Part 41 (2/2)
”Partly that. But it's a lot of things together, really. I've seen it coming. Diana's been getting restive for some time. There are--Look here! I don't wish to pry into what's not my business, but a fellow can't live in a house without seeing things, and there's something in Errington's life which Di knows nothing about. And it's that--just the not knowing--which is coming between them.”
”Well, then, why on earth doesn't he tell her about it, whatever it is?”
Jerry shrugged his shoulders.
”Can't say. _I_ don't know what it is; it's not my business to know.
But his wife's another proposition altogether.”
”I suppose he expects her to trust him over it,” said Joan thoughtfully.
”That's about the size of it. And Diana isn't taking any.”
”I should trust him with anything in the world--a man with that face!”
observed Joan, after a pause.
”There you go!” cried Jerry discontentedly. ”There you go, with your unfailing faith in the visible object. A man's got to _look_ a hero before you think twice about him! Mark my words, Jo--many a saint's face has hidden the heart of a devil.”
Joan surveyed him consideringly.
”I've never observed that you have a saint's face, Jerry,” she remarked calmly.
”Beast! Joan”--he made a dive for her hand, but she eluded him with the skill of frequent practice--”how much longer are you going to keep me on tenterhooks? You know I'm the prodigal son, and that I'm only waiting for you to say 'yes,' to return to the family bosom--”
”And you propose to use me as a stepping stone! I know. You think that if you return as an engaged young man--”
”With a good reference from my last situation,” interpolated Jerry, grinning.
”Yes--that too, then your father will forget all your peccadilloes and say, 'Bless you, my children'--”
”Limelight on the blus.h.i.+ng bur-ride! And they lived happily ever after! Yes, that's it! Jolly good programme, isn't it?”
And somehow Jerry's big boyish arm slipped itself round Joan's shoulders--and Joan raised no objections.
”But--about Max and Diana?” resumed Miss Stair after a judicious interval.
”Well, what about them?”
”Can't we--can't we do anything? Talk to them?”
”I just see myself talking to Errington!” murmured Jerry. ”I'd about as soon discuss its private and internal arrangements with a volcano!
My dear kid, it all depends upon Diana and whether she's content to trust her husband or not. _I'd_ trust Max through thick and thin, and no questions asked. If he blew up the Houses of Parliament, I should believe he'd some good reason for doing it. . . . But then, I'm not his wife!”
”Well, I shall talk to Diana,” said Joan seriously. ”I'm sure Dad would, if he were here. And I do think, Jerry, you might screw up courage to speak to Max. He can't eat you! And--and I simply hate to see those two at cross purposes! They were so happy at the beginning.”
The mention of matrimonial happiness started a new train of thought, and the conversation became of a more personal nature--the kind of conversation wherein every second or third sentence starts with ”when we are married,” and thence launches out into rose-red visions of the great adventure.
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