Sparrows Part 105

"I said that my people and myself were no end of keen on seeing you again and that we wanted you to come down and stay."

"You told him that?"

"One day in the market-place at Melkbridge. Afterwards, I often asked about you, if he knew your address and all that; but I never got anything out of him."

"But he knew all the time where I was. I don't understand."

"Little Mavis is very young."

"That's right: insult me," she laughed.

"Those sort of people with a marriageable daughter aren't going to handicap their chances by having sweet Mavis about the house."

"People aren't really like that!"

"Not a bit; they're as artless as you. My dear little Mavis, one 'ud think you'd never left the nursery."

"But I have."

"Curse it, you have! Why did you? Oh! why did you?"

"Do as I've done?"

"Yes. Why did you?"

"I loved him."

"Eh?"

"The only possible reason--I loved him."

"And if you'd loved me, you'd have done the same for me?"

"If you'd asked me."

"For me? For me?"

"If I loved you, and if you asked me."

"But that's just it. If a chap truly loves a girl, he'd rather die than injure a hair of her head. And if you loved me, my one idea would be to protect my darling little Mavis from all harm. Why---"

He stopped. Mavis's face was drawn as if she were in great pain.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"How dare you? Oh, how dare you?"

"Dare I what?" he asked, much perplexed at her sudden anger.

"Insult the man I love. If what you say is true, it would mean he didn't truly love me. You lie! I tell you he does! You lie--you lie!"

"You're right," a.s.sented Windebank sadly, after a moment's thought.

"You're quite right. I made a mistake. I ask everyone's pardon. How could any man fail to appreciate you?"

Much to his surprise, her anger soon abated. A not too convincing light-heartedness took the place of this stormy ebullition. If Windebank had been more skilled in the mechanism of a woman's heart, he would have promptly divined the girl's gaiety had been wilfully a.s.sumed, in order to conceal from herself the anxiety that Windebank's words, with reference to the proper conduct of a true lover, had inspired. By the time they had reached her door, she had expended her fund of forced gaiety; she was again the subdued Mavis whom trouble had fas.h.i.+oned. She thanked Windebank many times for his kindness; although she was tired, she was in no mood to leave him. She liked the restfulness that she discovered in his company; also, she dreaded to-night the society of her own thoughts.

They were now standing in the street immediately outside the door of her lodging. They had been silent for some moments. Mavis regretfully realised that he must soon leave her.

"Will you do me a favour?" he asked suddenly.

She looked up inquiringly.

"May I see---?" he continued softly. "May I see---?"

"My boy?" she asked, divining his wish.

She thought for a moment before slipping into the house. A little later, she came out carrying the sleeping baby in her arms. Mavis's heart inclined to Windebank for his request; at the same time, she knew well that, were she a man, and in his present situation, she would not be the least interested in the loved woman's child, whose father was a successful rival.

Windebank uncovered the little one's face. He looked at it intently for a while. He then bent down to kiss the baby's forehead.

"G.o.d bless you, little boy!" he murmured. "G.o.d bless you and your beautiful mother!"

He then covered the baby's face, and walked quickly away in the direction of Victoria.

That night, Mavis saw dawn touch the eastern sky with light before she slept. She lay awake, wondering at and trying to resolve into coherence the many things which had gone to the shaping of her life. What impressed her most was that so many events of moment had been brought about by trivial incidents to which she had attached no importance at the time of their happening. Strive as she might, she could not hide from herself how much happier would have been her lot if she had loved and married Windebank. It also seemed to her as if fate had done much to bring them together. She recalled, in this connection, how she again met this friend of her early youth at Mrs Hamilton's, of all places, where he had not only told her of the nature of the house into which she had been decoyed, but had set her free of the place. Then had followed the revelation of her hitherto concealed ident.i.ty, a confession which had called into being all his old-time, boyish infatuation for her. To prevent possible developments of this pa.s.sion for a portionless girl from interfering with his career, she had left him, to lose herself in the fog. If her present situation were a misfortune, it had arisen from her abnormal, and, as it had turned out, mischievous consideration for his welfare. But scruples of the nature which she had displayed were a.s.suredly numbered amongst the virtues, and to arrive at the conclusion that evil had arisen from the practice of virtue was unthinkable. Such a sorry sequence could not be; G.o.d would not permit it.

Mavis's head ached. Life to her seemed an inexplicable tangle, from which one fact stood out with insistent prominence. This, that although Windebank's thoughtless words about the safety of a woman with the man who truly loved her had awakened considerable apprehension in her heart, she realised how necessary it was to trust Perigal even more (if that were possible) than she had ever done before. He was her life, her love, her all. She trusted and believed in him implicitly. She was sure that she would love him till the last moment of her life. With this thought in her heart, with his name on her lips, the while she clutched Perigal's ring, which Miss Toombs's generosity had enabled her to get out of p.a.w.n, she fell asleep.

The first post brought two letters. One was from Miss Toombs's business acquaintance, offering her a berth at twenty-eight s.h.i.+llings a week; the other was from Montague Devitt, confirming the offer he had made Mavis at Paddington. Devitt's letter told her that she could resume work on the following Monday fortnight. It did not take Mavis the fraction of a second to decide which of the two offers she would accept. She sat down and wrote to Mr Devitt to thank him for his letter; she said that the would be pleased to commence her duties at the time suggested. The question of where and how she was to lodge her baby at Melkbridge, and, at the same time, avoid all possible risk of its ident.i.ty being discovered, she left for future consideration. She was coming back from posting the letter, when she was overtaken by Windebank, who was driving a superb motor car. He pulled up by the kerb of the pavement on which she was walking.

"Good morning," he cried cheerily. "I was coming to take you out."

"Shopping?" she asked.

"To have a day in the country. Jump in and we'll drive back for the youngster."

"It's very kind of you, but---"

"There are no 'buts.' I insist."

"I really mustn't go," said Mavis, thinking longingly of the peace of the country.

"But you must. Remember you've someone else to think of besides yourself."

"You?"

"The youngster. A change to country air would do him no end of good."

"Do you really think it would?" asked Mavis, hesitating before accepting his offer.