Chapter 58
Somebody loved her--that was the great joy and wonder of the world.
She no longer felt herself unwanted. There was one man to whom she was not merely a tie and a nuisance.
Then Chris said abruptly: "It's a pity you came if you're so easily tired."
She started and looked up at him.
"What do you mean? I'm not tired."
All her weariness had forsaken her, driven away by new and happier thoughts.
He laughed grimly.
"Feathers told me that you were tired and had stayed behind to rest."
He searched her face with vague suspicion.
Marie answered rather sharply:
"There seemed no object in my trudging round behind you all; I was not playing and I did not understand the game."
She quickened her pace a little as the clubhouse came in sight. She did not desire his company. She hardly considered him.
They had tea outside in the shade of a tree. Mrs. Heriot was very quiet. She looked rather sullen.
"Have you got a headache?" Marie asked sympathetically. She felt that to-day she could even be nice to this woman.
Mrs. Heriot's sister broke in spitefully: "Headache! Of course she hasn't. She lost the game, that's all, and it always makes her sulky."
Mrs. Heriot flushed.
"We'll take you on again after tea, and beat you," she said. "We never should have lost, only Chris slacked off."
She shot him an angry glance.
Feathers took no interest in the conversation. He had had one cup of tea, refusing anything to eat, and sat back in his chair, his hat tilted over his yes, smoking hard.
Marie hardly glanced in his direction, but she was painfully conscious of his every movement. Her thoughts all the time were picking out little incidents of their friends.h.i.+p, translating them anew, hugging their meaning to her heart.
She did not know that Chris was watching her closely--would not have cared if she had known. For once she
Presently another man strolled up and joined them. He knew both Chris and Mrs. Heriot, it seemed He asked if there was any chance of a foursome.
Chris indicated Feathers.
"My friend here is going to play. Sorry."
Feathers looked up.
"I'm not keen--I'm quite happy where I am. Mrs. Lawless and I will keep one another company. Shall we?" he asked, glancing at her.
Marie nodded. Her heart was racing, and she was afraid that every one would see her agitation. Chris laughed.
"I dare say you'll be able to amuse one another." he said, and presently Marie was left with Feathers.
He sat up then with some show of energy.
"Nice place here, isn't it?"
"Yes--very."
"I wish you would play golf, Mrs. Lawless."
"Who do you suppose would teach me? I don't know the first thing about it."
"I shall be delighted to offer myself for the post, if Chris has no objection."
Her brown eyes shone. "Why should he? He would not care to teach me himself."
It seemed as if she saw Feathers now for the first time. He was no longer Chris' friend, the man she had hated for having brought her castle tottering earthwards. He was no longer even the kind friend he had been to her--he was the man who loved her.
Her thoughts seemed to travel so fast ahead, weaving all sorts of impossible day-dreams for the future.
"I'll speak to him about it," Feathers said briefly.
His kind eyes dwelt on her face.
"I thought you said you were tired," he said, suddenly. "I don't think I have ever seen you look better in your life."
She laughed and flushed.
"Haven't you?" She looked away from him across the green slope up which Chris and the others were disappearing.
"You ought to have played," she said irrelevantly. "Why didn't you?
I am sure you would have enjoyed it better than sitting here."
She asked the question intentionally, hoping with almost childish eagerness that he would say he preferred to be where he was. She knew it would be only the polite thing to say, although in her heart she would understand that in this instance he was sincere.
But Feathers did not say it. He was filling his pipe with tobacco, ramming it down into the bowl with careful precision.
"I don't care for mixed games," he said. "Mrs. Heriot always loses her temper so shockingly."
"Does she?" She leaned her chin in her hand and looked at him with rather wistful eyes. She wondered what he would say if she told him about that little dead flower.
He broke into her thoughts.
"Has Chris told you that I am leaving England?"
The words gave her a terrible shock; the color drained away from her face, leaving her eyes very piteous against its pallor.