A Bachelor Husband Part 53

Marie could picture him quite well--knew how startlingly blue his eyes would look against that weather-tanned face. She stopped in front of a photograph of him, and stared at it with a curious expression in her eyes.

It had been taken when he was at Cambridge and showed him on the river in boating flannels. She remembered so well when he had sent that photograph home--it had been during the one short period of her life when for a little while she had almost forgotten him.

She had not seen him for weeks, and a fresh school had made new interests for her that had pushed him into the background of her thoughts. Then that photograph came, and she could remember as plainly as though it had been yesterday the sudden revulsion of feeling that had flooded her heart, bringing back all the old longing ache and wors.h.i.+pful love, even causing her to despise herself because just for a little she had forgotten her idol.

As she stood staring at it now, she was conscious of a wish that was almost a prayer for some such metamorphosis to happen again.

She would have welcomed the old biting jealousy and disappointment if she could have driven this new feeling of cold indifference from her heart.

"He brought me some lovely lace," Miss Chester went on. "There is one thing about Chris, he never forgets to bring us presents when he has been away. He is always most generous."

Marie echoed the words flatly.

"Yes, he is always most generous." And, for the first time since she had overheard what Feathers had said in the hotel on the night of her wedding, the bitter thought awoke in her heart that, after all, it was only her money with which Chris was being generous--the price he had paid for his freedom.

"If Chris is going to be late home," she said restlessly, "I will go to bed. I really am tired. It's the river, I suppose. Mr. Dakers says it is supposed to make people sleepy."

She had crossed to Miss Chester to kiss her good-night, when the door opened and Chris walked into the room.

CHAPTER XVI

"It is the little rift within the lute.

Which, widening ever, make the music mute."

MARIE had stopped dead, the blood rus.h.i.+ng to her face, her hands nervously clutching the brim of the hat she had taken off when she entered.

Chris was almost as embarra.s.sed as she. He colored to the roots of his hair and laughed awkwardly.

"So you've got back, Marie Celeste."

"Yes." And the dreadful pause fell again.

They both knew quite well that Miss Chester was watching them, but for the life of her Marie could not have moved a step towards him.

Then, at last, Chris said, "Well, aren't you going to give me a kiss?"

He was terribly nervous, which partially accounted for the lightness of the words, but Marie read no meaning into them, except the old dreaded indifference, and she turned her face away when he bent towards her, so that his kiss fell on her cheek.

"You look very well," he said, because it was the exact opposite to what he was thinking, and Marie said, "So do you," as she moved over to Miss Chester as if for protection, and sat down on the arm of her chair.

Chris lounged against the mantelshelf and stared up at the ceiling.

"Did you have a good time with Feathers?" he asked, bringing his eyes down to his wife's pale face.

"Yes--I'd never been before. We went up to Wargrave. It was lovely!"

She answered mechanically, in little jerky sentences.

"We had some good times camping out years ago," Chris said. "It's all right if the weather holds."

"Yes," said Marie. She looked at him with brown eyes that were merely critical and no longer slavishly adoring. He was handsomer than ever, she thought, but the wonderful feeling of pride in him had gone. She could admire him almost with indifference.

"It was queer, you meeting Dorothy," she said, with an effort, and Chris said, "Yes, the world is a small place."

"I told her that I was sure you would be pleased to have her to stay any time she liked to write and fix it up," he added. "She plays a fine game of golf, but I beat her in the end."

"She was always good at sports," Marie said mechanically.

Miss Chester gathered up her knitting and said it was time she went to bed. It was infinitely pathetic to her, because both Chris and Marie immediately protested that it was still quite early, and that surely there was no hurry.

But she persisted, and went off to her room.

There was an awkward silence when she had gone. Chris lit a cigarette and forgot to keep it alight.

"I've brought you a bracelet," he said abruptly. "I hope you'll like it." He took a little box from his pocket, "I got it in Edinburgh coming down--I thought it was rather pretty."

He held the case to her. "Well, don't you want it?"

"Thank you, Chris; of course, I do! Thank you, very much." She opened the snap and gave a little exclamation of pleasure; the bracelet was designed like a wreath of small water lilies, the petals made of platinum, with a diamond in the heart of each flower.

"It's very pretty," she said. "Thank you so much."

But she made no attempt to take it from the case or slip it on her wrist, and with a little impatient movement he took it from her.

"Come here," he said. "Hold out your hand."

She did so, and he snapped the bracelet on to her arm.

"It's very pretty," said Marie, but she did not dare to raise her eyes to her husband's face. The touch of his hand on her arm had communicated to her something of his old magnetism, and she knew that she was trembling in every limb.

Then, suddenly, before she could guess at his intention, Chris had caught her in his arms, and was kissing her pa.s.sionately, bringing stinging patches of crimson to her white face, and almost robbing her of breath.

Then he held her at arm's length, his handsome face flushed, and his eyes very bright and triumphant.

"You little iceberg! How dare you give me such a cold reception!

I've been looking forward to seeing you and you calmly go out as if I didn't exist ... Why, what's the matter, Marie Celeste?"

He seemed suddenly aware of the strange expression of her eyes. His hands relaxed their grip, and she twisted herself free.

She had felt his kisses to be an outrage. She knew that he did not love her, and that this sudden burst of pa.s.sion was worth nothing at all. There was something akin to hatred in her eyes as she raised them to his abashed face.

"Please never dare to do that again," she said in a voice that was all the more intense for its quietness. "I have never bothered you, or asked anything of you--you have gone where you liked and stayed away as long as you pleased--you always can--but in exchange I expect you to allow me the same freedom."