MARIE woke in the morning with a bad headache. She would have likedto stay in bed, but not for the world would she have allowed Mrs.Heriot the satisfaction of her absence.
Since her accident she had always had breakfast in her room, butshe dressed early this morning and went downstairs before the firstgong had sounded.
She had carefully bathed the tear stains from her eyes and powderedher face; she had put on her prettiest frock and taken great painswith her hair. Tender-hearted and loyal as she was, Marie wastremendously proud, and she made up her mind that, if the effortkilled her, she would not allow Mrs. Heriot to imagine that theincident of last night had made any difference or hurt her in anyway.
She went in to breakfast before Chris arrived, and he looked at herin blank astonishment when he sauntered up to the table.
"Down to breakfast! Couldn't you sleep, Marie?"
The words were playful, but they hurt his wife inexpressibly, forthey showed that he had not been to her room, as he generally did,to see how she was.
She answered him with a little smile.
"Yes; I'm tired of being an invalid. I've thrown the last bottle ofmedicine away." She forced herself to eat a good breakfast, thoughshe was not in the least hungry, and smiled her sweetest at Mrs.Heriot, who came in very late.
Mrs. Heriot's eyes narrowed a little as she returned Marie'sgreeting, and a soon as the meal was ended she followed the girlinto the lounge and sat down beside her.
"Dear Mrs. Lawless, how nice to see you up early again! I do hopeit means that you are stronger!"
"I think I'm quite well," Marie answered. "And I think it's time Ilooked after my husband a little. Poor Chris! I am afraid he hasbeen very dull."
She was not afraid of anything of the sort. She knew only too wellthat Chris had not missed her in the least, but it gave her alittle throb of satisfaction to see the faint look of annoyancethat crossed Mrs. Heriot's face, as she leaned back in her chairand twisted the long gold chain with its bunch of dangling charmswhich she wore round her neck. Was this chit of a girl going toattempt to cross swords with her?
Chris came into the lounge at the moment.
"Well, what's the programme for to-day?" he asked, cheerily. He wasquite at his ease; he believed that last night's foolishness hadbeen swept into the rag bag of the past and forgotten; he did notknow enough about women to suspect Mrs. Heriot of malice, or Marieof capability to deceive him.
It was Mrs. Heriot who answered.
"Personally, I'm too worn out to do anything but lounge about," shesaid. "And you . . . you look awfully tired yourself, Chris."
Marie raised her eyes.
"Well, he had rather a nasty adventure last night, didn't he?" shesaid quietly. "What a fortunate thing for you both that he couldswim, wasn't it, Mrs. Heriot?"
She spoke quite simply and naturally and with just the right shadeof concern in her voice, but her heart was racing at her owndaring.
Chris turned scarlet to the roots of his hair, and for a momentthere was an embarrassed silence.
Then Mrs. Heriot said with a little uncertain laugh: "So he toldyou! How brave of him! I advised him not to, you know. I thoughtafter your own dreadful accident it would only unnerve you again."
Marie laughed.
"I thought it was a most exciting adventure." she said. "But itwould have been horrid if you had had to stay out there all night,wouldn't it?" She rose with a little yawn, as if the subject nolonger interested her, and walked over to the open doorway whichled into the garden.
Chris stood irresolute; he knew that Mrs. Heriot's eyes were uponhim, and he was furious because his crimson flush would not diedown. Mrs. Heriot laughed softly.
"So you told her then," she said.
Chris turned on his heel without answering, and followed his wifeinto the garden; there were some children playing ball in thesunshine and Marie was standing watching them with unseeing eyes.
She knew she had scored, but she felt no triumph--only a dull sortof misery at having humiliated the man she loved.
"Marie!" She turned round, the mask of indifference falling oncemore upon her face.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Who told you about last night?"
She shook her head. "Nobody."
But he persisted. "Did Feathers tell you?"
"Feathers!" she echoed, with quiet scorn. "Do you think that Ishould discuss you with him?"
"Somebody must have told you," he said doggedly.
Her brown eyes met his sorrowfully.
"You ought to have told me," she said.
The color rushed again to his handsome face.
"I know. I was a fool. I don't know why I went out with her. I hatethe woman. . ." He really thought he did at the moment. "But youhad gone off with Feathers, and it was rottenly dull alone."
She interrupted very gently.
"I thought you would prefer to be left alone; you could have comehad you chosen."
"I know, but . . . oh, dash it all, there isn't any excuse for me,I know, and you behaved like a brick just now, Marie--letting herthink that you didn't care."
There was an eloquent silence; then Marie said: "I only let herthink what was the truth! I don't care at all! You are quite freeto do as you like. We agreed that, didn't we? But I think, for yourown sake, it would be better to tell me next time anything likethat happens. I hate Mrs. Heriot to think that you have a secretwith her and from me--it looks bad, Chris."
He gave an angry exclamation.
"Secret! It was no secret! You exaggerate when you say that."
"Do I? Well, I'm sorry." She turned to move away, but he followed.
"I hope you'll forgive me?" he asked with humility new to him.
Poor little Marie Celeste! The tears swam traitorously into hereyes, and she bit her lip.
"There isn't anything to forgive," she said. "I think, perhaps, wehave both rather exaggerated things."
They walked along the sea front together, Chris silent and morose,with a little frown between his eyes.
Only once before had Marie made him feel ashamed, and that wasyears and years ago when he had pushed her out of the loft, and shehad taken the blame and declared that she had fallen through herown carelessness.
Chris hated to feel ashamed, and after a moment he broke out againviolently.
"I should have told you myself, only Mrs. Heriot did not wish it.She said that people in the hotel would talk, and that she couldnot face the scandal. So what could I do?"
Marie looked at him in utter amazement. Was he as ignorant of womenas all this? But she did not say what was in her mind--that shebelieved Mrs. Heriot would welcome notoriety of any sort.
"We won't talk about it any more," she said, hopelessly. "Afterall, you've got a perfect right to choose your own friends."
"Mrs. Heriot is not a friend. I play golf with her and bridge--thatis all. I never make friends of women."
She did not contradict him, and they walked on a little way withoutspeaking; then Marie said suddenly:
"Chris, don't you think we could go home at the end of the week?"
"Go home!" he echoed sharply. "You mean--to Aunt Madge?"
"Yes; I think I'm rather tired of the sea."
"We'll go to-morrow if you like; I shan't be sorry to leave theplace myself."
He would have gone that morning in order to escape meeting Mrs.Heriot again. He was more angry with himself than he was with her,for it was slowly dawning upon him that he had allowed himself tobe made a fool of, and the feeling was unpleasant.
"I think it will do if we go at the end of the week," Marie saidquietly. "I will write to Aunt Madge, so that she will be ready forus."
Chris frowned.
"We can't live with Aunt Madge indefinitely," he said at last. "Weshall have to get a place of our own some-where."
"I know, but for the present she would like to have us." There wasa note of anxiety in Marie's voice. Just now there was nothing shedreaded more than the thought of living somew
here alone with Chris.
Once it had seemed the height of bliss.
"There'll be plenty of money, fortunately," Chris went on. "Weought to manage to have quite a good time between us, don't youthink?"
"Yes, I think so."
"You don't sound very enthusiastic," he complained. "I supposeyou're still thinking about that rotten business last night."
She did not deny it.
"Supposing it had been me," she said, after a moment "Supposing Ihad gone out there with--with Mr. Dakers, for instance; and thesame thing had happened. What would you have thought?"
Chris laughed unaffectedly.
"With old Feathers! Good Lord, you'd have been safe enough withhim!"
Her face quivered. Would there never be anything she could do orsay that would move him in the slightest?
"Perhaps that's how I felt about you and Mrs. Heriot," she saidsharply.
Chris laughed again.
"Well, I never thought you'd be jealous of her, certainly," hesaid.
She turned on him with flashing eyes.
"I'm not jealous of her! How dare you say such a thing!"
"My dear girl"--Chris was utterly amazed--"isn't that what I'vejust said--that I didn't think you were jealous of her? What alittle spitfire you are!"
She had never looked at him like that before, and he was ratherinterested to discover that she had got it in her to flare out.
"What would you like to do to-day?" he asked presently. "We don'tseem to have gone about much, though we've been here nearly threeweeks."
"I'm quite happy as I am, and it's rather hot to go sight-seeing,isn't it?" Her voice sounded weary.
Chris looked at her sharply.
"You're not feeling so well as you'd like me to believe," he saidsuspiciously.
Marie frowned.
"If only you wouldn't persist in making me an invalid," shecomplained.
Chris was offended.
"Oh, very well! It was only for your own good." His face changed alittle. "Here comes Feathers," he added.
He had not seen his friend that morning, and he was not sure whatsort of a reception he was going to receive, but Feathers behavedas if nothing had happened. He remarked that it was a lovelymorning and that the sea was warmer than it had been for a month.
"Have you been in?" Chris asked eagerly.
"Yes--just come out."
Chris looked at the sea.
"I wouldn't mind a dip," he said sententiously.
"I should have it then," Marie said. "I can stay with Mr. Dakers ifhe has nothing better to do."
Chris looked at his friend.
"Will you look after her?" he asked, dubiously.
"Delighted."
"Right-oh! I shan't be long." Chris turned away.
Feathers found an empty seat in the shade, and he and Marie satdown.
"And we are quite-well-thank-you to-day, I suppose, eh?" he askedsmilingly. "I heard you were down to breakfast, though I did notsee you."
"Yes--I'm tired of being lazy. Did Mrs. Heriot tell you?"
"I believe she did."
Marie smiled.
"Mrs. Heriot is very angry with me," she said.
"Why, on earth?"
"Because of last night."
"Last night!" He looked away from her guiltily.
"Yes--about Mrs. Heriot and Chris going out to that fishing boat, Imean." Her eyes wandered out to sea, to where a group of smallcraft bobbed at anchor in the sunlight.
"Oh! Chris told you, of course." Feathers sounded infinitelyrelieved.
Marie shook her head.
"No--I heard you quarrelling with him; my room is next to his, youknow! I suppose I ought not to have listened, but . . . well, Idid! It's quite true that listeners never hear anything pleasant,isn't it? That's the second time I've had it happen to me."
Feathers tilted his hat over his eyes, and the rest of his uglyface looked rather grim.
"I am sorry you overheard," he said constrainedly. "I did get up inthe pulpit a bit, I know! And there was no harm in what hadhappened, really."
She did not speak, and he repeated firmly:
"There was no harm in it at all, Mrs. Lawless."
Marie raised her eyes and laughed with a little hysterical catch inher voice.
"Oh, surely you're not one of those people who think I am jealousof Mrs. Heriot?" she asked.
"Good Lord, no!" He sat up with sudden energy. "Jealous! Of thatwoman!"
Marie gave a long sigh.
"She thinks I ought to be," she said drearily. "I wonder if she isright?"
Feathers looked angry.
"Of course not. What rubbish! Chris doesn't care for women--I knowfor a fact that he's never cared for a woman in his life."
She nodded; his words were truer than he thought, she told herself,seeing that Chris did not even care for her.
"We're going back to London on Saturday," she said, abruptlychanging the subject.
"Really? That sounds as if you were rather glad."
"So I am--very glad. I hate this place and everybody in it!" Hervoice, which had risen passionately, broke off, and she turned hereyes to his face. "No, that is not true," she said impulsively. "Idon't hate you--the only reason I am sorry to be going is becauseit will mean leaving you."
She spoke with unaffected sincerity, and without realizing what herwords might imply, but Feathers' big hands were suddenly clenchedinto fists, and there was a curiously strained look about his eyesas he stared down at the asphalt path.
"You are very kind," he said, formally.
"No, it is you who have been kind," she answered. "I don't knowwhat I should have done without you--" She spread her hands andlaughed. "Yes, I do know; I should have been drowned."
"I wish you would try and forget all about that."
"I do try, but I can't! Sometimes I dream about it, and I wake upcrying and struggling, just as if it had all happened again. . . ."She shivered sensitively, drawing a long breath.
"Then Chris should have taken you away from the sea long ago,"Feathers said decidedly.
"He doesn't know . . ."
"Not know!" Feathers echoed blankly.
"No . . ." she rushed on, painfully conscious of what he wasthinking. "But we're going on Friday, and then I hope I shallforget all about it; I think I am sure to, when we are back inLondon."
"Where are you going to stay?"
"With my aunt; you know her, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, very well."
But his voice sounded absent, as if his thoughts were far away.
"You will come and see us, won't you?" Marie asked anxiously. "Youwill come and stay with us when you are back in town, won't you?"
He looked up with a faint smile.
"It is kind of you to ask me, but I am not very good company, youknow--I am not an amusing chap like Chris."
She did not answer, though she could truthfully have said that hehad done more to pass the dreary hours of the last three weeks thanever Chris had attempted to do.
"I heard from young Atkins this morning," Feathers said presently."He asked very anxiously after you; he is a nice boy."
"Yes, I liked him; he has written to me once or twice."
"Really! What does Chris say to that?"
If the question was asked deliberately it was entirely successful,for Marie gave a scornful little laugh as she answered: "Oh, hedoesn't know," and once again Feathers echoed her words blankly.
"Doesn't know, Mrs. Lawless!"
"No! Oh, I hope you are not one of those old-fashioned people whothink husband and wife should have no secrets from one another,"she broke out with shrill nervousness. "Chris and I are going to beentirely modern--we agreed that from the first; each to go our ownway, and no questions asked."
There was a profound silence, then Feathers said rather painfully:
"That is different from what you told me that morning on the sands,and again after your accident--you said you were sure that youcould never be a modern wife,
that your friend had told you youought to have lived in early Victorian days."
Marie gave a little sigh.
"You have a good memory," she said hopelessly. "But I suppose wecan all change our minds if we wish!"
"There is no law against it certainly, but it seems a pity tochange it, and not for the better."
"You don't like the modern woman?"
"I despise her," said Feathers vehemently. "Look at the women inthis hotel! They think of nothing but clothes and amusement andflirtations--there is not one I would cross the room to look at."
"Present company always excepted, I hope," said Marie with a littlewhimsical smile.
"I don't class you with that sort of woman at all," Feathers saidstolidly.
"Thank you, Mr. Dakers."
He moved restlessly, almost as if the conversation bored him, andMarie rose with nervous haste.
"I'm afraid I've been talking a lot of nonsense," she saidapologetically. "I wonder if Chris is out of the sea yet."
They walked to the railings and looked down on to the sands.
"Shall you stay here long?" she asked, suddenly. "After we havegone, I mean."
"I don't know; I haven't made any plans; I'm one of those peoplewho drift with the tide, and if a wave casts me up on the shore, asit did when I came here, I just stay until another one comes alongand washes me off again."
She looked up at him interestedly.
"I have so often wondered why you came here." she said suddenly."You don't like the hotel, or the people, or even the place verymuch, do you?"
"I came here to see you."
"To see me!"
"Yes--I wanted to see what sort of a woman Chris had married."
"And were you very disappointed?" She asked her question withwistful anxiety, very sure that if he answered it at all it wouldbe with the truth.
"Yes, I was disappointed--but agreeably!" he said, smiling. "Isomehow imagined you would be empty-headed and golden-haired--perhaps a little older than Chris. I am afraid I thought you wouldbe the type of woman that Mrs. Heriot is."
"That is not much of a compliment to him."
"Perhaps not, but that is what I thought."
"Are you always as candid as this to everyone, Mr. Dakers?"
"I am told so--that is partly why I am so unpopular; that andanother reason."
"What other reason?"
He smiled grimly, looking down at her.
"My ugly face," he said.
She gave an indignant cry of protest. "Oh, you are not ugly! I willnot allow you to say such a thing."
And she wondered why she had ever thought him ugly when they firstmet, and then again, why she no longer thought so.
"The morning I pulled you out of the water," Feathers saidunemotionally, his eyes fixed on the sea, "a woman in the crowdmade a remark which I shall always remember. What do you think itwas?"
"How can I guess?"
"She said 'Beauty and the Beast.'" Feathers laughed. "I suppose Idid look rather like an old man of the sea--wet clothes are notbecoming--to anyone," he added, with an amused memory of the objectChris had looked in his saturated dress suit.
"It was a horrible thing to have said!" Marie cried hotly. "Shemust have been a detestable woman."
"Oh, I don't know--I think I rather liked it."
"Did you? How queer! Why?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Because I am a queer sort of chap, I suppose. I remember a womanonce telling me that I wore the ugliest clothes she had ever seen."He glanced down at his baggy tweed suit. "Do you know that pleasedme more than it would have done had she told me I was the smartestman in London."
Marie laughed.
"In the story of 'Beauty and the Beast,'" she said, "the Beastturned out to be a Fairy Prince, you know."
Feathers moved away from the railings and stood looking down thecrowded promenade.
"That is a feat beyond me, I am afraid," he said, quietly. "Shallwe go on? Chris will be coming directly."
They met him almost at once, and turned back to the hotel together.
"Had a topping bath," Chris said breezily. He looked very fresh andsunburnt, and his hair had crinkled up into little waves with thesalt water. As a rule he kept it smooth with brilliantine.
"What have you two been doing?" he asked, looking at his wife.
"Talking! I have been telling Mr. Dakers that we are going back toLondon on Friday."
"Yes, Marie's had enough of this place and so have I," Chris said."Why not come along with us and stay for a bit. Feathers?"
Feathers was lighting a cigarette, which perhaps was why he did notanswer immediately.
"Afraid I can't just now, thanks all the same," he said rathercurtly. "Later on, if you'll ask me again, I shall be delisted."
"Always glad to see you," Chris said. He had quite forgotten thelittle upset of last night; unpleasantnesses passed over his headvery quickly, perhaps because real trouble had never knocked at hisdoor.
"I tell Marie we shall have to look about for a house," he went on."Or perhaps a flat would be better, as it's not such a tie, and Ilike going away for week-ends."
"You'll have to stay at home now you're a married man, old son,"said Feathers chaffingly, though his eyes were serious. "I thoughtall Benedicts buried the latchkey before they went to church."
Chris laughed shortly.
"You thought wrong then; we're not like ordinary humdrum marriedpeople, are we, Marie Celeste?" he asked, rather maliciously, withsudden bitter memory of the kiss she had refused him last night.
She shook her head.
"No, indeed, we are not, and I hope you haven't buried thelatchkey, because I shall want one, too," she added with an effort.
Chris laughed and looked triumphantly at his friend.
"How's that for an up-to-date wife, my boy?" he asked.
"And a bachelor husband," Marie added deliberately.
"I should have thought the old way would have been good enough,"Feathers said bluntly. "Excuse me, there's a man I want to speakto." He struck off across the hotel grounds and left them.
Chris looked at his wife and laughed.
"Queer old stick, isn't he?" he asked.
"He's been very kind to me," Marie answered.
"He's kind to everybody," Chris agreed. "I hope I shall not losesight of him just because I am married."
"Why should you?"
"Because he's a confirmed bachelor, and he thought I was; he wasfurious with me for getting married."
"Was he?"
"Yes, we always knocked about together, you see, and I suppose hethinks everything will be different now."
"It need not be," said Marie.
"No, that's what I tell him," Chris agreed, eagerly. "I told himyou were not an exacting woman; I told him that we had known oneanother all our lives."
There was a little silence.
"Did you tell him why you married me?" Marie asked.
Chris flushed.
"What do you mean? Is it likely?"
"I thought you might, as--as it was only just a sort of businessarrangement."
Chris stood still and looked down at her.
"Do you know that you have altered a great deal lately, MarieCeleste?" he said.
She forced herself to look at him.
"Do you mean my face?"
He frowned. "Your face--no! I mean in yourself! I was only thinkingthis morning that you seem absolutely different to--to the girl youwere that day outside Westminster Abbey?"
She turned sharply away.
"Perhaps I am; a great deal has happened since then."
Chris seemed to be considering the point.
"Years ago," he said suddenly, "I used to flatter myself that youwere rather fond of me, Marie Celeste."
She caught her breath, but made no answer, and he persisted, "Youwere, weren't you?"
"Yes--of course I was!" she said desperately.
"Even up to that last time you went back to Paris I thought th
esame," he went on. "You had a funny little way of looking at me,Marie Celeste--a way I rather liked, I remember."
"And that made you think I was desperately in love with you?" sheasked, in a hard voice.
"Well, not desperately in love, perhaps, but I used to think youhad a sort of sneaking affection for me--I was a conceited donkey,I suppose."
"I married you--anyway!" she said breathlessly.
"Yes, and what a marriage," he ejaculated.
Marie put her hand to her throat as if she were choking.
"I thought we were getting along well together."
"Did you? That all depends what you mean by well! I suppose it'sall right, if it suits you."
She gave a queer little laugh.
"Chris, you are not trying to pretend that you're in love with me!"The words seemed forced from her and her heart beat to suffocationas she waited for his reply.
It came without a second's hesitation.
"I suppose I've never been in love with any woman, but if thereever has been anyone it's been you, Marie Celeste."
A poor little grain of comfort, and yet it was comfort to know thatnobody else came before her.
She felt almost happy for the rest of the day; even Feathersnoticed that her eyes were brighter and that there was more colorin her cheeks.
"This place is doing you good at last, Mrs. Lawless," he said toher during the evening. "It's the first time I've seen you with acolor."
She put up her hands to her cheeks, laughingly.
"And it's my own," she said, "and not out of the box."
His grave eyes searched her face.
"Ignoramus as I am, I could have told you that," he answered.
Mrs. Heriot came rustling up to them; she wore a beautiful eveninggown, cut rather unnecessarily low, and a diamond star glittered onher white neck.
"What are you two laughing about?" she demanded. "Mr. Dakers, Imust compliment you. You always seem to be able to make Mrs.Lawless laugh, and she's such a serious little person as a rule."
She sat down between them; she always liked to be the center of aconversation.
"There'll be no moon to-night," she said suddenly. "It's cloudedover; I think we shall have some rain."
"It must be badly needed," Feathers said sententiously.
She made a little grimace.
"The crops and the farmers want it, I suppose you mean! Do you knowthat I've no interest in either of them?"
"You surprise me," said Feathers gravely.
She held out her white hand.
"Give me a cigarette, Mr. Dakers!" She glanced round the lounge.
"Where is everyone to-night?" she asked plaintively.
"I think most of the men are in the billiard room," Marie saidhesitatingly; she knew that Chris was--he had asked her permissionfirst, and the little attention had pleased her, though she knewquite well that he would have gone, anyway, had he desired to go.
"I think Mr. Dakers is simply splendid, you know," Mrs. Heriot saidwith enthusiasm, when presently he had walked away. "He makes sucha wonderful friend, doesn't he?"
"He is very kind," Marie agreed frigidly.
"How you will miss him!" the elder woman went on sympathetically."Or is he going back to town with you?"
"No, he is not going back with us," Marie said.
Her eyes went across the lounge, to where Feathers stood talking tosome people, and her heart contracted with a sudden fear.
Yes, she would miss him, she knew! She was afraid to think howmuch.
CHAPTER IX
"Time keeps no measure when two friends are parted."
A Bachelor Husband Page 9
