Part 86 (1/2)

”Y-es,” said Eileen faintly. Lying there, the deep azure of her eyes starred with tears, a new tremor altered her mouth, and the tight-curled upper lip quivered. Her heart, too, had begun its heavy, unsteady response in recognition of her lover's name; she turned partly away from Nina, burying her face in her brilliant hair; and beside her slim length, straight and tense, her arms lay, the small hands contracting till they had closed as tightly as her teeth.

It was no child, now, who lay there, fighting down the welling desolation; no visionary adolescent grieving over the colourless ashes of her first romance; not even the woman, socially achieved, intelligently and intellectually in love. It was a girl, old enough to realise that the adoration she had given was not wholly spiritual, that her delight in her lover and her response to him was not wholly of the mind, not so purely of the intellect; that there was still more, something sweeter, more painful, more bewildering that she could give him, desired to give--nay, that she could not withhold even with sealed eyes and arms outstretched in the darkness of wakeful hours, with her young heart straining in her breast and her set lips crus.h.i.+ng back the unuttered cry.

Love! So that was it!--the need, the pain, the bewilderment, the hot sleeplessness, the mad audacity of a blessed dream, the flushed awakening, stunned rapture--and then the gray truth, bleaching the rose tints from the fading tapestries of slumberland, leaving her flung across her pillows, staring at daybreak.

Nina had laid a cool smooth hand across her forehead, pus.h.i.+ng back the hair--a light caress, sensitive as an unasked question.

But there was no response, and presently the elder woman rose and went out along the landing, and Eileen heard her laughingly greeting Boots, who had arrived post-haste on news of Drina's plight.

”Don't be frightened; the little wretch carried tons of indigestible stuff to her room and sat up half the night eating it. Where's Philip?”

”I don't know. Here's a special delivery for him. I signed for it and brought it from the house. He'll be here from the Hook directly, I fancy. Where is Drina?”

”In bed. I'll take you up. Mind you, there'll be a scene, so nerve yourself.”

They went upstairs together. Nina knocked, peeped in, then summoned Mr.

Lansing.

”Oh, Boots, Boots!” groaned Drina, lifting her arms and encircling his neck, ”I don't think I am ever going to get well--I don't believe it, no matter what they say. I am glad you have come; I wanted you--and I'm very, very sick... . Are you happy to be with me?”

Boots sat on the bedside, the feverish little head in his arms, and Nina was a trifle surprised to see how seriously he took it.

”Boots,” she said, ”you look as though your last hour had come. Are you letting that very bad child frighten you? Drina, dear, mother doesn't mean to be horrid, but you're too old to whine... . It's time for the medicine, too--”

”Oh, mother! the nasty kind?”

”Certainly. Boots, if you'll move aside--”

”Let Boots give it to me!” exclaimed the child tragically. ”It will do no good; I'm not getting better; but if I must take it, let Boots hold me--and the spoon!”

She sat straight up in bed with a superb gesture which would have done credit to that cla.s.sical gentleman who heroically swallowed the hemlock c.o.c.ktail. Some of the dose bespattered Boots, and when the deed was done the child fell back and buried her head on his breast, incidentally leaving medicinal traces on his collar.

Half an hour later she was asleep, holding fast to Boots's sleeve, and that young gentleman sat in a chair beside her, discussing with her pretty mother the plans made for Gladys and Gerald on their expected arrival.

Eileen, pale and heavy-lidded, looked in on her way to some afternoon affair, nodding unsmiling at Boots.

”Have you been rifling the pantry, too?” he whispered. ”You lack your usual chromatic symphony.”

”No, Boots; I'm just tired. If I wasn't physically afraid of Drina, I'd get you to run off with me--anywhere... . What is that letter, Nina?

For me?”

”It's for Phil. Boots brought it around. Leave it on the library table, dear, when you go down.”

Eileen took the letter and turned away. A few moments later as she laid it on the library table, her eyes involuntarily noted the superscription written in the long, angular, fas.h.i.+onable writing of a woman.

And slowly the inevitable question took shape within her.

How long she stood there she did not know, but the points of her gloved fingers were still resting on the table and her gaze was still concentrated on the envelope when she felt Selwyn's presence in the room, near, close; and looked up into his steady eyes. And knew he loved her.