Chapter 49
"Does it? How do you know?"
"I suppose I have eyes like other people," he answered.
"Aunt Madge would not come, you see; I was sure she would not,"
Marie said presently. "And she has quite made up her mind that I am going to be drowned and that she will never see me any more."
"I don't think she need worry."
"That's what I told her; I said I knew I should be quite safe with you."
"Thank you." She looked up, surprised by the gravity of his voice, but he was not looking at her, and his ugly profile was a little hard and stern.
It was a silent drive, but Marie gave a little cry of delight, when at last a curve in the road brought them within sight of the river.
"There's an inn further down the road where we can leave the car and get a punt," Feathers said. "Then well get up in the backwater and have lunch."
Marie's face was glowing and she looked like a child who has unexpectedly come across an illuminated Christmas tree.
"I never knew there were such lovely places in the world," she said. When Feathers had run the car into the yard adjoining the inn she went down to the river, and stood on the small, rough wooden landing-stage, looking down at the silently flowing water with dreamy eyes.
It was so peaceful, so restful, with the soft sound of the breeze in the trees and tall rushes, and the sensuous lap of the water against the boats moored to the landing-stage.
And again the thought went through her mind--what a lovely world it would be if one could only have things just a little, little bit different!
Feathers brought an armful of cus.h.i.+ons from the boathouse, put the luncheon hamper on board, and stripped off his coat preparatory to starting business.
He pushed off from the landing-stage, and let the punt drift down stream. He was a square, strong figure standing up against the cloudless sky, and a thought that had often crossed Marie's mind came again as she looked at him: What a kind man he could be to some woman, and how happy some woman could be with him!
After all, what did a handsome face matter when it came down to the difficult business of every-day life? It was kindness that counted and sympathy and gentleness and understanding. Her brown eyes grew wistful as she watched his ugly, preoccupied face.
Here was a man who disliked all women even as
Feathers did not speak till they had left the main stream and slipped into the wonderful backwater that lies between Wargrave and Henley. Marie had never seen anything like it in her life. She held her breath in sheer delight as she lay back amongst the cus.h.i.+ons and looked up at the canopy of leaves overhead.
There were very few people about. Now and then a laugh reached them across the water or the sound of row-locks, and once a big water rat scurried past them along the margin of rushes and reeds, staring at them for a second with dark, bright eyes before it plunged and disappeared.
Feathers drew in the punt pole and took a paddle.
"Well, how do you like it?" he asked.
Her brown eyes shone.
"I never knew there was anything so lovely in England," she said.
"That is the mistake so many people make," he answered. "They rush off abroad with a party of dreadful tourists and tire themselves out in order to see some musty old museum or cathedral, and never trouble to see the beauty spots of their own country. Look behind you now!"
Marie turned her head obediently. They were nearing an old bridge, built so low down to the water that it was only possible for a boat to pa.s.s beneath it if the occupants bent their heads.
"We'll go through and tie up on the other side," Feathers said.
"Mind your head." He guided the boat skillfully through and out on the other side.
Marie laughed and raised her head. Her soft hair was all roughened by the cus.h.i.+ons, and one long strand had tumbled down over her shoulder.
"How old did you tell me you were?" Feathers asked rather grimly.
"Nineteen or nine?"
"Nearly twenty," Marie said indignantly.
"I refuse to believe it," he answered. "You are only just out of the schoolroom with that curl hanging down." He indicated the fallen lock of hair and Marie laughed and blushed as she hurriedly fastened it up.
They tied up to a bank, and Feathers set out the lunch.
Marie wanted to do it, but he said no, it was her holiday, and she was not to work at all.
"Look upon me as a sort of serf, or va.s.sal!" he said, laughingly.
"Order me about; put your foot on my neck, for to-day I am your humble servant."
"But only for to-day!" said Marie, with a quick little sigh.
He looked up sharply.
"What do you mean?"
She answered quite innocently:
"I only meant that I wish good things did not last such a little while. I've never been so happy as I am now."
"Never, Mrs. Lawless? Isn't that rather a big order?"
She sat up, leaning her chin in the palm of her hand.
"It's true," she said quietly. "I used to dream about a lot of silly things that could never really come true, but this"--she looked at the beauty of the peaceful scene surrounding them.
"I never thought I could be so--so peacefully happy as I am now."
Feathers had been opening a tin of tongue, and the knife slipped suddenly, cutting deeply into his hand.
He gave a little exclamation of annoyance, and Marie started up.
"Oh, you have hurt yourself."
"Nothing, nothing at all." He dipped his hand into the water and hurriedly bound it round with a handkerchief. "Heavens, don't look so scared! It's nothing to what has happened when we've been camping out! The tent we were sleeping in collapsed on us one night, and we were nearly smothered. I should have been, but for Chris--he hauled me out."
"Did he?" her face grew wistful. "Chris is very fond of you," she said.
Feathers shrugged his shoulders.
"Oh, we get on very well together."
He went on preparing the luncheon, and when it was ready he rose to his feet and made her a salaam.