Chapter 67
She made no movement or reply, reclining there, one hand on her wine-gla.s.s, the smile still curving her lips. And he repeated his question in a low, distinct voice--too low for Neergard to hear; and he was still listening.
"Grounds? Oh, he thinks I've misbehaved with--never mind who. It is not true--but he cares nothing about that, either. You see"--and she bent nearer, confidentially, with a mysterious little nod of her pretty head--"you see, Jack Ruthven is a little insane.... You are surprised? Pooh! I've suspected it for months."
He stared at her; then: "Where are you stopping?"
"Aboard the _Niobrara_."
"Is Mrs. Fane a guest there, too?"
He spoke loud enough for Rosamund to hear; and she answered for herself with a smile at him, brimful of malice:
"Delighted to have you come aboard, Captain Selwyn. Is that what you are asking permission to do?"
"Thanks," he returned dryly; and to Alixe: "If you are ready, Gerald and I will take you over to the _Niobrara_ in the motor-boat--"
"Oh, no, you won't!" broke in Neergard with a sneer--"you'll mind your own business, my intrusive friend, and I'll take care of my guests without your a.s.sistance."
Selwyn appeared not to hear him: "Come on, Gerald," he said pleasantly; "Mrs. Ruthven is going over to the _Niobrara_--"
"For G.o.d's sake," whispered Gerald, white as a sheet, "don't force me into trouble with Neergard."
Selwyn turned on him an astonished gaze: "Are you _afraid_ of that whelp?"
"Yes," muttered the boy--"I--I'll explain later. But don't force things now, I beg you."
Mrs. Ruthven coolly leaned over and spoke to Gerald in a low voice; then, to Selwyn, she said with a smile: "Rosamund and I are going to Brookminster, anyway, so you and Gerald need not wait.... And thank you for coming over. It was rather nice of you"--she glanced insolently at Neergard--"considering the crowd we're with. _Good_-night, Captain Selwyn! _Good_-night, Gerald. So very jolly to have seen you again!"
And, under her breath to Selwyn: "You need not worry; I am going in a moment. Good-bye and--thank you, Phil. It _is_ good to see somebody of one's own caste again."
A few moments later, Selwyn and Gerald in their oilskins were das.h.i.+ng eastward along the coast in the swiftest motor-boat south of the Narrows.
The boy seemed deathly tired as they crossed the dim lawn at Silverside.
Once, on the veranda steps he stumbled, and Selwyn's arm sustained him; but the older man forbore to question him, and Gerald, tight-lipped and haggard, offered no confidence until, at the door of his bedroom, he turned and laid an unsteady hand on Selwyn's shoulder: "I want to talk with you--to-morrow. May I?"
"You know you may, Gerald. I am always ready to stand your friend."
"I know.... I must have been crazy to doubt it. You are very good to me. I--I am in a very bad fix. I've got
"Then we'll get you out of it, old fellow," said Selwyn cheerfully.
"That's what friends are for, too."
The boy s.h.i.+vered--looked at the floor, then, without raising his eyes, said good-night, and, entering his bedroom, closed the door.
As Selwyn pa.s.sed back along the corridor, the door of his sister's room opened, and Austin and Nina confronted him.
"Has that damfool boy come in?" demanded his brother-in-law, anxiety making his voice tremulous under its tone of contempt.
"Yes. Leave him to me, please. Good-night"--submitting to a tender embrace from his sister--"I suppose Eileen has retired, hasn't she? It's an unG.o.dly hour--almost sunrise."
"I don't know whether Eileen is asleep," said Nina; "she expected a word with you, I understand. But don't sit up--don't let her sit up late.
We'll be a company of dreadful wrecks at breakfast, anyway."
And his sister gently closed the door while he continued on to the end of the corridor and halted before Eileen's room. A light came through the transom; he waited a moment, then knocked very softly.
"Is it you?" she asked in a low voice.
"Yes. I didn't wake you, did I?"
"No. Is Gerald here?"
"Yes, in his own room.... Did you wish to speak to me about anything?"
"Yes."
He heard her coming to the door; it opened a very little. "Good-night,"
she whispered, stretching toward him her hand--"that was all I wanted--to--to touch you before I closed my eyes to-night."
He bent and looked at the hand lying within his own--the little hand with its fresh fragrant palm upturned and the white fingers relaxed, drooping inward above it--at the delicate bluish vein in the smooth wrist.
Then he released the hand, untouched by his lips; and she withdrew it and closed the door; and he heard her laugh softly, and lean against it, whispering:
"Now that I am safely locked in--I merely wish to say that--in the old days--a lady's hand was sometimes--kissed.... Oh, but you are too late, my poor friend! I can't come out; and I wouldn't if I could--not after what I dared to say to you.... In fact, I shall probably remain locked up here for days and days.... Besides, what I said is out of fas.h.i.+on--has no significance nowadays--or, perhaps, too much.... No, I won't dress and come out--even for you. _Je me deshabille--je fais ma toilette de nuit, monsieur--et je vais maintenant m'agenouiller et faire ma priere. Donc--bon soir--et bonne nuit_--"
And, too low for him to hear even the faintest breathing whisper of her voice--"Good-night. I love you with all my heart--with all my heart--in my own fas.h.i.+on."
He had been asleep an hour, perhaps more, when something awakened him, and he found himself sitting bolt upright in bed, dawn already whitening his windows.
Somebody was knocking. He swung out of bed, stepped into his bath-slippers, and, pa.s.sing swiftly to the door, opened it. Gerald stood there, fully dressed.
"I'm going to town on the early train," began the boy--"I thought I'd tell you--"
"Nonsense! Gerald, go back to bed!"
"I can't sleep, Philip--"
"Can't sleep? Oh, that's the trouble, is it? Well, then, sit here and talk to me." He gave a mighty yawn--"I'm not sleepy, either; I can go days without it. Here!--here's a comfortable chair to sprawl in....
It's daylight already; doesn't the morning air smell sweet? I've a jug of milk and some grapes and peaches in my ice-cupboard if you feel inclined. No? All right; stretch out, sight for a thousand yards, and fire at will."
Gerald strove to smile; for a while he lay loosely in the arm-chair, his listless eyes intent on the strange, dim light which fell across the waste of sea fog. Only the water along the sh.o.r.e's edge remained visible; all else was a blank wall behind which, stretching to the horizon, lay the unseen ocean. Already a few restless gulls were on the wing, sheering inland; and their raucous, treble cries accented the pallid stillness.
But the dawn was no paler than the boy's face--no more desolate. Trouble was his, the same old trouble that has dogged the trail of folly since time began; and Selwyn knew it and waited.
At last the boy broke out: "This is a cowardly trick--this slinking in to you with all my troubles after what you've done for me--after the rotten way I've treated you--"
"Look here, my boy!" said Selwyn coolly, crossing one knee over the other and dropping both hands into the pockets of his pajamas--"I asked you to come to me, didn't I? Well, then; don't criticise my judgment in doing it. It isn't likely I'd ask you to do a cowardly thing."