A Bachelor Husband Part 86

He talked of everything under the sun, rattling on in his usual haphazard manner, and she listened gravely, sometimes smiling, but hardly speaking.

He did not mention Chris or tell her that they were sharing rooms-- much more expensive rooms than he could possibly have afforded alone; but Chris had insisted on paying the difference.

It was just as he was going, and Millicent had left them together for a little while, that Marie said suddenly:

"Tommy--do you know that it's a month to-day since--Mr. Dakers died?"

He started and flushed in confusion.

"Is it? A month! How the time flies, doesn't it?"

"Yes." She was looking out across the open country at the back of the little house, and he thought he had never before seen such sadness in anyone's face.

He laid a hand on hers in clumsy comfort.

"It was a fine sort of death, anyway," he said in desperation.

"Just the sort of death a man like Feathers would have chosen ...

Marie--he saved your life twice."

He realized too late that he had spoken tactlessly, but to his surprise she only smiled--a wise little smile which he could not fathom.

"Yes," she said softly, almost happily it seemed.

There was a little silence, then he broke out again.

"It seems a lifetime since we all met for the first time down at that bally old hotel, doesn't it? you and I, and Chris, and poor old Feathers."

"It's only a little more than three months." she told him.

"Is it?" he cleared his throat nervously. "Jove! how time flies,"

he said again, reminiscently.

They sat silent for some minutes, then he rose to his feet, and said that he must be going.

"I told Chris I would be in at seven," he said unthinkingly, then stopped, furious with himself for having mentioned the name he had sworn to avoid.

She looked up quickly, her brown eyes dilating.

"Chris! Are you living with him then?"

"Yes." He twisted his cap with agitated fingers. "He went back to his Knightsbridge rooms after--well, after Miss Chester's house was sold, you know, but of course you do know."

She shook her head.

"I have not seen him for a month."

Young Atkins looked wretched. He knew from the little Chris had told him that this separation had been her own wish, and therefore he could not understand her att.i.tude now.

He did not know that she had written that last note to her husband more as a test than for any other reason. With her old childish way of reasoning, she had argued to herself that if he really cared for her nothing on earth would keep him away; and once again she had been disappointed. He had apparently agreed without a word of demur--he had never attempted to approach her.

"I know he's jolly miserable, anyway," young Atkins broke out explosively after a moment. "He never goes anywhere--he just sits and smokes and thinks. He's changed so! It's rotten! And he used to be such a cheery soul."

He seemed afraid all at once that he had said too much, for he made another attempt to escape.

Marie went with him to the gate.

"Your sister has been so good to me," she said suddenly. "I don't know what I should have done without her. I shall miss her dreadfully when I go away."

He looked up in swift distress.

"But you're not going! You mustn't! She's ever so pleased to have you with her. Where are you going?"

She looked away from him down the dusky road, and there was a little eloquent pause before she said slowly:

"I'm going back--to Chris."

"To Chris!" he could hardly believe it. He gripped both her hands.

"Hooray! how perfectly splendid! Oh, forty thousand hoorays!"

She disengaged herself from his bearlike grip.

"Oh, Tommy--please!" She sounded more like her old self now, he thought with some emotion. There was a suspicious moisture in his eyes as he looked down at her.

"When?" he asked eagerly.

"When? Oh, I don't know yet." There was a note of nervous shrinking in her voice.

"It's his birthday to-morrow," young Atkins said.

"I know. I've been thinking of that all day."

He caught her round the waist.

"You darling! To-morrow then! I'll make myself scarce. We were going to have an extra dinner by way of celebration--he wasn't keen, but it was my idea! I'll pretend to let him down, and you come instead."

She fell into his mood, and they made their plans like eager children. It was only when young Atkins was just starting away that she caught his arm for a moment, and her face was white in the gray light.

"The summer's quite gone, Tommy," she said sadly. "I often wonder if it doesn't mean that my summer has gone too, and that it's too late now."

He pooh-poohed her words scornfully.

"Nonsense! As if summer doesn't ever come again! Why, next year will be a topper, you'll see! The best in your life."

They were both silent for a moment, listening to the monotonous lap, lap of the river as it flowed swiftly along between its rush-grown banks.

"I hate that sound," young Atkins broke out vehemently. "I wonder you can bear to have been so near to it after ... there! I didn't mean that! I'm such a blundering ox."

She smiled through the sudden tears that rushed to her eyes.