Deadham Hard Part 24

"You are like Sir Charles still; but I see something which is not him--the personal equation, I suppose, developing in you, the element which is individual, exclusively your own and yourself. I should enjoy exploring that."

She looked at Damaris very brightly for an instant, then looked down.

"I want to hear more about Sir Charles," she said. "Of all the distinguished men I have been fortunate enough to know, who--who have let me be their friend, no one has ever interested me more than he. We have known one another ever since I was a girl and his career meant so much to me. I followed it closely, rejoiced in his promotion, his successes; felt indignant--and said so--when he met with adverse criticism. I am speaking of his Indian career. When he accepted that Afghan command, it made a break. We lost touch, which I regretted immensely. From that time onward I only knew what any and everybody might know from the newspapers--except occasionally when I happened to meet Colonel Carteret."

The explanation was lengthy, laboured, not altogether spontaneous.

Damaris vaguely mystified by it made no comment. Henrietta raised her head, glancing round from under lowered eyelids.

"You appreciate the ever-faithful Carteret?" she asked, an edge of eagerness in her voice.

"The dear 'man with the blue eyes?' Of course I love him, we both love him almost better than anybody in the world," Damaris warmly declared.

"And he manifestly returns your affection. But, dearest child, why 'almost.' Is that reservation intentional or merely accidental?"

Then seeing the girl's colour rise.

"Perhaps it's hardly a fair question. Forgive me. I forgot how long it is since we met, forgot I'm not, after all, talking to the precious little downy owl, who had no more serious secrets than such as might concern her large family of dolls."

"I am not sure the 'almost' was quite true." Damaris put in hastily, her cheeks more than ever aflame.

"Yes it was, most delicious child--I protest it was. And I'm not sure I'm altogether sorry."

Slightly, daintily, she kissed the flaming cheek.

"But I do love Colonel Carteret," Damaris repeated, with much wide-eyed earnestness. "I trust him and depend on him as I do on n.o.body else."

"'Almost' n.o.body else?"

Damaris shook her head. She felt a wee bit disappointed in Henrietta.

This persistence displeased her as trivial, as lacking in perfection of breeding and taste.

"Quite n.o.body," she said. And without permitting time for rejoinder launched forth into the subject of the book on the campaigns of Shere Ali, which, as she explained, had been undertaken at Carteret's suggestion and with such encouraging result. She waxed eloquent regarding the progress of the volume and its high literary worth.

"But I was a little nervous lest my father should lose his interest and grow slack when we were alone, and he'd only me to talk things over with and to consult, so I begged Colonel Carteret to come abroad with us."

"Ah! I see--quite so," Henrietta murmured. "It was at your request."

"Yes. He was beautifully kind, as he always is. He agreed at once, gave up all his own plans and came."

"And stays"--Henrietta said.

"Yes, for the present. But to tell the truth I'm worried about his staying."

"Why?"--again with a just perceptible edge of eagerness.

"Because, of course, I have no right to trade on his kindness, even for my father's sake or the sake of the book."

"And that is your only reason?"

"Isn't it more than reason enough? There must be other people who want him and things of his own he wants to do. It would be odiously selfish of me to interfere by keeping him tied here. I have wondered lately whether I oughtn't to speak to him about it and urge his going home. I was worrying rather over that when you arrived this afternoon, and then the gladness of seeing you put it out of my head. But how I wish you would advise me, Henrietta, if it's not troubling you too much. You and they have been friends so long and you must know so much better than I can what's right. Tell me what is my duty--about his staying, I mean--to, to them both, do you think?"

Henrietta Frayling did not answer at once. Her delicate features perceptibly sharpened and hardened, her lips becoming thin as a thread.

"You're not vexed with me? I haven't been tiresome and asked you something I shouldn't?" Damaris softly exclaimed, smitten with alarm of unintended and unconscious offence.

"No--no--but you put a difficult question, since I have only impressions and those of the most, fugitive to guide me. Personally, I am always inclined to leave well alone."

"But is this well?--There's just the point."

"You are very anxious"--

"Yes, I am very anxious. You see I care dreadfully much."

Henrietta bent down, giving her attention to an inch of kilted silk petticoat, showing where it should not, beneath the hem of her blue skirt.

"I hesitate to give you advice; but I can give you my impressions--for what they may be worth. Seeing Colonel Carteret this afternoon he struck me as being in excellent case--enviably young for his years and content."

"You thought so? Yet that's just what has worried me. Once or twice lately I have not been sure he was quite content."

"Oh! you put it too high!" Henrietta threw off. "Can one ever be sure anyone--even one's own poor self--is quite content?"

And she looked round, bringing the whole artillery of her still great, if waning, loveliness suddenly to bear upon Damaris, dazzling, charming, confusing her, as she said:

"My precious child, has it never occurred to you Colonel Carteret may stay on, not against has will, but very much with it? Or occurred to you, further, not only that the pleasures of your father's society are by no means to be despised; but that you yourself are a rather remarkable product--as quaintly engagingly clever, as you are--well--shall we say--handsome, Damaris?"

"I am deputed to enquire whether you propose to take tea indoors, Miss Verity, or have it brought to you here; and, in the latter case, whether we have leave to join you?"

The speaker, Marshall Wace--a young man of about thirty years of age--may be described as soft in make, in colouring slightly hectic, in manner a subtle cross between the theatrical and the parsonic. Which, let it be added, is by no means to condemn him wholesale, laugh him off the stage or out of the pulpit. In certain circles, indeed, these traits, this blend, won for him unstinted sympathy and approval. He possessed talents in plenty, and these of an order peculiarly attractive to the amateur because tentative rather than commanding. Among his intimates he was seen and spoken of as one cloaked with the pathos of thwarted aspirations.

Better health, less meagre private means and a backing of influence, what might he not have done? His star might have flamed to the zenith!

Meanwhile it was a privilege to help him, to such extent as his extreme delicacy of feeling permitted. That it really permitted a good deal, one way or another, displaying considerable docility under the infliction of benefits, would have been coa.r.s.e to perceive and unpardonably brutal to mention.--Such, anyhow, was the opinion held by his cousin, General Frayling, at whose expense he now enjoyed a recuperative sojourn upon the French Riviera. Some people, in short, have a gift of imposing themselves, and Marshall Wace may be counted among that conveniently endowed band.

He imposed himself now upon one at least of his hearers. For, though the address might seem studied, the voice delivering it was agreeable, causing Damaris, for the first time, consciously to notice this member of Mrs. Frayling's retinue. She felt amiably disposed towards him since his intrusion closed a conversation causing her no little disturbance of mind. Henrietta's last speech, in particular, set her nerves tingling with most conflicting emotions. If Henrietta so praised her that praise must be deserved, for who could be better qualified to give judgment on such a subject than the perfectly equipped Henrietta? Yet she shrank in distaste, touched in her maiden modesty and pride, from so frank an exposition of her own charms. It made her feel unclothed, stripped in the market-place--so to speak--and shamed. Secretly she had always hoped she was pretty rather than plain. She loved beauty and therefore naturally desired to possess it. But to have the fact of that possession thus baldly stated was another matter. It made her feel unnatural, as though joined to a creature with whom she was insufficiently acquainted, whose ways might not be her ways or its thoughts her thoughts. Therefore the young man, Marshall Wace, coming as a seasonable diversion from these extremely personal piercings and probings, found greater favour in her eyes than he otherwise might. And this with results, for Damaris'

grat.i.tude, once engaged, disdained to criticize, invariably tending to err on the super-generous side.

Yes, they would all have tea out here, if Henrietta was willing. And, if Henrietta would for the moment excuse her, she would go and order Hordle--her father's man--to see to the preparation of it himself.

Foreign waiters, whatever their ability in other departments, have no natural understanding of a tea-pot and are liable to the weirdest ideas of cutting bread and b.u.t.ter.

With which, conscious she was guilty of somewhat incoherent chatter, Damaris sprang up and swung away along the terrace, through the clear tonic radiance, buoyant as a caged bird set free.

"Go with her, Marshall, go with her," Mrs. Frayling imperatively bade him.

"And leave you, Cousin Henrietta?"

She rose with a petulant gesture.

"Yes, go at once or you won't overtake her. I am tired, really wretchedly tired--and am best left alone."