Part 7 (1/2)
”And even, Grizel, if I wrote in your painter's medium, my reds would have no glow! One cannot give out what one does not possess. While I am cold myself, how can I give out warmth? It is so long, Grizel, since my heart was warm!”
A sigh floated back to his ears.
”_Pauvre_!” breathed the deep voice, but she did not turn her head; the gleaming figure flitted before him down the darkening path.
”I flattered myself that I had made a brave pretence. It was a good enough sham to delude the world, but You have found me out. Don't think that I regret it--I am thankful to Heaven that _some one_ understands.
To be praised for what one knows to be false is a bitter pill.
Sometimes I wonder, shall I throw it all up? Settle down comfortably into the rut, and--grow roses! I could grow good roses, Grizel; the best of their kind. There would be no need to be ashamed.”
In the twilight he saw her shake her head. A fold of the golden robe escaped her hands, and trailed on the ground. They stooped together to lift it up, and she smiled up at him with her sweet gay smile.
”But you couldn't, Martin; you couldn't do it! You might make a hundred resolutions, but you'd begin again. There's no escape that way, dear man. You must write, as you must breathe, therefore it follows that you must get warm. Chills are depressing things, but they are dangerous only when they are allowed to settle. This old house of yours has its back to the sun.”
”I can read your parable, Grizel, but circ.u.mstances--like houses--are not easily turned round. Life has made chains for me from which I cannot escape. Katrine--”
”I rather--suspect,” interrupted Grizel drawling, ”that Katrine's chains are slackening! Some one, or something, has been supplying the oil.
Another creak or two and she will be breaking loose, and going off at a tangent which will surprise your innocent mind!”
”Symbols again! I don't follow so easily this time, but if the signs are good, I am uncommonly thankful. I can talk openly to you, Grizel, for you won't misunderstand. Katrine is--on my mind! Perhaps it would be more honest if I said on my _nerves_! I've a suspicion that I'm on her nerves also, and the mischief of it is, that things are growing worse. There's nothing definitely wrong, and yet there's--everything!
I feel an utter brute.”
To his astonishment, to his relief, Grizel laughed; a blithe and comfortable laugh. They had reached the summit of the orchard by this time, and had paused to look down at the twinkling lights of the village before turning back to the house.
”Poor, dear, conventional brute! Am I expected to be shocked? I'm not one bit, and I can't pretend to be. It's not your fault, and it's not Katrine's. You have both done your laborious bests to accomplish something that has never been accomplished by effort since the world began, and you are both overcome with Remorse because it has failed.
I'd like to present you with a putty medal apiece to the memory of a successful failure. You have lived together, two utter strangers, who happen to have been born brother and sister, for eight long years without once descending to violence. It's magnificent, it's incredible!
You ought to be intoxicated with pride! It's the most unique quality on earth which enables two people to live in happiness and understanding, and what const.i.tutes it, the d.i.c.kens only knows. We've got it,--my old Buddy and I. We are at opposite ends of the poles, we can on occasions quarrel like cats, but in the main we understand; we _fit_! You and Katrine don't touch within miles. There's no credit, there's no blame. Fate placed us together, not choice. I have succeeded because--please realise this!--I didn't need _to try_. You, poor lambs, have tried away what little chance you had. It is affectation to pretend that it is your fault. The only blame would be to go on living in a false condition.”
”I know it, I know it! I've been feeling it more and more strongly.
It's not fair to Katrine; it's not fair to me or to my work. But what can I do? I brought her here, she has given up her youth to looking after me, there's no other home open, to her--I don't pretend that her happiness is bound up in mine, but she _thinks_ that it is, and that's virtually the same thing. She would feel desperately aggrieved--”
”Oh, you unselfish people, there's no dealing with you!” Grizel shrugged impatiently. ”_Let_ her feel aggrieved! If it's a case of smarting for a week, or freezing for life, then let her _smart_! Can't you make up your mind just for once in your life to speak the bold, blatant truth? 'Katrine, my dear, we are getting sick of each other-- let's cut it, and part! I'll give you an allowance--go off and pay visits, or set up a crib of your own, enjoy yourself in your own way, but for Heaven's sake let me be happy too!'”
Martin shook his head.
”I couldn't, Grizel; I couldn't! It may be the right thing to do, but I'm a coward. I can't face it. Not that way!”
Grizel looked at him whimsically. Men--the best of men, were so apt to believe that so long as the words were not actually spoken, their feelings remained concealed. And woman,--the pity of it!--could read the meaning of a sign. This woman already had read the signs.
Undoubtedly, inevitably, a change was at hand!
CHAPTER SEVEN.
Despite her growing indifference towards neighbouring festivities, Katrine could not resist a thrill of excitement in preparing for the Barfield Garden Party, which was in truth no ordinary local function, but an important, almost a national, fete. Among the guests royalty itself might appear; foreign potentates, amba.s.sadors, distinguished politicians, disciples of the arts and sciences would be on show on the wide lawns, and within the splendid rooms of the old Castle. It would be, as Katrine herself had said, a very Zoological Garden of lions, among whom an insignificant spinster from a country town must of necessity appear the smallest of small fry.
Martin, of course, owned a roar of his own, a minor roar, but still distinguishable among the rest, but his sister had no claim to celebrity. Her aim was theoretically to see, not to be seen, but the theory did not prevent a lengthy and painstaking toilette.
It was only a simple ninon dress, it was only a home-made hat, she owned neither jewels nor laces, nor valuable accessories of any sort to give a _cachet_ to the whole, but considering these deficiencies there was the more reason for being thankful for a graceful figure, for a face with well-cut features, and deep, level eyes.