Part 14 (2/2)
”Really, Mr Wyndham, I wouldn't have believed it of you,” laughed Clare. ”To tell such shocking taradiddles. It's obviously a long time since you attended Sunday school. Now, go away. I won't talk to you any more--for--let me see, well, not for half an hour. Go away. Half an hour, mind.”
He swept off his hat with comic ruefulness. Then over his shoulder--
”I resign--_vice_ Lamont promoted--for half an hour.”
”That means a whole hour, now,” called out Clare after him, whereat a great laugh went up from her hearers.
From all but one, that is; and to this one all this chaff and light-hearted merriment was too awful, too ghastly--he, who _knew_ what none of these even so much as suspected.
”And the flood came and destroyed them all,” he quoted to himself. And as he contemplated all these women occupying the 'grand stand'--cool and dainty and elegant in their light summer attire--and this beautiful girl queening it over her little court of admirers, it seemed to him that the responsibility resting upon his own shoulders was too great, too awful, too superhuman: and the thought flitted through his brain that perhaps he ought never to have a.s.sumed it. A warning to the authorities to postpone the race meeting and put the towns.h.i.+p into a state of defence-- would not such have been his plain duty? But then they would only have laughed at him for a scare-monger and have done nothing. Moreover, even had he decided on such a plan, the Fates had already decided against it, for the lame horse on which he had started for Gandela had gone lamer still, with the result that he had been obliged to abandon the animal, and cover nearly half the distance on foot. He had further been forced to make a considerable _detour_, in order to avoid the mustering impi, portions of which he had seen, and all heading for the point arranged upon--consequently it was not until the early afternoon that he gained the towns.h.i.+p at all.
There was yet time. The prize-giving was the crucial moment, and that would not take place for at least three hours. He made a good meal at the hotel--an absolute necessity--and sent it down with a bottle of the best champagne the house had got. Even then, when he arrived on the course, he drew the remark that he was 'looking rather seedy,' as we have heard.
”Why, Mr Lamont, you are quiet,” said Clare brightly. ”Shall I offer you the regulation penny?”
He smiled queerly.
”Am I? Oh, Driffield's making such a row one couldn't have heard oneself speak in any case.”
”I like that,” exclaimed the implicated one. ”By Jove, old chap, you do look chippy! And--you've got a coat on.”
”Yes. Premonitory touch of fever. No good taking risks. That you, Ancram? I say, why the d.i.c.kens didn't you send back my gee again? I've been wanting him more than enough, I can tell you.”
Ancram explained that he thought a day or two more or less didn't matter, and he was awfully sorry, and so on, the while he was thinking what a beastly disagreeable chap Lamont could be if he liked, and what rotten form it was kicking up a row in public about his old bag of bones, which he probably hadn't really been in want of at all.
”I'm tired of sitting here,” p.r.o.nounced Clare. ”I want to walk about a bit. Help me down, someone!”
Half a dozen hands were extended, but it was on Lamont's that hers rested as she tripped down the cranky, wobbly steps, knocked up out of old boxes.
”You coming, Lucy? No? Too hot? Oh well.”
Lamont was obviously the favoured one to-day, decided the others, observing how decidedly, though without appearing to do so, she took possession of him; wherefore they refrained from making an escort, except Ancram, whom she promptly cold-shouldered in such wise that even he was not proof against it, and finally dropped off, wondering what on earth any girl could see in a dull disagreeable dog like Lamont, who hadn't three words to say for himself.
”Will you do something for me if I ask you, Mr Lamont?” said Clare, as they found themselves a little apart from the rest, who were watching some high jumping.
”Certainly I will, Miss Vidal--er, that is--if I can.”
Really he was in good sooth doing his best to deserve Ancram's verdict.
That sweet bright face, looking up at him in a way that most of those present would have given something to occupy his shoes, surely deserved an answer less frigid, less halting. Clare herself felt something of this, and she replied--
”Oh, it's nothing very great. I only want you to enter for the tent-pegging.”
He was relieved. He had contemplated the possibility of her requiring some service that would necessitate him leaving his post--hence the hesitation.
”Of course I will. But isn't it too late to enter?”
”No. If it is they'll have to waive the rule. I'm going to put money on you.”
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