Capricious Caroline Part 53

Every now and then Caroline would call--

"Bed-time, chicks."

But she said it dreamily, and no one took any notice.

She was spellbound by the marvellous beauty of the sea and sky. As the sun descended slowly and reluctantly the world was alive with colour.

Fiery streaks of orange, mingled with the tenderest rose-pink flung themselves upwards in the sky, forming a diadem for the departing monarch; and hovering near (creeping every instant closer like ministering spirits) cl.u.s.tered the clouds, some deepest purple, and some misty grey. Below, the sea murmured its evening hymn, whilst its surface caught the reflected pageantry, s.h.i.+fting from one wondrous scheme of colour to another. Caroline's heart contracted with emotion as she watched the golden glory melt into a sea of red, then the red fade into a wondrous mauve, that in its turn glided into turquoise blue; and lastly into the melancholy green that heralded the dark shades of night.

It was really growing late; Caroline got up with an effort and called the children.

Baby nestled in her arms at once, a flushed and sandy little individual. It was only a few steps fortunately to the annex of the hotel. Betty was taking farewell of an admirer. There was not a masculine heart, even of the tenderest age, that had not succ.u.mbed to Betty's fascinations.

At the children's ball every week at the Casino the little "Anglaise"

was the acknowledged beauty. Just before they left the sands Caroline turned and looked at the sea; it was growing cold and grey now, the pale moon gave it a touch of sadness.

Somewhere over where the sea and the night sky met lay the land where he was. If only her spirit could wing itself through these thousands of miles and look upon him!

He seemed lost. It was not only distance that divided him.

Since that June night in the old garden there had been silence between them--a silence that was fraught with the most hurtful significance to Caroline.

She turned away and cuddled baby closer.

"News from Camilla," said Mrs. Brenton, as the little cavalcade turned into the hotel gardens. "She is in Dieppe. We shall see her to-morrow.

She writes in a great hurry, but seems in the best of spirits. It is useless," added Mrs. Brenton, with a faint smile, "to pretend that I can keep up a defensive att.i.tude with Camilla. She writes for all the world as if she had never given me an hour's uneasiness in all her life!"

Caroline dressed for dinner an hour later with a nervous feeling, that was almost apprehension, weighting her.

"Why has she come to Dieppe?" she asked herself. "Can she know that he is there? I wish I could be more sure of him. It is just because he never speaks of her now that he makes me so anxious."

As luck would have it, that night when they went for their usual stroll after dinner Agnes Brenton introduced Broxbourne's name.

It was her husband who had urged her to let the matter stand all this time. She would not have spoken now only that she really was perplexed by Caroline's manner, and could not rid herself of the suggestion that though the girl was so bright, and her spirit seemed so unflagging, she was in reality not at all happy. From this it was a very short step to imagine that the man who was undoubtedly hovering about Caroline was the cause of this unhappiness.

They stood a long time in silence watching the moonlit sea; then Mrs.

Brenton said, with a sigh--

"I shall be sorry to go away from here;" and Caroline said--

"So shall I." A moment later she said, "I wish I knew what my future is going to be."

Mrs. Brenton looked at her.

"What do you mean, dear child?"

"I mean," said Caroline, "that everything before me is uncertain.

Undoubtedly the children's mother will make an attempt to have them with her; but this cannot possibly be a lasting arrangement, because I know something about Cuthbert Baynhurst, and I can hardly picture him living in the same house, however large, with children. And," said Caroline, with a little catch in her voice, "a.s.suredly in that house there would be no place for me."

Mrs. Brenton was silent a minute, and then she said--

"Camilla knows there is always room at Yelverton for the children, and I should be happy if I could hope that you would be with them for a long time to come. But this is unreasonable. So too is _our_ desire to keep you with us. Indeed, I have been preparing myself to hear that you were thinking of having a home of your own." Then Agnes Brenton slipped her arms round the girl's shoulder. "I _must_ know!" she said.

"Caroline, are you going to marry Sammy?"

She was almost amazed by the emphatic way in which Caroline denied this.

"But he wants to marry you? That is patent to all the world. Is it so hard for you to speak to me, Caroline?"

"I know so well what you have had in your mind all this time," the girl answered. "I know you think it most extraordinary that I should encourage Sir Samuel, and I know that a lot of people would think it very wrong of me to seem to encourage him. He has asked me four times already if I will marry him, and if he asked me four hundred times I should answer the same thing."

"Then, ..." said Mrs. Brenton, and she stopped and all at once she drew Caroline round and looked at her almostly sternly. "I think I begin to understand.... There is something you are hiding, Caroline...."

And Caroline made no attempt to deny it.

"There is something that I have tried to deal with singlehanded, but it is growing too difficult for me," she said, and she spoke almost wearily. "It is not my secret, and I cannot share it even with you."

"What an a.s.s I have been!" said Agnes Brenton, suddenly. Then she bent forward and kissed Caroline. "Now," she said, "we stand together. I don't ask you to tell me what this trouble is. I only want you to answer two questions. Does it affect Camilla?"

Caroline said "Yes."

"Does it affect others besides Camilla?"

Again Caroline said "Yes." And then the words broke from her involuntarily, "It might do lasting harm to the children.... It might spoil their future. I don't believe," the girl said half pa.s.sionately, "that she for one instant realizes this. I don't believe she has grasped for a single instant the danger that has threatened her."

Mrs. Brenton sighed.

"Oh, to put some depth into Camilla!" she said. Then, "And you have managed to stand between her and this danger; but how, my dear, dear child?"

"How?" said Caroline, she laughed, but it was a wretched laugh.

"Indeed, I scarcely know. I think I have attracted him just because I have been truthful with him. I have never once pretended that I liked him. I have given him more home-thrusts than I fancy he has had from anybody else. And he only wants me because he thinks I am not easy to get. At the same time," Caroline said, "I must do him this justice. He gave me a promise, it was not a little thing, indeed, remembering what he is, it was a big thing; and up to now he has kept this promise. I am only afraid he won't keep it much longer. He is getting tired,"

Caroline said, with a break in her voice. "I saw a difference in his manner when he was here the other day. If I lose my power of attraction," the girl's voice was bitter, "I am afraid all I have tried to do will be so much wasted work."

They paced to and fro and were silent a long time. Then Agnes Brenton said--

"I must enter into this. I have every right to do so. I am glad now that Sammy is so near. I shall send and ask him to come and see me without further delay." Then she reproached Caroline. "Why did you not bring this trouble to me at once?"

Caroline caught her breath with a sigh.

"I suppose we all try to do clever things once in our life." Then she took Mrs. Brenton's hand and carried it to her lips. "I did not want you to have more to bear, dear friend. You were so unhappy, and I believed I should be able to keep this away from you always."

In a low voice a moment later, Caroline said--

"When she comes to-morrow, you will say nothing to her?" and Agnes Brenton promised this.

Later, when she was alone with her husband, she surprised him by observing with some vehemence.

"d.i.c.k, I give you full permission to call me a fool whenever you feel inclined to do so."

Mr. Brenton looked up from his latest treasure, an old French book which he had picked up in a day's excursion to Rouen.