Part 8 (1/2)

”Oh, Joan, do stop him,” exclaimed Diana appealingly. ”I'm going to church this morning, and if he lectures me like this I shall have no appet.i.te left for spiritual things.”

”I didn't know you ever had--much,” replied Joan, laughing.

”Well, anyway, I've a thoroughly healthy appet.i.te for my breakfast,”

said Diana, as they went into the dining-room. ”I'm feeling particularly cheerful just this moment. I have a presentiment that something very delightful is going to happen to me to-day--though, to be sure, Sunday isn't usually a day when exciting things occur.”

”Dreams generally go by contraries,” observed Joan sagely. ”And I rather think the same applies to presentiments. I know that whenever I have felt a comfortable a.s.surance that everything was going smoothly, it has generally been followed by one of the servants giving notice, or the bursting of the kitchen boiler, or something equally disagreeable.”

Diana gurgled unfeelingly.

”Oh, those are merely the commonplaces of existence,” she replied. ”I was meaning”--waving her hand expansively--”big things.”

”And when you've got your own house, my dear,” retorted Joan, ”you'll find those commonplaces of existence a.s.sume alarmingly big proportions.”

Soon after Stair had finished his after-breakfast pipe, the chiming of the bells announced that it was time to prepare for church. The Rectory pew was situated close to the pulpit, at right angles to the body of the church, and Diana and Joan took their places one at either end of it. As the former was wont to remark: ”It's such a comfort when there's no compet.i.tion for the corner seats.”

The organ had ceased playing, and the words ”_Dearly beloved_” had already fallen from the Rector's lips, when the churchdoor opened once again to admit some late arrivals. Instinctively Diana looked up from her prayer-book, and, as her glance fell upon the newcomers, the pupils of her eyes dilated until they looked almost black, while a wave of colour rushed over her face, dyeing it scarlet from brow to throat.

Two ladies were coming up the aisle, the one bordering on middle age, the other young and of uncommon beauty, but it was upon neither of these that Diana's startled eyes were fixed. Behind them, and evidently of their party, came a tall, fair man whose supple length of limb and very blue eyes sent a little thrill of recognition through her veins.

It was her fellow-traveller of that memorable journey down from town!

She closed her eyes a moment. Once again she could hear the horrifying crash as the engine hurled itself against the track that blocked the metals, feel the swift pall of darkness close about her, rife with a thousand terrors, and then, out of that hideous night, the grip of strong arms folded round her, and a voice, harsh with fear, beating against her ears:

”Are you hurt? . . . My G.o.d, are you hurt?”

When she opened her eyes again, the little party of three had taken their places and were composedly following the service. Apparently he had not seen her, and Diana shrank a little closer into the friendly shadow of the pulpit, feeling for the moment an odd, nervous fear of encountering his eyes.

But she soon realised that she need not have been alarmed. He was evidently quite unaware of her proximity, for his glance never once strayed in her direction, and, gradually gaining courage as she appreciated this, Diana ventured to let her eyes turn frequently during the service towards the pew where the newcomers were sitting.

That they were strangers to the neighbourhood she was sure; she had certainly never seen either of the two women before. The elder of the two was a plump, round-faced little lady, with bright brown eyes, and pretty, crinkly brown hair lightly powdered with grey. She was very fas.h.i.+onably dressed, and the careful detail of her toilet pointed to no lack of means. The younger woman, too, was exquisitely turned out, but there was something so individual about her personality that it dominated everything else, relegating her clothes to a very secondary position. As in the case of an unusually beautiful gem, it was the jewel itself which impressed one, rather than the setting which framed it round.

She was very fair, with quant.i.ties of pale golden hair rather elaborately dressed, and her eyes were blue--not the keen, brilliant blue of those of the man beside her, but a soft blue-grey, like the sky on a misty summer's morning.

Her small, exquisite features were clean-cut as a cameo, and she carried herself with a little touch of hauteur--an air of aloofness, as it were. There was nothing ungracious about it, but it was unmistakably there--a slightly emphasised hint of personal dignity.

Diana regarded her with some perplexity; the girl's face was vaguely familiar to her, yet at the same time she felt perfectly certain that she had never seen her before. She wondered whether she were any relation to the man with her, but there was no particular resemblance between the two, except that both were fair and bore themselves with a certain subtle air of distinction that rather singled them out from amongst their fellows.

In repose, Diana noticed, the man's face was grave almost to sternness, and there was a slightly worn look about it as of one who had pa.s.sed through some fiery discipline of experience and had forced himself to meet its demands. The lines around the mouth, and the firm closing of the lips, held a suggestion of suffering, but there was no rebellion in the face, rather a look of inflexible endurance.

Diana wondered what lay behind that curiously controlled expression, and the memory of certain words he had let fall during their journey together suddenly recurred to her with a new significance attached to them. . . . ”Just as though we had any too many pleasures in life!” he had said. And again: ”Oh, for that! If we could have what we wanted in this world! . . .”

Uttered in his light, half-bantering tones, the bitter flavour of the words had pa.s.sed her by, but now, as she studied the rather stern set of his features, they returned to her with fresh meaning and she felt that their mocking philosophy was to a certain extent indicative of the man's att.i.tude towards life.

So absorbed was she in her thoughts that the stir and rustle of the congregation issuing from their seats at the conclusion of the service came upon her in the light of a surprise; she had not realised that the service--in which she had been taking a reprehensible perfunctory part--had drawn to its close, and she almost jumped when Joan nudged her un.o.btrusively and whispered:--

”Come along. I believe you're half asleep.”

She shook her head, smiling, and gathering up her gloves and prayer-book, she followed Joan down the aisle and out into the churchyard where people were standing about in little groups, exchanging the time of day with that air of a renewal of interest in worldly topics which synchronises with the end of Lent.

The Rector had not yet appeared, and as Joan was chatting with Mrs.