Part 15 (1/2)

Half an hour later she came up to him, where he stood, laughing and talking in a group of men.

”I am tired, Theo,” she said in a low tone. ”Mr Maurice is getting my dandy for me. But don't come away if you'd rather stop on.”

Their eyes locked for an instant.

”Is that likely?” he asked, a gleam in his own.

”I don't know.”

”You do know. Look sharp and get your things on.”

Michael Maurice did not hurry himself over the congenial task of settling his _deesse veritable_ among the cus.h.i.+ons of her dandy,--a hybrid conveyance, half canoe, half cane lounge, slung from the shoulders of four men, by an ingenious arrangement of straps and cross poles. Closer acquaintance had deepened his admiration: but a nameless something in her manner warned him that it must not be expressed in his usual promiscuous fas.h.i.+on. She had refused, very sweetly but decisively, the honour of appearing in his great picture. But Desmond had succ.u.mbed to the temptation of procuring a portrait of her and 'little Paul.' ”At the worst, I can sell a pony to pay for it,” he had said, in answer to her remonstrance. ”And I shall think it cheap at the price!”

And now, as the dandy-bearers turned to mount the ascent, he came to his wife's side. She had drawn off her gloves, and one hand rested on the woodwork of her canoe. He covered it with his own, walking by her thus, for a few steps, in silence: and it was enough.

”Mount now,” she commanded him softly. ”And let's hurry home, I've ever so much to tell you.”

He obeyed: and they journeyed upward to familiar music of hoof-beats, and the murmur of _jhampannies_, wrapt about by the magic of a night so still that all the winds seemed to have gone round with the sun to the other side of the world.

A tray set with gla.s.s and silver awaited them in the drawing-room.

Honor, entering first, slipped the long cloak from her shoulders with a satisfied sigh, a sense of pa.s.sing from the unreal to the real, which she often experienced on returning from a dance: and underlying all, a profound pity for the lone and ill-mated women, in a world of oddments and misfits, who have never felt the thrill of such home-comings as this of hers to-night. Then she swept round, and fronted her husband:--a gleaming figure, like a statue cut in ivory; no colour anywhere, save the living tints of her face and eyes and hair.

”Well?” she laughed, on a low clear note of happiness. ”I hope you are properly ashamed of yourself!”

But before the words were out, he had her in his arms; and for a supreme moment the great illusion was theirs that they were not two, but one, as the Book decrees.

Then she pushed him gently into a chair, and kneeling beside him drew his arm around her, resting her head against his in a fas.h.i.+on inexpressibly tender. The natural dignity that was hers set a high value on such sweet familiarities: and if Desmond submitted to them in silence, it was because the man in him was too deeply moved for speech.

Then she told him, at some length, all that she had gleaned of the past and present relations between Lenox and his wife.

”Now, do you see how I came to lose sight of everything for the time being?” she concluded, smiling up at him. ”So far as I can gather, things seem to be at a deadlock, unless one can persuade him to take the first step forward.”

”And you want to play Providence, as usual? Is that it?”

”Don't laugh at me, Theo! I am in earnest. I would gladly move heaven and earth to put things straight between them.”

”But this seems a case of moving a Scot. A far tougher job, I can tell you!”

”Well, I think I moved him a little to-night; and he is coming round to-morrow for a ride.” Desmond frowned; and she made haste to add; ”Now that is just where I must have your co-operation, Theo, or I can do nothing. I want you to trust me, and give me a free hand for these next few weeks. Will you, . . please?”

”Does that mean I am to let you be about with Lenox as much as you choose?”

”Probably not more than I have been so far. I only want to be sure that whatever I do you won't speak to me again as you did to-night.”

She felt the muscles of his arm tighten.

”I think you may feel sure of that much,” he said. ”But you are asking a very hard thing of me, Honor. Lenox is a thorough good chap; and I don't want to be driven into disliking him. It isn't as if I were a saint, like Paul. I'm just a man, and a grasping one at that! What's more, I am very jealous for you; and I have the right to be. Society doesn't recognise philanthropic motives. It takes you and your acts at their face value . . .”

”I know, I know,”--she straightened herself impulsively; her hands clasped, her bare arms laid across his knees. ”And I'll be ever so circ.u.mspect, dearest, I promise you. But oh, Theo, . . . don't you understand? It is just because we are so blessedly happy, you and I, that the thought of what those two foolish people are missing troubles me so sorely.”