Part 8 (2/2)

Glancing up, he saw his face in a mirror. It was bronzed, but it looked rather old and careworn. He shrugged a shoulder at that. Then, in the mirror, he saw also something else. It startled him so that he sat perfectly still for a moment looking at it. It was some one laughing at him over his shoulder--a child! He got to his feet and turned round. On the table was a very large photograph of a smiling child--with his eyes, his face. He caught the chair-arm, and stood looking at it a little wildly. Then he laughed a strange laugh, and the tears leaped to his eyes. He caught the picture in his hands, and kissed it,--very foolishly, men not fathers might think,--and read the name beneath, Richard Joseph Armour; and again, beneath that, the date of birth.

He then put it back on the table and sat looking at it-looking, and forgetting, and remembering.

Presently, the door opened, and some one entered. It was Marion. She had seen him pa.s.s through the hall; she had then gone and told her father and mother, to prepare them, and had followed him upstairs. He did not hear her. She stepped softly forwards. ”Frank!” she said--”Frank!” and laid a hand on his shoulder. He started up and turned his face on her.

Then he caught her hands and kissed her. ”Marion!” he said, and he could say no more. But presently he pointed towards the photograph.

She nodded her head. ”Yes, it is your child, Frank. Though, of course, you don't deserve it.... Frank dear,” she added, ”I am glad--we shall all be glad-to have you back; but you are a wicked man.” She felt she must say that.

Now he only nodded, and still looked at the portrait. ”Where is--my wife?” he added presently.

”She is in the ballroom.” Marion was wondering what was best to do.

He caught his thumb-nail in his teeth. He winced in spite of himself. ”I will go to her,” he said, ”and then--the baby.”

”I am glad,” she replied, ”that you have so much sense of justice left, Frank: the wife first, the baby afterwards. But do you think you deserve either?”

He became moody, and made an impatient gesture. ”Lady Agnes Martling is here, and also Lady Haldwell,” she persisted cruelly. She did not mind, because she knew he would have enough to compensate him afterwards.

”Marion,” he said, ”say it all, and let me have it over. Say what you like, and I'll not whimper. I'll face it. But I want to see my child.”

She was sorry for him. She had really wanted to see how much he was capable of feeling in the matter.

”Wait here, Frank,” she said. ”That will be best; and I will bring your wife to you.”

He said nothing, but a.s.sented with a motion of the hand, and she left him where he was. He braced himself for the interview. a.s.suredly a man loses something of natural courage and self-confidence when he has done a thing of which he should be, and is, ashamed.

It seemed a long time (it was in reality but a couple of minutes) before the door opened again, and Marion said: ”Frank, your wife!” and then retreated.

The door closed, leaving a stately figure standing just inside it. The figure did not move forwards, but stood there, full of life and fine excitement, but very still also.

Frank Armour was confounded. He came forwards slowly, looking hard.

Was this distinguished, handsome, reproachful woman his wife--Lali, the Indian girl, whom he had married in a fit of pique and brandy? He could hardly believe his eyes; and yet hers looked out at him with something that he remembered too, together with something which he did not remember, making him uneasy. Clearly, his great mistake had turned from ashes into fruit. ”Lali!” he said, and held out his hand.

She reached out hers courteously, but her fingers gave him no response.

”We have many things to say to each other,” she said, ”but they cannot be said now. I shall be missed from the ballroom.”

”Missed from the ballroom!” He almost laughed to think how strange this sounded in his ears. As if interpreting his thought, she added: ”You see, it is our last affair of the season, and we are all anxious to do our duty perfectly. Will you go down with me? We can talk afterwards.”

Her continued self-possession utterly confused him. She had utterly confused Marion also, when told that her husband was in the house. She had had presentiments, and, besides, she had been schooling herself for this hour for a long time. She turned towards the door.

”But,” he asked, like a supplicant, ”our child! I want to see the boy.”

She lifted her eyebrows, then, seeing the photograph of the baby on the table, understood how he knew. ”Come with me, then,” she said, with a little more feeling.

She led the way along the landing, and paused at her door. ”Remember that we have to appear amongst the guests directly,” she said, as though to warn him against any demonstration. Then they entered. She went over to the cot and drew back the fleecy curtain from over the sleeping boy's head. His fingers hungered to take his child to his arms. ”He is magnificent--magnificent!” he said, with a great pride. ”Why did you never let me know of it?”

<script>