Part 19 (1/2)
”Oh, nothing.”
But tone and look alike betokened some new achievement: they were self-satisfied even for Bethune of the Hall.
”Tell me,” demanded Moya.
”Well, if you want to know, I've been teaching one of your back-blockers (yours no more, praises be!) a bit of a lesson. Our friend Spicer. Very offensive to me all day; seemed to think I was inspiring the police.
Just now he surpa.s.sed himself; wanted me to take off my coat and go behind the pines; in other words to fight.”
”And wouldn't you?”
”Not exactly. Take off my coat to him!”
”So what did you do?”
”Knocked him down as I stood.”
”You didn't!”
”Very well. Ask Mr. Spicer. I'm sorry for the chap; he meant well; and I admire his pluck.”
”What did he do?”
”Got up and went for me bald-headed.”
”And you knocked him down again?”
”No,” said Theodore, ”that time I knocked him out.”
And he took a cigarette from his silver case, while Moya regarded him with almost as much admiration as disgust, and more of surprise than of either.
”I didn't know this was one of your accomplishments,” said she at length.
”Aha!” puffed Theodore; ”nor was it, once upon a time. But there's a certain old prize-fighter at a place called Trumpington, and he taught me the most useful thing I learnt up at Cambridge. The poetic justice of it is that I 'read' with him, so to speak, with a view to these very bush bullies and up-country larrikins. They're too free with their tongues when they're in a good temper, and with their fists when they're not. I suffered from them in early youth, Moya, but I don't fancy I shall suffer any more.”
Moya was not so sure. She caught herself matching Theodore and another in her mind, and was not ashamed of the side she took. It made no difference to her own quarrel with the imaginary champion; nothing could or should alter that. But perhaps she had been ungenerous. He seemed to think so. She would show him she was neither ungenerous, nor a coward, before she was done. And after that the deluge.
Hereabouts Moya caught Theodore watching her, a penny for her thoughts in either eye. In an instant she had ceased being disingenuous with herself, and was hating him heartily for having triumphed over an adherent of Rigden, however mistaken; in another she was sharing that adherent's suspicions; in a third, expressing them.
”I shouldn't wonder if Mr. Spicer was quite right!”
”In accusing me of inspiring the police?”
”You suspected the truth last night. Oh, I saw through all that; we won't discuss it. And why should you keep your suspicions to yourself?”
Bethune blew a delicate cloud.
”One or two absurd little reasons: because I was staying in his house; because you were engaged to him; because, in spite of all temptations, one does one's poor best to remain more or less a gentleman.”
”Then why did you go with the policemen?”
”To see what happened. I don't honestly remember making a single comment, much less the least suggestion; if I did it was involuntary, for I went upon the clear understanding with myself that I must say nothing, whatever I might think. I was a mere spectator--immensely interested--fascinated, in fact--but as close as wax, if you'll believe me.”