
"They must wait, then," I replied decidedly, "for I certainly do not intend to let you leave me just yet. Don"t be stubborn, Max, for you know I always get my own way. Come in. I want to tell you why Gladys never writes to her brother." And he followed me into the house without a word.
CHAPTER XXVII
MAX OPENS HIS HEART
But I did not at once join Max in the parlour, though he was evidently expecting me to do so: instead of that, I ran upstairs to take off my walking-things. It would be better to leave him alone a few minutes. When I returned he was leaning back in the easy-chair, with his hands clasped behind his head, evidently absorbed in thought. I was struck by his expression: it was that of a man who was nerving himself to bear some great trouble; there was a quiet, hopeless look on his face that touched me exceedingly. I took the chair opposite him, and waited for him to speak. He did not change his att.i.tude when he saw me, but he looked at me gravely, and said, "Well, Ursula?" but there was no interest in his tone.
Of course I knew what he meant, but I let that pa.s.s, and something seemed to choke my voice as I tried to answer him:
"Never mind that now: we will come to that presently. I want to tell you that I know it now, Max. I guessed a little of it before, but now I am sure of it."
I had roused him effectually. A sort of dusky red came to his face as he sat up and looked at me. He did not ask me what I meant: we understood each other in a moment. He only sighed heavily, and said, "I have never told you anything, Ursula, have I?" but his manner testified no displeasure. He would never have spoken a word to me of his own accord, and yet my sympathy would be a relief to him. I knew Max"s nature so well: he was a shy, reticent man; he could not speak easily of his own feelings unless the ice were broken for him.
"Max," I pleaded, and the tears came into my eyes, "if my dear mother were living you would have told her all without reserve."
"I should not have needed to tell her: she would have guessed it, Ursula.
Poor Emmie! I never could keep anything from her. I have often told you you are like her: you reminded me of her this afternoon."
"Then you must make me your _confidante_ in her stead. Do not refuse me again, Max: I have asked this before. In spite of our strange relationship, we are still like brother and sister. You know how quickly I guessed Charlie"s secret: surely you can speak to me, who am her friend, of your affection for Gladys."
I saw him shrink a little at that, and his honest brown eyes were full of pain.
"My affection for Gladys," he repeated, in a low voice. "You are very frank, Ursula; but somehow I do not seem to mind it. I never care for Miss Darrell to speak to me on the subject, although she has been so kind; in fact, no one could have been kinder. We can only act up to our own natures: it is certainly not her fault, but only my misfortune, that her sympathy jars on me."
Max"s words gave me acute pain.
"Surely you have not chosen Miss Darrell for your _confidante_, Max?"
"I have chosen no one," he returned, with gentle rebuke at my vehemence.
"Circ.u.mstances made Miss Darrell acquainted with my unlucky attachment.
She did all she could to help me, and out of common grat.i.tude I could not refuse to listen to her well-meant efforts to comfort me."