Part 59 (1/2)

”Why does he look so sorrowful?” she thought, and telling herself that this came to people who were much alone, she rattled on more recklessly than before.

She talked of the life of the music hall, the life at ”the back,”

glorifying it by a tone of apology. It was all hurry-scurry, slap, dash, and drive; no time to consider effects; a succession of last acts and first nights; so it was really harder to be a music-hall woman than a regular actress. And the music-hall woman was no worse than other women--considering. Had he seen their ballet? It was fetching. Such pages! Simply darlings! _They_ were the proud young birds of paradise whom toffs like those Guards came to see, and it was fun to see them pluming and preening themselves at the back, each for the eyes of her own particular lord in the stalls. Thus she flung out unfamiliar notes, hardly knowing their purport, but to John they were as slimy creatures out of the social mire she had struggled through. O London! London! Its shadow was over them even there, and go where they would, they could never escape from it.

His former thought began to hang about him again, and he asked her to tell him what had happened to her during his absence.

”Shall I?” she said. ”Well, I brought three golden sovereigns out of the hospital to distribute among the people of London, but, bless you, they went nowhere.”

”And what then?”

”Then--then Hope was a good breakfast but a bad supper, you know. But shall I tell you all? Yes, yes, I will.”

She told him of Mrs. Jupe, and of the deception she had practised upon her people, and he turned his head that he might not see her tears. She told him of the ”Three Graces,” and of the stage manager--she called him the ”stage damager”--and then _she_ turned her head that she might hide her shame. She told him of Josephs, the bogus agent, and his face grew hard and his brown eyes looked black.

”And where did you say his place was?” he asked in a voice that vibrated and broke.

”I didn't say,” she answered with a laugh and a tear.

She told him of Aggie, and of the foreign clubs, and of Koenig, and of the dinner party at the Home Secretary's, and then she skipped a step and cried:

”Ding, dong, dended, My tale's ended.”

”And was it there you met Mr. Drake again?”

She replied with a nod.

”Never having seen him in the meantime?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head. ”That's all over now, and what matter? I likes to be jolly and I allwis is!”

”But is it all over?” he said, and he looked at her again with the deep look that had cut into her heart.

”He's going to say something,” she thought, and she began to laugh, but with a faint tremor, and giving the dog her parasol to carry in his mouth, she took off her hat, swung it in her hand by the brim, and set off to run.

There was the light s.h.i.+mmer of a pool at a level below, where the water had drained to a bottom and was inclosed by beeches. The trees seemed to hang over it with outstretched wings, like birds about to alight, and round its banks there were plots of violets which filled the air with their fragrance. It was a G.o.d-blest bit of ground, and when he came up with her she was standing at the edge of the marshy mere panting and on the point of tears, and saying, in a whisper, ”Oh, how beautiful!”

”But however am I to get across?” she cried, looking with mock terror on the two inches of water that barely covered the gra.s.s, and at the pretty red shoes that peeped from under her dress.

Then something extraordinary occurred. She hardly knew what was happening until it was over. Without a word, without a smile, he lifted her up in his arms and carried her to the other side. She felt helpless like a child, as if suddenly she belonged to herself no longer. Her head had fallen on his shoulder and her heart was beating against his breast.

Or was it _his_ heart that was beating? When he put her down she was afraid she was going to cry, so she began to laugh and to say they mustn't lose that 7.30 to London or the ”rag” would be rolling up without her and the ”stage damager” would be using ”cuss words.”

They had to pa.s.s the old church of Stoke Pogis on the way back to the town, and after looking at its timber belfry and steeple John suggested that they should see the inside. The s.e.xton was found working in the garden at the side of the house, and he went indoors for the keys. ”Here they be, sir, and you being a pa'son I'll bide in the orchet. You and your young missus can look at the church without me. 'A b'lieve 'a hev seed it afore,” he said with a twinkle.

The church was dark and cool. There was a window representing an angel ascending to heaven against a deep blue sky, and a squire's pew furnished like a box at the theatre, with a carpet and even a stove. The chairs in the front bore family crests, and behind them were inferior chairs, without crests, for the servants. John had opened the little modern organ and begun to play. After a while he began to sing. He sang Nazareth, and his voice filled the empty church and went up into the gloom of the roof, and echoed and returned, and it was almost as if another voice were singing there.

Glory stood by his side and listened; a wonderful peace had come down on her. Then the emotion that vibrated in his deep voice made something surge up to her throat. ”Life for evermore! Life for evermore!” All at once she began to weep, to sob, and to laugh in a breath, and he stopped.

”How ridiculous I am to-day! You'll think me a maniac,” she said. But he only took her hand as if she had been a child and led her out of the church.

Insensibly the day had pa.s.sed into evening, and the horizontal rays of the sun were dazzling their eyes as they returned to the hotel for tea.