A Gamble with Life Part 33

As the days pa.s.sed away Gervase grew terribly impatient. He was hard up.

"Horribly, disgustingly hard up," as he told his father, and here were Madeline's thousands or millions steadily acc.u.mulating, and n.o.body the better for it. If he could once get the knot tied he would be safe. She had so much that she could let him have all he wanted without feeling it, and there seemed no reason in the world why he should not begin to enjoy himself without delay.

Madeline listened in the main with much patience to his appeals and protestations, but for some reason she could not understand, they failed to move her. He never touched the heroic side of her nature. His appeal was always to her vanity and selfishness. His pictures of happiness were merely pictures of self-indulgence. The aim and end of life as he shadowed it forth was "to take thy ease, eat, drink, and be merry." A town house, a shooting-box in Scotland. Two or three motor-cars, a steam yacht, and an endless round between times of b.a.l.l.s and calls and grand operas.

She frankly owned to herself that her idol had been taken off its pedestal, and there was no longer any halo about his head. To live in the same house with Gervase day after day was distinctly disquieting.

His civilian attire made him look painfully common-place, his conversation was as common-place as his appearance.

She asked him one day why he did not wear his captain's uniform.

"Because I have resigned my commission," he answered.

"Resigned your commission?" she questioned, slowly.

"Why not?" he replied. "I have done my share of roughing it, surely."

"But--but--oh! I don't know. I had an idea once an officer, always an officer."

"Oh, nothing of the sort," he laughed, "I've given up soldiering to devote myself to you. Isn't that a much n.o.bler occupation?"

"I don't think so," she answered, slowly. "Besides, I did not want you to give up your commission to devote yourself to me."

"At any rate, I've done it. I thought it would please you. It will show you, at any rate, how devoted I am. There is nothing I would not give up for your sake, and I never thought you would hesitate to speak the one word that would make me the happiest man in the world."

"But you could not be happy unless I was happy also?" she interrogated.

"But you would be happy. I should just lay myself out to make you as happy as a bird. By my soul, you would have a ripping time!"

"I don't think that is just what I want," she said, abstractedly. "Don't you think there is something greater in life than either of us have yet seen?"

He looked at her with as much astonishment in his eyes as if she had proposed suicide. "Greater," he said, in a tone of incredulity. "Well, I'm--I'm--. The truth is, Madeline, you're beyond me," he added, twisting suddenly round, and back again. "As if there could be anything greater. We might have a turn at Monte Carlo if you liked, or Homburg in the season, or--but the fact is, we might go anywhere. Think of it! You can't conceive of anything greater!"

"Oh, yes! I can," she answered quietly, but firmly. "There's nothing n.o.ble or heroic in living merely for self and pleasure."

"n.o.ble! heroic!" he repeated, slowly, as if not quite comprehending.

"Well, now, I wonder what preaching fool has been putting these silly notions into your head. Have you turned Methodist?"

"I don't know why you call such notions silly," she said, ignoring his last question. "Did not Christ say that a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things he possesseth?"

"Oh! well, I'm not going to say anything against that as an abstract thing," he said. "But the Bible must not be taken too literally, you know."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Why, I mean what I say, and what every man, if he's got any sense, means. Religion is a very respectable thing, and all that. And I think everybody ought to go to church now and then and take communion, and be confirmed when he's young, and all that. And if people are very poor there must be a lot of comfort in believing in Providence, don't you see, and in living in hope that they'll have a jolly good time later on, and all that, don't you see. But as for making oneself miserable for other people, and denying oneself that somebody else may have a better time, and turning the other cheek, and all that, don't you see--well, that's just rot, and can't be done."

"Why not?"

"Why not? Well, it's just too silly for words. Fancy a man or a woman not having a good time if he has the chance."

"But it may be more blessed to give than to receive."

"Don't you believe it, Madeline. I believe in taking a common-sense view of life. We've only one life to live, and it's our duty to squeeze all the juice out of it that we can."

"But may not the pursuit of self end in missing self? Is there not more joy in pursuing duty than in chasing pleasure?"

"Look here, Madeline," he said, after a long pause, staring hard at her, "tell me candidly who's been putting these silly notions into your pretty little head."

"I wish you would not talk to me as though I had the head of a baby,"

she said, a little indignantly. "You should remember that I am no longer a child," and she turned and walked slowly out of the room.

Gervase went off to the library at once to interview his father. The days were pa.s.sing away, and he was getting no nearer the realisation of his desire. All his interviews with her ended where they began. Whenever he approached the subject nearest his heart and his interests, she always managed to shunt him off to some side issue.

Sir Charles was busy writing letters, but he looked up at once when Gervase entered.

"Can you spare time for a little talk?" the son asked, abruptly.

"Why, of course I can," was the reply. "Is there something particular you wish to talk about?"

"Well, the truth is," he said, in a tone of irritation, "I am not getting on with Madeline a bit."

"Perhaps you are too eager and impatient. You must remember that Madeline is not the girl to be driven."

"Yes, I've heard that before," he said, angrily. "You have always harped on that string. But you've been in the wrong, I'm sure you have. If you'd only let me have my way I would have proposed to her three years ago."

"And spoiled everything."

"No, I should have won everything. She was only a girl then, and was immensely gone on me. A soldier in her eyes was a hero, and an officer's uniform the most splendid thing she could imagine. If I'd struck then, when the iron was hot, she'd have fallen into my arms, and once engaged there'd have been no backing out."

"My dear boy, you don't know Madeline Grover," Sir Charles said, seriously. "No girlish promise would have bound her if she wanted to get out of it."

"Oh, yes, it would. She has tremendously high notions about honour and duty."

"Exactly. That's just where you fail to appreciate the difficulties of the situation. Very likely you tell her that some of her notions are silly, because you don't understand them."

"That's just what I have been telling her this very morning."

"And you think that's the way, perhaps, to win her promise."

"But what's a fellow to do? One cannot sit mum while she talks rot about--about----"

"About what?"

"Oh! I don't know; but you know when a girl gets on to heroics she generally makes a fool of herself."

"Madeline is very sane as a general thing."

"Then why in the name of common-sense doesn't she jump?"

"She wants to make sure of her ground, perhaps."