Part 22 (1/2)

”My own boy,” she murmured, ”why shouldn't I kneel? You have opened the gates of heaven for me.”

After he had left the room she stood at the window, and watched until he reappeared on the broad pavement below.

People were walking, riding, spinning along in motor-cars; gulls hovered above the beach on lazy wings; pebbles, boat gunwales, lamp-posts, every smooth hard surface, flashed in the sunlight; the gentle breeze smelt deliciously fresh and clean;--all was bright and gay and splendid, because so full of pulsing life. But the most splendid thing in sight was her husband. The man out there--that glorious creature, with his hat c.o.c.ked and his stick twirling as he swaggered across the broad roadway--was her handsome, splendid husband.

The sun shone on her face, and the love shone out of it to meet the genial vivifying rays. ”My husband;” and she murmured the words aloud.

”My own darling boy. My strong, kind, n.o.ble husband.”

It was a real marriage.

XII

The abnormally bright weather continued in an unbroken spell, and it seemed to her a part of the miracle that had been granted to her prayers--as if nature had suddenly abrogated all laws, and when giving her back love and youth, had given warmth and suns.h.i.+ne to the whole world.

One afternoon, as they were sauntering home to the hotel, he asked her if there was not some special name for this s.n.a.t.c.h of unseasonable autumn brightness.

”It's more than we had a right to expect, Janey, so late in the year.

Here we are in the first week of November, and I'll swear to-day has been as warm as May or June.”

”Yes, hasn't it?”

”But what do they call it when the weather plays tricks at this time of year? You know--not the Hunter's moon, but some name like that.”

”Oh, yes, I know what you mean--St. Martin's summer.”

”That's right--learned old girl! St. Martin's Summer.”

Then they turned to the shop windows, and considered the window-dressing art as displayed by these Brighton tradesmen. All through their honeymoon the King's Road shops provided a source of unfailing entertainment.

”I don't see that they know much,” he said patronisingly. ”I think I could open their eyes. You wait, old girl, till we get back to Mallingbridge, and I'll astonish you. I'm bubbling over with ideas....

Halloa! That's rather tasty.”

They were looking into a jeweller's window, and his eye had been caught by a cigarette case.

”Now I wonder, Janey, what they'd have the cheek to ask for that.”

”Let us go in and enquire.”

”Oh, no. It's not worth while. Why, the gold alone, without the gems, would cost fifteen quid; and if the stones are as good as they look, I daresay this chap would expect a hundred guineas for it.”

”Well, we might enquire.”

”No, I mustn't think about it. Come on, old girl, or my mouth will begin to water for it;” and, laughing, he linked his arm in hers, and led her away from this too tempting shop. ”Let 'em keep it till they can catch a millionaire.”

They ordered tea in the great noisy hall of the hotel, which he preferred to the quiet grandeur of the private sitting-room; and she, pretending that she wished to go upstairs, hurried past the lift door, dodged round by a crowd of new arrivals, ran down the steps, and left the building.

She was hot and red and breathless when, after twenty minutes, she came bustling into the hall again. The tea-tray stood waiting for them; but he had moved away to another table, and was drinking a whisky and soda with some hotel acquaintances. These were a loud vulgar man and two over-dressed, giggling, free-and-easy daughters. Marsden for a little time did not see his wife: he was laughing and talking vivaciously; and the young women contorted themselves in shrill merriment, ogled and leered, and made chaffing, unbecomingly familiar interjections.