Part 31 (2/2)

”You've got a wrong idea. I tell ye it's not serious, Winnie.”

He made his protest again, in a hard desperate voice. Then, with an effort, he took a more ordinary tone.

”I'm full of business over this new idea--and with winding up the old connection, if I do it. I mayn't be seeing you for a few weeks. You will take care of yourself?”

”Surely if anybody's had a warning, I have! Good-bye, d.i.c.k.”

She put her hand out through the window. He took it and pressed it, but he never lifted his eyes to hers. A lurch back, a plunge forward, and the train was started. ”Good-bye, d.i.c.k!” she cried again. ”Cheer up!”

Leaning out of the window, she saw him standing with his hands in his pockets, looking after her. He called out something, which she heard imperfectly, but it embraced the word 'fool,' and also the word 'serious.' She could supply a connexion for the latter, but travelled to town in doubt as to the application of the former. Was it to her or to himself that d.i.c.k Dennehy had applied the epithet? ”Because it makes a little difference,” thought Winnie, snuggling down into the big collar of her sealskin coat--quite out of place, by the way, in a third-cla.s.s carriage.

CHAPTER XIX

A POINT OF HONOUR

Mrs. Lenoir's boast was not without warrant; in the course of her life she had held her own against men in more than one hard fight. She admired another woman who could do the same. In her refugee from the West Kensington studio she rejoiced to find not a sentimental penitent nor an emotional wreck, but a woman scarred indeed with wounds, but still full of fight, acknowledging a blunder, but not crushed by it, both resolved and clearly able to make a life for herself still and to enjoy it. She hailed in Winnie, too, the quality which her own career had taught her both to recognize and to value--that peculiarly feminine attractiveness which was the best weapon in her s.e.x's battles; Winnie fought man with her native weapons, not with an equipment borrowed from the male armoury and clumsily or feebly handled. Under the influence of this s.e.x-sympathy pity had pa.s.sed into admiration, and admiration into affection, during the weeks which had elapsed since she brought Winnie to her roof.

Her ethical code was pagan, as perhaps is already evident. When she hated, she hurt if she could; when she loved, she helped--she would not have quarrelled with the remark that she deserved no credit for it. She was by now intent on helping Winnie, on giving her a fresh start, on obliterating the traces of defeat, and on co-operating in fresh manoeuvres which should result in victory. But to this end some strategy was needful. Not only other people, but Winnie herself had to be managed, and there was need of tact in tiding over an awkward period of transition. As a subsidiary move towards the latter object, Mrs.

Lenoir projected a sojourn abroad; in regard to the former she had to be on her guard against two sets of theories--the world's theories about Winnie, which might perhaps find disciples in her own particular friends, the General and his son, Major Merriam, and Winnie's theories about the world, which had before now led their adherent into a rashness that invited, and in the end had entailed, disaster.

She had pleasant memories of Madeira, which she had visited many years ago under romantic circ.u.mstances. She outlined a tour which should begin with that island, include a sea-trip thence to Genoa, and end up with a stay at the Italian lakes. On the day that Winnie spent at Shaylor's Patch she sketched out this plan to her friend, the General.

”Upon my word, it sounds uncommonly pleasant. I should like to come with you, but I don't want to leave Bertie for so long, now he's at home for once.”

”No, of course you don't.” For reasons of her own, she preferred that any suggestion should come from him.

The General pondered, then smiled rather roguishly. ”What would you say, Clara, if two handsome young officers turned up at Madeira, for a few days anyhow? Just to bask in the sun, you know?”

”I should say that two handsome young women wouldn't be much annoyed.”

”By Jove, I'll suggest it to Bertie!” All right--so long as it was the General who suggested it!

Mrs. Lenoir smiled at him. ”Of course it would be very pleasant.” A slight emphasis on the last word suggested that, if there were any reasons to weigh against the obvious pleasantness, they were matters for her friend's consideration, not for hers. If he chose to go out of his way to expose his eldest son to the fascination of a young woman about whom he knew nothing at all, it was his own look out. By now there was no doubt that Bertie Merriam was quite conscious of the fascination, though by no means yet dominated by it.

”We should make a very harmonious quartette,” the General declared. ”I shall certainly suggest it to Bertie.”

”Oh, well, you must see how it strikes him. Remember, he may prefer the gaieties of London. Don't press him on our account!” She would not in any way invite; she preserved the att.i.tude of a kindly, but not an eager, acquiescence in any decision at which Bertie might arrive. But she was strongly of opinion that the handsome officers would turn up--on the island, and not improbably even at Southampton docks.

All this, then, was in Mrs. Lenoir's mind when Winnie came back from Shaylor's Patch, her thoughts still occupied with two questions. One related to d.i.c.k Dennehy; it was a private matter and did not concern her hostess. But the problem of conduct which she had submitted to the Aikenheads did. On that she was bound in loyalty to consult Mrs. Lenoir.

That lady had indeed given an opinion once, but circ.u.mstances alter cases. As she ate her dinner, she described humorously the difference of opinion between husband and wife, putting the case in the abstract, of course, without explicit reference to the Major, and taking the liberty of implying that it was Stephen who had initiated the debate. These concessions to modesty and discretion scarcely deceived Mrs. Lenoir, though she accepted them decorously. Both women knew that it was Bertie Merriam who might make a settlement of the point necessary before many days, or, at all events, many weeks, were out.

Worldly-wise Mrs. Lenoir took up a middle position. She was not prepared for Tora's uncompromising doctrine; yet she agreed with the view that there was much to be said for telling people what they might probably find out--and find out too late in their own opinion. All the same, she dissented from Stephen's extreme application of the rule of candour.

”You wouldn't accept a man without telling him, but you needn't blurt it out to anybody who makes you a few pretty speeches.”

”Wouldn't it be fair to tell him before he got much in love?”

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