Chapter 36
n.o.body had ever looked at Marie with quite such wors.h.i.+pful eyes, and though she knew it was just a boy's absurd fancy, she was grateful to him for it.
They had a merry lunch together, and afterwards Marie took him back to see Miss Chester.
"I thought you were going to Scotland with Chris and Mr. Dakers,"
she said as they walked home.
"So I wanted to, but they didn't seem exactly keen, and besides--I don't care about Aston Knight, you know--awful a.s.s, I think."
"I don't think I like him very much, either," Marie admitted reluctantly. "And anyway I'm glad you didn't go---" She smiled into his beaming face. "Perhaps we could go to some theatres together."
"Could we? By jove, that would be ripping! I say, it's an awful piece of luck running across you like this, you know."
Miss Chester liked young Atkins. She thought him a very charming boy, she told Marie when, at last, he took a reluctant departure, arranging to call again next day.
"He is a friend of Chris', you say?"
"Yes--we met him when we were away."
"A very nice boy--a thorough gentleman," Miss Chester said complacently. "I hope he will call often."
Marie laughed.
"I am sure he will with the least encouragement." she said.
He had done her good, and she quite looked forward to seeing him again. She wrote to Chris that night and told him of their meeting.
"It was quite by chance, but I was very pleased to see him, and we are going to a theater together to-morrow."
She knew that all her letters to Chris were stiff and uninteresting, but she was in constant dread of letting him read between the lines and guess how unhappy she was. For his benefit she often manufactured stories of things she was supposed to have done and entertainments she had visited.
He should not think she was moping or wanted him back. She would do without him if he could do without her.
Young Atkins got tickets for the most absurd farce in town, and he and Marie laughed till they cried over it.
Marie had only been to the theater half a dozen times in her life, and then always to performances of Shakespeare or some other cla.s.sic. She told him quite frankly that she did not know when she had enjoyed herself so much. They went on to Bond Street together afterwards and ate an enormous tea.
Although she was reluctant to admit it to herself, Marie knew that she had enjoyed herself far more with young Atkins than she had done that afternoon with Chris when he bought
"Are they real?" he asked.
"Yes, Chris gave them to me."
"Mind you, don't lose them--they must be worth an awful lot.
"They are, rather a lot."
She a.s.sented listlessly, knowing that their value was nothing to her.
He drew his chair a little nearer to hers.
"When shall we go out together again?"
"When you like--I can go on Sat.u.r.day if you care about it."
He pulled a long face.
"Sat.u.r.day! Why, that's another three days."
"Well, we can't go every day," she protested, laughing. "Besides, don't you have to work?"
"Yes, I'm in the guv'nor's office, but he's away to-day, so I took French leave."
"What will he say?"
"He won't know, and I don't care if he does; it's been worth it!"
He was silent for a moment, then broke out again: "My guv'nor's an old pig, you know; he's worth pots of money, but he won't do a thing for me. I hate an indoor job; I wanted to go to sea, but no!
He drove me into his beastly office, and I loathe it."
"What a shame!"
"Yes." He laughed with his old lightheartedness. "I don't see why we're bound to have fathers," he submitted comically.
"Well--we'll go to another theater on Sat.u.r.day," Marie consoled him. "Sat.u.r.day is a half-day holiday for everybody, isn't it?"
"Yes--till Sat.u.r.day, then."
He wrung her hand so hard at parting that her fingers felt quite dead for some seconds afterwards, but she had really enjoyed herself, and looked after young Atkins gratefully as he strode off down the street.
"There's a letter from Chris," Miss Chester said, as Marie entered the room. Her quick eyes noticed the color that rushed to her niece's cheeks. "Over there on the mantelshelf."
Marie took the treasure upstairs to read. She sat down on the side of the bed and broke open the envelope with trembling hands. She had not heard from him now for three days; she wondered if this was to say that he was coming home.
"Dear Marie Celeste,--Hope you are well--I have had no letter from you since the end of last week. The weather has changed a bit up here, and we have had some rain. Feathers sent you a box of heather this morning; I don't suppose you'll care much for it, but he insisted on sending it. By the way, a curious thing happened yesterday. We were at the third hole, and there were some girls on the green in front of us. One of them had lost a ball and I found it, so we talked, and who do you think she turned out to be? Why, your friend, Dorothy Webber! It's a coincidence, isn't it? You never told me she was such a fine player. I've got a match with her this afternoon. She sent her love to you. I hope you are having a good time. I've got as brown as coffee since I came up here--being out-of-doors all day, I suppose. By the way, if you look in my room you'll find a box of new golf b.a.l.l.s. You might send them up to me.
I will write again soon.--Yours affectionately, Chris."
So he had met Dorothy Webber after all. Marie Celeste's heart felt as cold as a stone as she sat there with Chris' sc.r.a.ppy letter in her hand.
He was up there in Scotland, amongst the heather and the mountains, quite happy and contented, whilst she... Her eyes fell again to his hurried scribble.
"... Feathers sent you a box of heather this morning..."
Kind, ugly Feathers! He, at least, had not forgotten her.
During the days that followed Marie suffered tortures of jealousy.
Her overstrained imagination exaggerated things cruelly. She began to sleep badly, and a defiant look grew in her brown eyes. She encouraged young Atkins so openly that at last even Miss Chester was moved to remonstrate gently.
"My dear, I am afraid that nice boy is getting a little too fond of you?"