The Potter's Thumb Part 27

'Yes! here it is. Lewis! what am I to do with it? Won't you take it?'

For, without drawing rein he had turned his pony and was riding off. He looked back carelessly.

'Keep it, I suppose, till Keene comes to claim it. That won't be long.'

As he rounded the next curve in the road, Mrs. Boynton and Dalel Beg were left face to face with George Keene's watch between them. It had a Chubb's key attached to the chain, and Dalel Beg's eyes, as he stood beside the _dandy_, clothed in a green velvet coat and European rowdyism, were attached to the key. Gwen's were on Lewis's retreating figure, and there was real jealousy and anger at her heart.

An hour and a half later, George, galloping the hired pony along the Mall after the manner of very young men on hired ponies, pulled up at the side of Mrs. Boynton's _dandy_ in pleased surprise.

'I'm so glad!' she exclaimed before he could say a word; 'there is your watch.'

As she handed it over to him their eyes met, and his took an expression of concern.

'I'm afraid your headache is very bad. You should have been at home hours ago.'

'On the contrary, it is better,' she replied quickly. 'I came by the low road and dawdled. Besides, I had to call at the dressmaker's, and she kept me waiting for ages. By the way, Colonel Tweedie says you are to have another week's leave----'

'So his daughter told me. How good you both are to me! Only, Hodinuggur will be worse than ever--afterwards.'

He would have liked to say 'after Paradise,' but he refrained. She gave a nervous little laugh.

'Don't think of it yet. I hate thinking. It does no good, for one never knows what mayn't happen. You are safe for a week, anyhow.'

As she lay awake that night in defiance of her own wisdom, thinking over the matter in all its bearings, she told herself that he was safe for more than a week. Every one was safe. At the worst, Dan might lose his promotion, but even that would be no unmixed evil if it forced him into independence. Indeed, if he knew of her worries, of the snare laid for her, of the covert hints about an _esclandre_ involving both him and George Keene which were wearing her to death, he would gladly sacrifice something for the sake of safety. If by any chance the sluice were to be opened during that week of absence, how it would simplify the whole business! And, after all, what had she done? nothing. Surely a woman might go and see her dressmaker sometimes and leave her _dandy_ outside? Was it her fault if the dressmaker lived in a house close to the bazaar in full view of Manohar Lal's shop? Was it her fault if the coolies slipped away to smoke their hookahs? Was it her fault that the key of the sluice was behind the cus.h.i.+ons of the _dandy_, and that Dalel Beg knew it was there? What had she done? What had she said?

Nothing. Had she not set aside the Mirza's suggestion that she should look in on Manohar Lal's new jewelry on her way home, by saying that she had no time, that she must go to the dressmaker's? Had she not hitherto refused to listen to hints or threats? Had she not even defied Manohar Lal? And now would it really be her fault if any one had taken advantage of her absence? Gwen turned her face into the pillow and moaned helplessly, telling herself that never was woman before so beset by misfortune. She had meant no harm, yet George had given her the pot, and Dan had taken the jewels to Manohar Lal's. There was no proof, of course, but the _esclandre_ would kill her, and that must be averted at all costs.

CHAPTER XVII

Mrs. Boynton was physically incapable of being constant to anything disagreeable, even to her own thoughts. The love of ease which came uppermost in her made it impossible; so, as she sat waiting for George Keene on the following evening, she had forgotten the vague remorses and regrets which had a.s.sailed her the night before. All she chose to remember was the fact that both George and Dan would be away from Hodinuggur _if anything happened_. What more could any one ask from one in her position? She made a pretty picture in the pretty room. A wood fire blazed on the hearth, a scent of English flowers filled the air.

Everything, from the books on the table to the graceful figure in white satin and pearls on the wicker chair, told a tale of delicacy and refinement, of what it is the fas.h.i.+on nowadays to call culture. On the mantelpiece, among a Noah's Ark of china beasts, and supported by a placid bra.s.s Buddha, George Keene's sketch of the dust-storm, the _kikar_-tree, and the rat-hole, struck a dissonant note in the general harmony; but Gwen's ears were too much attuned to content for her to notice it. Briefly, she was full of solid relief; not only because escape from a tight corner seemed a.s.sured, but that such relief had come in the nick of time. For Lewis Gordon had been over to tea, saying things which made it imperative that something definite should be settled about Dan's promotion and prospects. Saying, for instance, that he was growing sick of doing orderly duty at the Tweedies, house, and wanted one of his own. That she needed a firm hand to prevent her wasting her pension on _pari mutuels_, and beneath these jesting complaints she had seen real discontent and a determination for change in the future. And was he not right? Her whole mind gave its a.s.sent to his wisdom. What an unspeakable relief it would be to find herself back in a straight path; not only for her own sake, but for the sake of others--of those two especially whom she had implicated all unwittingly. But for them she would have defied the plotters; but for them she would never have stooped to flatter Dalel Beg, and take shawls and ornaments at nominal prices from Manohar Lal; to do any of those things, in short, with which their covert hints had forced her to rivet the chain which bound her to deceit. At least so she told herself, but then she was a proficient in the art of playing the thimble trick on her own mind, and, as often as not, was really incapable of saying where the motive power of her own actions lay. So, as she sat in the wicker chair waiting for George Keene, she felt quite virtuous over the sacrifice of her own honourable instincts on the shrine of friends.h.i.+p.

Even if _anything did happen_, all real blame would lie with Colonel Tweedie for allowing both George and Dan to be absent; but what was blame to the head of a Department? It slipped from him like water from a duck's back. And then, in regard to the water itself? Even Lewis allowed that the poor people might just as well have it as not----'

'Keene sahib _salaam deta_,' said the servant, interrupting her soliloquy of smooth things. She rose with outstretched hand and kindly smile.

'Punctual as ever. We shall be in time for number two----' then she paused abruptly in careless surprise. George, who had been told off as escort during the three-mile _dandy_ ride to the Town Hall, was still in his light morning suit. Smart enough in his new s.h.i.+rts and ties, and with a carnation in his b.u.t.tonhole, but still scarcely in the costume for a bachelors' ball. 'What is the matter? Aren't you coming?' she asked quickly as he stood silent yet disturbed, for the sight of her always had the nature of an electric shock upon him.

'To see you so far, of course. To the ball? I'm afraid not. You see I have to start to-night.'

'Start? Where?

'For Hodinuggur; where else?' He spoke lightly, but his face contradicted his tone. When is it a light matter to leave Paradise?

'Nonsense!' broke in Gwen sharply, startled out of all save negation.

'You must not go.'

'Must, I'm afraid,' he echoed, and his voice was a trifle unsteady.

'You see,' he went on more confidently, 'I ought never to have taken that offer of extra leave. I knew it at the time, but I thought Dan would stop, and the temptation---- However, I'm off now.'

'Now?' she echoed in her turn, still lost in her surprise.

'To-night I mean. Of course I have no chance of a tonga, so I must go by dhooli. It is a bore, but it can't be helped.'

The phrase seemed to bolster up his manliness, and he smiled at her.

Such a pleasant-faced boy! so clean, so wholesome, so full of promise for the future. A pang shot through Gwen's heart at the sight of him and roused quick opposition to unlucky chance.

'But why? It isn't as if you were keeping him--I mean Mr. Fitzgerald.

We settled all that; he goes back to Rajpore all the same.'

'So Gordon told me this afternoon. That is why I must return--the place can't be left alone, of course.' As he stood leaning against the mantelpiece his eye caught his own sketch, and he took it up half mechanically. 'To think I shall be back in that hole the day after to-morrow,' he said with a short laugh. He felt very sore, yet determined to face his pain in dignified fas.h.i.+on. 'Meanwhile,' he added, 'you must not be late. Is that your cloak?'

The futility of being tactful, even for your most familiar friends, was being borne in upon Gwen Boynton with the remembrance of her own certainty that Dan Fitzgerald's return to Rajpore must be necessary to the lad's acceptance of the leave. And here he was declaring it to be the stumbling-block! The thought sapped the very foundation of her general security, and made the results which this change in his plans might produce in hers strike her confusedly. She set aside the wrap he held out, with quite a tremulous hand.

'You are very foolish. n.o.body wants you to go. Even Dan----'

'Perhaps,' he interrupted, feeling set up, as it were, by her evident regret. 'But, if anything were to go wrong, you know, I should never forgive myself.'

The words were to a certain extent quite meaningless to him; he did not even seriously contemplate the possibility they suggested and yet they roused her fears, her regrets.

'But if anything were to go wrong,' she answered, forgetting caution in her eagerness, 'it would be better you should be away. Surely you must see that it would be better for you both to be away--if--if _anything should happen_.'

He smiled indulgently. 'But nothing can happen if I am there. And it means such a lot to Dan. I think I told you that he is engaged to a girl----'

'Yes! yes! I know; I know. But, as I said, if I were the girl----' She broke off hurriedly, then began again. 'George, what has that to do with the question? Nothing will happen, of course, and then you will have lost your pleasure for nothing. Don't go! It is foolish. It is unkind--when we all want you to stay--when I want you--I do indeed--you will stay, won't you, George?--just to please me.'

To do her justice, she seldom stooped to use her own personal charm as she did then, wilfully; but the case was urgent--the boy must not go.

George stared at her incredulously for a moment. 'Don't,' he said in a low voice; 'please don't.'

'But it is true, George,' she went on, laying her hand on his arm. 'I do want you to stay; I do indeed.'

His hand met hers suddenly, almost unconsciously, to fall away from it again in a gesture of quick renunciation.

'No! no!' he began in the same low tones, 'it isn't true--how can it be true?' Then his whole nature seemed to cast reserve aside, and his voice rose pa.s.sionately. 'Why should you care? I have never thought you could--never--I swear to you never! How could I? Do you not see it is only what you are to me, not what I am to you? What does that matter?

But for the other--for what you have been, and are, and will be all my life?--Ah! that is different--Yet you know that! well enough--you must know--for I can't tell it--not even to you.'

And there, English boy as he was, she saw him on his knee stooping to kiss the hem of her garment. It was cut in the latest fas.h.i.+on, full round the edge, and bordered by pearls of great size. They might have been of great price also--the Hodinuggur pearls, for instance--and George been none the wiser. He saw nothing but a blaze of light through the open gates of heaven showing him a woman, transfigured, glorified?

And she? There was nothing before her eyes save a boy at her feet--a very ordinary boy, whose every-day admiration she had accepted carelessly; yet it was she who, covering her face with her hands, shrank back as if blinded.

'Don t,' she cried in sharp accents of pain. 'You don't know--I--I don't like it.'

He was on his feet again in an instant, blus.h.i.+ng, confused. 'I--I beg your pardon,' he stammered. 'I don't know what induced me to--to behave like--like a fool.'

In sober truth he did not, being all unused to self-a.n.a.lysis, and far too young to understand his own instinctive recoil from the cheap cajolery which had caused his outburst. But she was older; she understood. He would not let her stoop, and yet--ah, G.o.d! how low she had stooped already! So the emotion she had wantonly provoked in him caught her and swept her from her feet.

'Oh, George!' she cried, coming a step nearer and thrusting her hands into his as if to hold him fast and make him listen. 'It was a mistake!

I meant no harm--no harm to any one--least of all to you.'