Part 21 (1/2)

”Oh, Tibby, you angel, that's so like you. You always want to shoulder the blame for every speck of wrong-doing or depression that appears in your little universe. Women like you always do. It's an odd sort of responsible unselfishness. That doesn't in the very least express to any one else what I mean, but it does to myself. You never allow that any one else has any responsibility when things go wrong, and you never take the smallest share of the responsibility--or the praise, rather--when things go right.”

Miss Tibb.u.t.t laughed. In spite of her queer earnestness over what seemed--at all events to others--very little things, and her quite extraordinary conscientiousness--some people indeed might have called it scrupulosity--she had really a keen sense of humour. She was always ready to laugh at her own earnestness as soon as she perceived it. She was not, however, always ready to abandon it, unless it were quite, quite obvious that she had really better do so. And then she did it with a quick mental shake, and put an odd little mocking humour in its place.

”But, my dear, one generally is responsible, and that just because my universe is so small, as you justly pointed out. But I always believe literally what any one says. I don't in the least mean that Pia said what was not true. Of course she thought she had swept away the cobweb and the bubble, and I've no doubt she did. But it left a gap, as you said. I ought to have seen the gap and tried to fill it.”

Trix shook her head.

”You couldn't, Tibby, if the bubble were the colour I fancy. Only the bubble itself, consolidated, could do that.”

”Oh, my dear, you mean--?” said Miss Tibb.u.t.t.

”Just that,” nodded Trix. ”It was bound to happen some time. Pia is made to give and receive love. She was too young when she married to know what it really meant. And, well, think of those years of her married life.”

”I thought of them for seven years,” said Miss Tibb.u.t.t quietly. ”You don't think I've forgotten them now?”

Trix's eyes filled with quick tears.

”Of course you haven't. I didn't mean that. What I do mean is that I suppose she thought she had got the real thing then, and all the young happiness in it was destroyed in a moment. Then came those seven terrible years. For an older woman perhaps there would have been a self-sacrificing joy in them; for Pia, there was just the brave facing of an obvious duty. She was splendid, of course she was splendid, but no one could call it joy. Now, somehow, she's had a glimpse of what real joy might be. And it has vanished again. I don't know how I know, but it's true. I feel it in my bones.”

Again there was a silence. Then:

”What can we do?” asked Miss Tibb.u.t.t simply.

Trix laughed, though her eyes were grave. ”You, angel, can pray. Of course I shall, too. But I'm going to do quite a lot of thinking, and keeping my eyes open as well. And now I am going right round this perfectly heavenly garden once more, and then, I suppose, it will be time to dress for dinner.”

Swinging herself off the table, she departed waving her hand to Miss Tibb.u.t.t before she turned a corner by a yew hedge.

”Dear Trix,” murmured Miss Tibb.u.t.t.

CHAPTER XX

MOONLIGHT AND THEORIES

The little party of two men and two women were a.s.sembled in the drawing-room. Trix had not yet put in an appearance. But, then, the dinner gong had not sounded. Trix invariably saved her reputation for punctuality by appearing on the last stroke.

Miss Tibb.u.t.t and Father Dormer were sitting on the sofa; Pia was in an armchair near the open window, and Doctor Hilary was standing on the hearthrug. His dress clothes seemed to increase his size, and he did not look perfectly at home in them; or, perhaps, it was merely the fact that he was so seldom seen in them. Doctor Hilary in a shabby overcoat or loose tweeds, was the usual sight.

Father Dormer was a tallish thin man, with very aquiline features, and dark hair going grey on his temples. At the moment he and Miss Tibb.u.t.t were deep in a discussion on rose growing, a favourite hobby of his.

Deeply engrossed, they were weighing the advantages of the scent of the more old-fas.h.i.+oned kinds, against the shape and colour of the newer varieties, with the solemnity of two judges.

”They're pretty equally balanced in my garden,” said Father Dormer. ”I can't do without the old-fas.h.i.+oned ones, despite the beauty of the newer sorts. I've two bushes of the red and white--the York and Lancaster rose.

I was a Lancas.h.i.+re lad, you know.”

And then the first soft notes of the gong sounded from the hall, rising to a full boom beneath the footman's accomplished stroke.

There was a sound of running steps descending the stairs, and a final jump.

”Keep it going, Dale,” said a voice without. And then Trix entered the room, slightly flushed by her rapid descent of the stairs, but with an a.s.sumption of leisurely dignity.