Part 36 (2/2)

”You ought to wish me happiness or something, ought you not?” she said.

”I do, Patricia,” he said, looking up at her.

He wanted to say more; self-preservation demanded it, and again demanded silence. Their voices seemed to him far away, speaking in some fairy orchard where he was not. He could barely hear them.

”You'll pretend not to know anything about it till to-morrow, won't you?” she pleaded. ”Don't spoil my day. It isn't that it won't be perfectly lovely to be engaged, but the past has been, lovely too, and I want to keep it a tiny bit longer. You'll help me, won't you?”

”Yes, I'll help you.”

If he could but keep to-day forever shut in his heart with her, though life crumbled to ruins about them! But the invincible hours were ranged against him, and would claim it their own.

”And you'll take me to the sea?”

”Yes, if you come at once.”

She descended from her perch with his help. She did not know his hands felt numb and dead as he held and released her.

”You haven't told me the second thing about yourself,” she remarked, brus.h.i.+ng the bark and lichen from her dress.

”It will keep,” he said quietly.

And they went out of the orchard.

CHAPTER XVIII

Whatever may have been the pressing business that caused Peter Masters to seek his cousin's company in so speedy a manner, the immediate necessity of it seemed to have evaporated on the journey. He sat talking of various things to Aymer and Charles Aston, but uttered nothing as to the reason of his visit, and Mr. Aston, with his eye on Aymer, chafed a little and found it hard to maintain his usual serenity. Aymer, on the contrary, seemed more deliberate and placid than usual; there was a slowness in his speech, and an unusual willingness to leave the conversation in his visitor's hands as if he mistrusted his own powers to keep it in desirable channels. He appeared to have suddenly abdicated his position on the objective positive side of life and to have become a mere pa.s.sive instrument of the hour, subjective and unresisting.

It was his father who was ready, armed against fate, alert, watchful to ward off all that might harm or distress his eldest son. Peter spoke of their exodus from London, their sojourn in the country, told them anecdotes of big deals, and was, in his big, burly, shrewd way, amusing and less ruthlessly tactless than usual. He had long ago given up all hope of interesting Aymer in a financial career, but he nevertheless retained a curiously respectful belief in his cousin's mental powers.

”By the way,” he said presently, ”I've not bought a car yet. That boy of yours seems to know something about them. Do you think he could be trusted to choose one for me?”

”Perfectly.”

Aymer's tone was completely impartial, and Peter ruminated over his next remark a moment.

”You still mean him to stick to his Road Engineering?”

”He is perfectly free to do as he likes.”

Charles Aston put in a word.

”He is twenty-two now, and he knows his own mind a good deal better than most boys of that age. He seems bent on carrying out his Road scheme, and there seems no reason why he should not.” He pushed over a box of cigars to his visitor.

”No, exactly. No reason at all.” Peter selected a cigar carefully. ”I expect you find it very interesting watching how he turns out, don't you, Aymer?”

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