Part 15 (2/2)

For a few seconds he kept silence. Then he spoke very quietly.

”I hope Miss Drummond may be happy,” he said. He did not trouble to put on a pretence of indifference with Bel, just as he did not wish to talk about it. He went on to speak of ordinary topics. That evening he stayed to dinner. He had only a week more in England. Under the electric light at the dinner-table his haggardness was revealed.

”For once,” said Cyprian Rooke afterwards, ”your discovery wasn't a mare's nest, my dear Bel. G.o.dfrey looks hard hit.”

The week turned round quietly. Nelly had not heard definitely the date of Captain Langrishe's departure. For six days she kept away from the Rookes' house. On that last evening he had been icily cold. The poor girl was in torture. All the week she was calling pride to her aid. The sixth day it refused to bolster her up any longer. The sixth day she met at lunch a friend of hers and Belinda Rooke's. She asked a question about the Rookes with averted eyes.

”Poor girl,” said the friend; ”she is in grief over G.o.dfrey Langrishe.

He sails to-morrow.”

The rest of that luncheon-party was a phantasmagoria of faces and voices to poor Nelly. He was going, and she would never see him again, although he had shown her by a thousand infallible signs that he loved her.

Despite his occasional coldness, she was sure he loved her. Her pride was down with a vengeance. She felt nothing at the moment but a desire to see him before he should go--just to see him, to see the lighting up of his gloomy eyes, as they had lit up on seeing her suddenly before he could get his face under control. After that one meeting, the deluge!

But she must see him--she must see him for the last time.

The kindly hostess insisted on her going home in a cab. When she had been driven some distance, Nelly pushed up the little trapdoor of the hansom and gave another address than Sherwood Square.

Having done it, she felt happier. However it ended, she was making a last attempt to see him. She could not have endured a pa.s.sive acquiescence in her destiny, whatever was to be the end of it.

The luncheon-party had been prolonged, and the gas-lamps in the streets were lit. It was the close of the short winter's day. Night came prematurely between the high Bayswater houses. It was almost dark when she stood at last on Mrs. Rooke's doorstep, asking herself what she should do if Mrs. Rooke was away from home.

Mrs. Rooke was out, as it happened, but the maid-servant, who knew Nelly, and, like all servants, had been captivated by her pleasant, friendly ways, invited her in to await the lady's return. Mrs. Rooke was expected back to tea. With a smile on her lips she held the drawing-room door open for Nelly to enter.

Nelly pa.s.sed through. There was a big French screen by the door. She had pa.s.sed beyond it and out into the warm firelit room before she realised that there was another occupant. Someone stood up from the couch by the fireplace as she came towards it. Fate had been on her side for once.

The person was Captain Langrishe.

”My sister will not be very long, Miss Drummond,” he began, in a tone he tried in vain to make indifferent. ”I hope you won't mind waiting in my company.”

Mind waiting, indeed! To Nelly, as to himself, the seconds were precious ones. Mrs. Rooke was shopping on that particular afternoon. It was a kind fate that made it so difficult for her to find just the things she wanted, that sent half-a-dozen acquaintances and friends in her way.

He took Nelly's hand in his. It was quite cold and clammy, although it had come out of a satin-lined m.u.f.f. The hand trembled.

”I heard you were going to-morrow,” she said. ”I'm so glad I am in time to wish you _bon voyage_.”

”Won't you sit down?”

He set a chair for her in front of the fire. The flames lit up her golden hair, and revealed her charming face in its becoming setting of the sables she wore. He sat in his obscure corner, watching her with moody eyes. He said to himself that he would never see her again, yet he laboured to make ordinary everyday talk. He asked after the General, and regretted that the hurry of these latter days had prevented his calling at Sherwood Square.

”We miss you at the head of the squadron,” said Nelly, innocently. ”It isn't the same thing now that there is a stranger.”

”Ah!” A flame leaped into his eyes. He leant forward a little. ”That reminds me I ought not to go without making a confession.” He was taking a pocket-book from his breastpocket. He opened it, and held it under Nelly's eyes. There was a piece of blue ribbon there. She recognised it with a great leap of her heart. It was her own ribbon which she had lost that spring day as she stood on the balcony looking down at the soldiers.

”You recognise it? It was yours. The wind blew it down close to my hand.

I caught it. I have kept it ever since. May I keep it still? It can do no harm to anybody, my having it--may I keep it?”

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