Chapter 50
"The feast is served, fair lady!"
He had tied the champagne bottle to the side of the boat, letting it dangle in the water, and he drew it carefully up and released the cork, letting it fly up into the trees overhead with a tremendous report.
Marie laughed like a child; she was so happy to-day that everything pleased and amused her.
Feathers filled two gla.s.ses and handed one to her, holding out his own in a toast.
"To your future happiness," he said gravely.
Marie flushed a little.
"To yours," she said tremulously. "And--and to many happy returns of this very happy day."
Feathers winced as if she had hurt him, but he answered lightly:
"Well, why not? We can come again to-morrow if you like? Wise people take advantage of the suns.h.i.+ne in this country."
Her face paled; she put the gla.s.s down untouched. Then abruptly she drew the crumpled telegram from her frock and gave it to him.
"Mr. Dakers, this came this morning."
He took it wonderingly; read it, and handed it back.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. She did not answer, and he went on almost angrily: "You should have stayed at home. Mrs. Lawless, why didn't you tell me? We could easily have cancelled our arrangements."
She answered him then, in a little shamed whisper:
"Because--because I wanted to come with you."
And there followed a long silence, unbroken save for the soft cooing of a wood pigeon in the trees overhead.
Feathers was kneeling on the gra.s.sy bank to which the punt was moored, his head a little downbent, his brows furiously frowning.
All her life Marie remembered him as he looked then, such a big, very masculine man, with his great shoulders and ugly head, his jaw thrust out in an obstinate line, and yet--there seemed to be something strangely helpless about him, something that seemed to contradict the angry tone in which he had just spoken.
Then, quite suddenly he looked up and their eyes met, Marie's hot and ashamed, though she could not have explained why, and his trying so hard not to betray the agitation that was rending him.
"Are you angry with me?" she faltered. "Oh, don't be angry with me." And, covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears.
Feathers got up abruptly and stood with averted head staring down stream.
The river was flowing swiftly just there, and it was carrying with it a
Feathers followed its pa.s.sage mechanically. It seemed symbolical of his life during the past ten years, during which he had just allowed himself to drift helplessly with the tide, until now, when he stood face to face with the disaster of the hidden rock of a girl's simplicity and desperate unhappiness.
Feathers was no fool, and he knew quite well that Marie's tears were the outcome of all she had suffered since her marriage.
She had looked for love and happiness, and had found neither. She had been flung back on herself and his friends.h.i.+p, and in her grat.i.tude for the little he had done to try and cheer her she had magnified her affection for him.
He did some swift thinking as he stood there, his face resolutely turned from her as she sat crying desolately.
Every instinct of his manhood was to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he knew that such happiness was not for him--could never be for him.
After a moment he went back to the deserted lunch. His face was white, but he made a desperate effort to speak cheerily.
"And this is the day we were going to enjoy so much! You will never come out with me any more now I have been such a brute. Mrs.
Lawless, won't you have some of this jam sandwich before the wasps consume it all?"
Marie dried her tears, and laughed and cried again.
"I'm so sorry; I don't know why I was such a baby. No; don't look at me; I'm so ashamed."
She leaned over the side of the punt and bathed her eyes in the cool water, drying them on Feathers' silk handkerchief, which he put within her reach.
He went on calmly serving out the lunch and talking about anything that came into his head.
"Last time I was here, it came on to pour cats and dogs just as we'd started lunch! There was lobster mayonnaise, I remember, and a fine mess it was in. We're luckier to-day. There isn't a cloud. Do you like cream? Yes, I remember you said you did when we lunched at Mrs. Costin's inn."
He gave Marie plenty of time to recover herself. A great sigh of relief escaped him when at last she looked up and smiled.
"All right now?"
"Yes."
"And I'm quite forgiven?"
"It wasn't your fault! You know it wasn't."
"Well, we won't argue! Mrs. Lawless, if you don't drink that champagne I shall have to come and make you."
Marie drank some of it, and it did her good. The color stole slowly back to her cheeks.
They talked trivialities for the remainder of the meal, and then Feathers gravely washed up and stowed the remains of the feast away in the hamper.
"We'll go on to Henley for tea," he said, "and you'll see the houseboats. I came down to one three years ago with a house party.
Chris and Atkins were there as well. By the way, I had a note from Atkins last night."
"Did you?" Marie flushed. "I should like to see him again," she said.
"Well, why not? Now Chris is home we must make up some dinner parties and theatre parties."
She looked away. "He's not home yet."
"No; but he will be. You'll find him looking for you when we get back, and ready to break my head for having taken you out."
"Do you think so?" Her voice was coldly contemptuous, and Feathers hurriedly tried another subject.
"The thing to do in a punt is to go to sleep. Have you ever slept in a punt in a backwater like this? No? Then you've missed half the joys of life. Come out on the bank a minute and let me arrange those cus.h.i.+ons."