Part 7 (1/2)

”Are you wondering if I take one lump or two? I take neither, and no milk, please.”

Against her will she faintly smiled.

”I thought that was it,” said Nap. ”Why didn't you ask me? Are these scones in the fender? May I offer you one?”

He dropped upon his knees to pick up the dish, and in that att.i.tude humbly proffered it to her.

She found it impossible to remain ungracious. She could only seat herself at the tea-table and abandon the attempt.

”Sit down and help yourself,” she said.

He pulled a large ha.s.sock to him and sat facing her. ”Now we can be sociable,” he said. ”Really, you know, you ought to hunt more often. I have never seen you in the field once. What on earth do you do with yourself?”

”Many things,” said Anne.

”What things?” he persisted.

”I help my husband to the best of my ability with the estate and try to keep an eye on the poorest tenants. And then I practise the piano a good deal. I haven't time for much besides.”

”I say, do you play?” said Nap, keenly interested. ”I do myself, a little, not the piano--the violin. Lucas likes it, or I suppose I should have given it up long ago. But I generally have to manage without an accompaniment. There is no one can accompany at our place. It's a bit thin, you know, playing by yourself.”

Anne's face reflected his interest. ”Tell me more about it,” she said.

”What sort of music do you care for?”

”Oh, anything, from Christmas carols to sonatas. I never play to please myself, and Lucas has very varied tastes.”

”He is your elder brother?” questioned Anne.

”Yes, and one of the best.” Nap spoke with unwonted feeling. ”He is hopelessly crippled, poor chap, and suffers infernally. I often wonder why he puts up with it. I should have shot myself long ago, had I been in his place.”

”Perhaps he is a good man,” Anne said.

He shot her a keen glance. ”What do you mean by a good man?”

”I mean a man who does his duty without s.h.i.+rking.”

”Is that your ideal?” he said, ”There are plenty of men that do that, and yet their lives are anything but blameless.”

”Quite possibly,” she agreed. ”But if a man does his duty, he has not lived in vain. It can be no man's duty to destroy himself.”

”And how would you define 'duty'?” said Nap.

She let her eyes meet his for a moment. ”I can only define it for myself,” she said.

”Will you do so for my benefit?” he asked.

A faint colour rose to her face. She looked past him into the fire. There was a deep sadness about her lips as she made reply.

”I have not been given much to do. I have to content myself with 'the work that's nearest.'”

Nap was watching her closely. ”And if I did the same,” he questioned in a drawl that was unmistakably supercilious, ”should I be a good man?”