Part 2 (1/2)

Lord Algy could not have been more loverlike. He was really feeling full of emotion and awfully sorry to part. She had been so wonderful, he told himself. She had enjoyed the whole thing so simply, and was such a delightful companion. She had not asked any silly questions or plagued him with sentimental forever-and-ever kinds of suggestions, as lots of girls might have done with her limited experience of these transitory affairs. She had accepted the situation as frankly as a savage who had never heard that there could be any more binding unions. He really did not know how he was going to stand a whole month of separation, but perhaps it was just as well, as he was on the verge of being ridiculously in love, and to plunge in, he knew, would be a hopeless mistake. She was a thousand times nicer and more interesting than any girl he had ever met in his life. If she had only been a lady, and there would not be any row about it, he could imagine any fellow being glad to marry her.

She was not at all cold either--indeed, far from it--and seemed instinctively to understand the most enchanting pa.s.sion--He thought of _Mademoiselle de Maupin_ again--and felt he had been as equally blessed as _D'Albert_. She would make the sweetest friend for months and months, and he would rush back from Wales the moment he could break from his family, and seek solace in her arms--he would have got himself in hand again by then, so as not to do anything stupid. He always meant to be very, very good to her, though. Thus he dreamed, and grew more demonstrative, clasping her once again in a fond farewell embrace, during the last available moment, and his charming blue eyes, with their brown curly lashes, looked half full of tears.

”Say you love me, darling,” he commanded, wis.h.i.+ng, like all lovers, to hear the spoken words.

Katherine Bush was very pale, and there was concentrated feeling in her face which startled him. Then she answered, her voice deeper than usual:

”Yes--I love you, Algy--perhaps you will never know how much. I do not suppose I will ever really love anyone else in the same way in my life.”

Then the train drew up at the station.

The people all looked unreal in the foggy October air under the glaring lights--and the whole thing appeared as a dream indeed when, half an hour later, Katherine sped through the suburban roads to Bindon's Green, alone in the taxi. Lord Algy had put her in and paid the man liberally, and with many last love words had bidden her good-night and--_au revoir_!

So this chapter was finished--she realised that. And it had been really worth while. An outlook had opened for her into a whole new world--where realities lived--where new beings moved, where new standpoints could be reached. She saw that her former life had been swept from her--and now, to look back upon, appeared an impossible tedium. She had mastered all the shades of what three days of most intimate companions.h.i.+p with _a gentleman_ could mean, and the memory contained no flaw. Algy's chivalry and courtesy had never faltered; she might have been a princess or his bride, from the homage he had paid her. Dear, much-loved Algy! Her pa.s.sion for him was tinged with almost a mother love--there was something so tender and open-hearted about him. But now she must take stern hold of herself, and must have pluck enough to profit by what she had learned of life--Though to-night she was too tired to do more than retrospect.

Oh! the wonder of it all!--the wonder of love, and the wonder of emotion! She clenched her cold hands round the handle of her little valise. She was trembling. She had insisted upon his keeping the fur-lined coat for the present. How could she account for it to her family, she had argued? But she never meant to take it again.

No one was awake at Laburnum Villa when she opened the door with her latchkey, and she crept up to her little icy chamber under the roof, numb in mind and body and soul--and was soon s.h.i.+vering between the cotton sheets.

Oh! the contrast to the warm, flower-scented bedroom at the Palatial!

And once she had not known the difference between linen and cotton!

She said this over to herself while she felt the nap--and then the tears gathered in her eyes one by one, and she sobbed uncontrollably for a while--Alas! to have to renounce all joy--forever more!

She fell asleep towards morning, and woke with a start as her alarm clock thundered. But her face was set like marble, and there was not a trace of weakness upon it when she appeared at the family scramble, which did duty for breakfast.

There had been a row between Fred and Gladys, the sister a year older than herself, who was a saleswoman at a fas.h.i.+onable dressmaker's establishment. Matilda, the eldest of the family, was trying to smooth matters while she sewed up a rent in the skirt which Ethel, the youngest, would presently wear to the school ”for young ladies” which she daily attended. This, the most youthful Miss Bush, meanwhile sat in a very soiled j.a.panese quilted dressing gown, devouring sausages. There were bloaters on the table, too, and treacle--and the little general servant was just bringing in the unsavory coffee in the tin coffeepot.

Tea had been good enough for them always in the father's time, and Matilda for her part could not see why Fred had insisted upon having coffee, on the strength of a trip to Boulogne on bank holiday.

But there it was! When Fred insisted, things had to be done--even if one hated coffee!

Katherine Bush loathed most of her family. She had not an expansive nature, and was quite ruthless. Why should she love them just because they were her brothers and sisters? She had not asked to be born among them! They were completely uncongenial to her, and always had been. It was obviously ridiculous and illogical then to expect her to feel affection for them, just because of this accident of birth, so she argued. Matilda, the eldest, who had always been a mother to the rest, did hold one small corner of her heart.

”Poor old Tild,” as she called her, ”the greatest old fool living,” and Matilda adored her difficult sister.

How doubly impossible they all appeared now to the unveiled eyes of Katherine!

”This is simply disgusting stuff, this coffee!” she said, putting her cup down with a grimace. ”It is no more like French coffee than Ett looks like a j.a.panese because she has got on that dirty dressing-gown.”

”What do you know of French coffee, I'd like to ask--What ho!” Bert, the brother just younger than herself, demanded, with one of his bright flashes. ”Have you been to 'Boulong for a bit of a song,' like the Gov'nor?”

”I wish you'd give over calling me the Gov'nor, Bert!” Mr. Frederick Bush interposed, stopping for a moment his bicker with Gladys. ”Mabel strongly objects to it. She says it is elderly and she dislikes slang, anyway.”

But Albert Bush waved half a sausage on his fork, and subsided into a chuckle of laughter. He was the recognised wit of the family, and Ethel giggled in chorus.

Katherine never replied to any of their remarks, unless she wished to; there was no use in throwing down the gauntlet to her, it remained lying there. She did not even answer Matilda's tentative suggestion that she had always drunk the coffee before without abusing it!

If they only knew how significant the word ”before” sounded to her that morning!