Part 32 (2/2)

”You said when first we met I was very young. But I have grown to be a woman now.”

”That is true, by Jove!” he answered, with a harsh laugh, ”and a very lovely woman, too. But that only adds force and weight to what I have already said. If you had grown to be ill-favoured or plain, you might hesitate, thinking my heart would change. But no, Madeline, I am not of the fickle sort. If you were not half so handsome as you are I should still come to you eager, devoted, and determined.”

”You fail to understand my point,” she said, quickly.

”Not I, indeed,” he interposed, with a laugh. ”It is natural, I suppose, for a woman to have some doubts about a soldier. I know among the pious folk we have rather a bad reputation, and that we are supposed to have as many wives as Brigham Young. But that's a gross libel. I don't pretend that soldiers are saints, and some of them, I grant, change the objects of their affections frequently. But, Madeline, believe me, I have been true to you. True to that last smile and look you gave me in Was.h.i.+ngton. I come back offering you a complete and whole-hearted devotion. Now, come and let me kiss you, and settle the matter before dinner.”

She drew back a step further. ”I think we understand each other less now than when we began our talk,” she said, in hard, unnatural tones.

”Well, by Jove, Madeline, you do astonish me,” he said, in a tone of well-feigned surprise. ”You surely don't think I'm insincere--that I'm putting it on, as it were; that I'm pretending what I don't feel? Let me a.s.sure you I'm absolutely certain of my regard for you. Even if I were in doubt before I got here--though, to tell you the candid truth, I never have been in any doubt. But even if I were, the sight of your face, the loveliness of your ripened womanhood, if you will allow me to say so, has drawn out my heart to you more strongly than ever.”

”I don't think we shall gain anything by pursuing this subject any further just now,” she said, quietly. ”And we shall have many opportunities for quiet talks later on.”

”And you are not going to let me kiss you?”

”Most certainly not,” she said, the colour rising in a crimson tide to her cheeks and forehead.

”Then all I can say, it is a cold welcome,” he said, using an adjective that need not be written down.

”You do not understand me, Gervase,” she said, a pained look coming into her eyes.

”By Jove! I don't,” he said, ”and what is worse still, you persist in misunderstanding me.”

”I am sorry you put it in that way,” she answered; ”but there goes the dinner-gong,” and the next moment the door was pushed open, and Lady Tregony bustled into the room.

”So you have met!” she said, with a little giggle, ”and no one to disturb your _tete-a-tete_. Well, that is delightful.”

Gervase frowned, but did not reply, and Madeline took the opportunity of escaping out of the room.

In the dining-room she frustrated Lady Tregony's little design, and instead of seating herself next to Gervase she sat opposite him. She had not seen him for so long a time, that she wanted an opportunity of studying his face. Her first feeling of disappointment was confirmed as she looked at him more closely. In his uniform he looked magnificent--at least, that was the impression left on her mind; but in ordinary swallow-tail coat and patent leather slippers he looked common-place.

There was no other word for it. Moreover, three years under the trying skies of India had aged him considerably. His straw-coloured hair no longer completely covered his scalp. The crow's feet about his eyes had grown deeper and more numerous. The skin of his face looked parched and drawn, his cheek bones appeared to be higher, his nose more hooked, and his teeth more prominent.

Moreover, under an ordinary starched s.h.i.+rt-front the well-rounded chest had entirely disappeared. Perkins, the butler, could give him points in that respect.

Madeline felt the process of disillusionment was proceeding all too rapidly. She wished he had come downstairs arrayed in scarlet and gold.

As a study in black and white he was not altogether a success, and it was not pleasant to have her dreams blown away like spring blossoms in a gale.

CHAPTER XX

FATHER AND SON

It was a great disappointment to the Tregonys that they were unable to announce on the night of their ”At Home” that Gervase and Madeline were engaged. Madeline, however, was obdurate. She saw no reason for haste, and she saw many reasons for delay. The very anxiety of the Tregonys to get the matter settled at once made her only the more determined not to be rushed. The very masterfulness of Gervase--which she admired so much--for once defeated its own end.

In her heart she had no real intention of upsetting what seemed to be the scheme and purpose of her life. It had seemed so long in the nature of things that she should marry Gervase Tregony--(why it should have seemed in the nature of things she hardly knew)--that to refuse to do so now would seem like flying in the face of Providence, and that required more courage than she possessed. Still, as far as she could see, it was no part of the providential plan that she should become engaged to Gervase that very year, and marry him early in the next. Dates did not appear to be included in the general arrangement, and she ”guessed that in that matter she might be allowed considerable lat.i.tude.”

Gervase showed much less diplomacy than his father. Sir Charles had more correctly gauged Madeline's disposition than any other member of the family. He knew very well that she would never be driven, that any attempt at coercion would defeat its own end. On this a.s.sumption he had acted all the way through, and but for a single incident everything might have gone well.

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