FEATHERS walked around the following afternoon. "I've left the carto be tuned up," he explained as he and Marie shook hands. "AndI've got a brilliant idea for to-morrow!" He looked round the room."Where is Miss Chester?"
"Lying down. The sun this morning gave her a headache."
"Well, do you care to go on the river to-morrow?"
Marie's eyes sparkled.
"Oh, I should love it! In a punt?"
"We can have a punt, if you like; I'll wire to-day for it, and wecan drive down and take our lunch. Do you know the river?"
She laughed.
"I've seen it at London Bridge and once at Putney--that's all."
"You've never seen Wargrave?"
"No."
"Good! We'll go there---" Feathers hesitated. "Do you think youraunt would care to come?" He tried to put enthusiasm into thequestion, but not very successfully. Marie shook her head.
"I am sure she would not. She does not like the river, and she ishorribly afraid of small boats. She thinks they are bound toupset."
"They are all right if you know how to manage them. It's all fixedup, then? I'll order the lunch---"
She interrupted quickly: "Oh, I can do that; you don't want to haveall the bother."
"It's no bother to me; I was always chief cook and bottle washerwhen Chris and I camped out together. As a matter of fact, lunch isordered already."
"You were so sure I would come?"
"I hoped you would."
She gave a little sigh of eager anticipation.
"Oh, I should love it."
"Let's hope it will keep fine." Feathers glanced towards thewindow. "It looks promising. Wear something that won't spoil--theriver ruins good clothes."
He took up his hat.
"Oh, won't you stay to tea?" Marie asked disappointedly. "It willbe here in a moment."
He hesitated, then sat down again.
"Well--I did not mean to, but as I've been asked----"
Marie laughed.
"Do you always do as you're asked?"
"It depends on who asks me."
She rang the bell for tea.
"And please tell my aunt that Mr. Dakers is here," she said to themaid.
She was always very punctilious about telling Miss Chester wheneverFeathers called.
"Have you heard from Chris?" Feathers asked suddenly.
"Yes--last night. He is at Windermere--on his way home."
Feathers looked up quickly.
"Then he may be here at any time?"
Marie shrugged her shoulders. "I don't expect him yet," she said inrather a hard voice. "If he likes Windermere, I dare say he willstay for a week or so."
There was a little silence.
"Of course if he should turn up to-morrow, our little outing mustbe postponed," Feathers said quietly.
Marie did not answer, and he repeated his words.
"Yes, of course," she agreed then.
She looked at him critically. Had he begun to dress better since hecame back to London? Or was it just that she was getting used tohim, she wondered? She would have been surprised if she had knownthe time and trouble Feathers spent on his appearance each morningbefore he came to see her, and how he cursed his ugliness andungainliness every time he caught sight of himself in a glass.
He turned up in white flannels the following morning, with a lightdust coat and a soft felt hat.
Miss Chester refused to come, as Marie had prophesied.
"I detest the river," she said strenuously, "And after yourdreadful experience, Marie, I wonder you have the pluck to go nearwater again."
"I shall be quite safe with Mr. Dakers," Marie answered, "and it'ssuch a lovely day! Do change your mind and come, dear."
But Miss Chester would not be persuaded.
"And don't be late home," was her last injunction. "I shall benervous and unhappy about you till you are safely back again."
"I am going to enjoy myself," Marie said. "I am quite sure we aregoing to have a lovely day." She ran upstairs to put on her hat.She had carried out Feathers' instructions by choosing a whitelinen frock and a Panama hat, and white shoes and stockings. Shelooked very young and dainty. Feathers thought, as she came runningdown the stairs.
"You will want a coat," he said quietly. "It may rain."
"Rain!" she echoed, scornfully. She made a little grimace at him."Why, there isn't a cloud in the sky." But she went back obedientlyfor the coat, and to say good-bye to Miss Chester.
"And, oh, my dear, do be careful!" the old lady urged anxiously."Whatever shall I say to Chris if anything happens?"
"Nothing will happen," said Marie, "except that we shall thoroughlyenjoy ourselves."
She shut the drawing-room door behind her, and stopped for a momentin the hall to peep at herself in the glass.
She had not looked so well for a long time. She turned away with alittle sigh of contentment, and at that moment a telegraph boy ranup the steps to the front door.
Seeing Marie, he did not ring the bell, but handed her the yellowenvelope. It was addressed to "Lawless," and Marie tore it openapprehensively.
"Home this afternoon--Chris."
Marie's heart gave a great leap, then seemed to stand still.
"No answer," she said mechanically.
She watched the boy go down the steps and mount his bicycle at thecurb, then she read the short message again.
"Home this afternoon--Chris."
This meant that she could not have her day on the river--that shemust tell Feathers she could not go with him.
He was outside in the road, tinkering with the car, and had notseen the telegram delivered. With a sudden impulse Marie thrust itinto her frock. Why should she stay at home just because after allthese weeks Chris chose to come back? Why should she give up aday's enjoyment with a man who really enjoyed her society just tobe hurt and ignored and made to suffer afresh?
Feather called to her from the road: "Are you ready, Mrs. Lawless?"
"Yes, coming now." She ran down the steps, her cheeks flushed witha defiant sense of guilt. It was the first time in her life thatshe had done anything mean or shabby, but her heart had grown hardduring the past days, and it no longer seemed a dreadful matterthat she should not trouble to be present when Chris came home.
There was a large picnic basket strapped to the back of the car,and Feathers told her laughingly that he had brought a magnum ofchampagne.
Marie opened her brown eyes wide.
"Gracious! Who do you think will drink it all?"
"Oh, I think we can, between us, quite easily. We've got all daybefore us, you know."
Marie leaned back luxuriously. She had resolutely pushed allthought of Chris from her mind and she did not mean to think of himtill they got back home again.
"I'm going to enjoy myself, and not worry about anything," she saidrecklessly.
Feathers looked down at her. "Do you worry about things?" he askedgently. "Don't do it, Mrs. Lawless! It brings wrinkles and chasesaway smiles."
"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 amgoing 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 withyou."
"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 littlehard and stern.
It was a silent drive, but Marie gave a little cry of delight, whenat 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 carand get a punt," Feathers said. "Then well get up in the backwaterand have lunch."
Marie's face was glowing and she looked like a child who hasunexpectedly come across an illuminated Christmas tree.
"I never k
new there were such lovely places in the world," shesaid. When Feathers had run the car into the yard adjoining the innshe went down to the river, and stood on the small, rough woodenlanding-stage, looking down at the silently flowing water withdreamy eyes.
It was so peaceful, so restful, with the soft sound of the breezein the trees and tall rushes, and the sensuous lap of the wateragainst the boats moored to the landing-stage.
And again the thought went through her mind--what a lovely world itwould be if one could only have things just a little, little bitdifferent!
Feathers brought an armful of cushions from the boathouse, put theluncheon hamper on board, and stripped off his coat preparatory tostarting business.
He pushed off from the landing-stage, and let the punt drift downstream. He was a square, strong figure standing up against thecloudless sky, and a thought that had often crossed Marie's mindcame again as she looked at him: What a kind man he could be tosome woman, and how happy some woman could be with him!
After all, what did a handsome face matter when it came down to thedifficult business of every-day life? It was kindness that countedand sympathy and gentleness and understanding. Her brown eyes grewwistful as she watched his ugly, preoccupied face.
Here was a man who disliked all women even as Chris did, and yet hehad found it possible to be kind to her, to befriend her in herloneliness and perplexity. She felt that she could not besufficiently grateful to him.
Feathers did not speak till they had left the main stream andslipped into the wonderful backwater that lies between Wargrave andHenley. Marie had never seen anything like it in her life. She heldher breath in sheer delight as she lay back amongst the cushionsand looked up at the canopy of leaves overhead.
There were very few people about. Now and then a laugh reached themacross the water or the sound of row-locks, and once a big waterrat scurried past them along the margin of rushes and reeds,staring at them for a second with dark, bright eyes before itplunged 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 rushoff abroad with a party of dreadful tourists and tire themselvesout in order to see some musty old museum or cathedral, and nevertrouble to see the beauty spots of their own country. Look behindyou 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 boatto pass 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 onthe other side.
Marie laughed and raised her head. Her soft hair was all roughenedby the cushions, and one long strand had tumbled down over hershoulder.
"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 ofthe schoolroom with that curl hanging down." He indicated thefallen lock of hair and Marie laughed and blushed as she hurriedlyfastened 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 shewas not to work at all.
"Look upon me as a sort of serf, or vassal!" he said, laughingly."Order me about; put your foot on my neck, for to-day I am yourhumble 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 littlewhile. 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 ofsilly things that could never really come true, but this"--shelooked 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 slippedsuddenly, 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 andhurriedly bound it round with a handkerchief. "Heavens, don't lookso scared! It's nothing to what has happened when we've beencamping out! The tent we were sleeping in collapsed on us onenight, and we were nearly smothered. I should have been, but forChris--he hauled me out."
"Did he?" her face grew wistful. "Chris is very fond of you," shesaid.
Feathers shrugged his shoulders.
"Oh, we get on very well together."
He went on preparing the luncheon, and when it was ready he rose tohis feet and made her a salaam.
"The feast is served, fair lady!"
He had tied the champagne bottle to the side of the boat, lettingit dangle in the water, and he drew it carefully up and releasedthe cork, letting it fly up into the trees overhead with atremendous report.
Marie laughed like a child; she was so happy to-day that everythingpleased and amused her.
Feathers filled two glasses and handed one to her, holding out hisown in a toast.
"To your future happiness," he said gravely.
Marie flushed a little.
"To yours," she said tremulously. "And--and to many happy returnsof 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? Wisepeople take advantage of the sunshine in this country."
Her face paled; she put the glass down untouched. Then abruptly shedrew 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 wenton almost angrily: "You should have stayed at home. Mrs. Lawless,why didn't you tell me? We could easily have cancelled ourarrangements."
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 softcooing of a wood pigeon in the trees overhead.
Feathers was kneeling on the grassy bank to which the punt wasmoored, 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 jawthrust out in an obstinate line, and yet--there seemed to besomething strangely helpless about him, something that seemed tocontradict the angry tone in which he had just spoken.
Then, quite suddenly he looked up and their eyes met, Marie's hotand ashamed, though she could not have explained why, and histrying so hard not to betray the agitation that was rending him.
"Are you angry with me?" she faltered. "Oh, don't be angry withme." And, covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears.
Feathers got up abruptly and stood with averted head staring downstream.
The river was flowing swiftly just there, and it was carrying withit a little toy boat which someone had twisted out of a newspaper.
Feathers followed its passage mechanically. It seemed symbolical ofhis life during the past ten years, during which he had justallowed himself to drift helplessly with the tide, until now, whenhe stood face to face with the disaster of the hidden rock of agirl's simplicity and desperate unhappiness.
Feathers was no fool, and he knew quite well that Marie's tearswere the outcome of all she had suffered since her marriage.
She had looked for lov
e and happiness, and had found neither. Shehad been flung back on herself and his friendship, and in hergratitude for the little he had done to try and cheer her she hadmagnified her affection for him.
He did some swift thinking as he stood there, his face resolutelyturned from her as she sat crying desolately.
Every instinct of his manhood was to take her in his arms andcomfort her, but he knew that such happiness was not for him--couldnever be for him.
After a moment he went back to the deserted lunch. His face waswhite, but he made a desperate effort to speak cheerily.
"And this is the day we were going to enjoy so much! You will nevercome 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 waspsconsume 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 lookat me; I'm so ashamed."
She leaned over the side of the punt and bathed her eyes in thecool water, drying them on Feathers' silk handkerchief, which heput within her reach.
He went on calmly serving out the lunch and talking about anythingthat came into his head.
"Last time I was here, it came on to pour cats and dogs just aswe'd started lunch! There was lobster mayonnaise, I remember, and afine mess it was in. We're luckier to-day. There isn't a cloud. Doyou like cream? Yes, I remember you said you did when we lunched atMrs. Costin's inn."
He gave Marie plenty of time to recover herself. A great sigh ofrelief 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 thatchampagne I shall have to come and make you."
Marie drank some of it, and it did her good. The color stole slowlyback to her cheeks.
They talked trivialities for the remainder of the meal, and thenFeathers gravely washed up and stowed the remains of the feast awayin the hamper.
"We'll go on to Henley for tea," he said, "and you'll see thehouseboats. 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 fromAtkins last night."
"Did you?" Marie flushed. "I should like to see him again," shesaid.
"Well, why not? Now Chris is home we must make up some dinnerparties 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 getback, and ready to break my head for having taken you out."
"Do you think so?" Her voice was coldly contemptuous, and Feathershurriedly tried another subject.
"The thing to do in a punt is to go to sleep. Have you ever sleptin a punt in a backwater like this? No? Then you've missed half thejoys of life. Come out on the bank a minute and let me arrangethose cushions."
He held his hand to her, but she avoided it, and stood watchingsilently as he made a great business of plumping up the cushionsand spreading his coat for her to lie on.
"There you are! Isn't that great? Mind, you'll upset the wholeshow!"
He tightened the moorings a little and looked down at her with astrained smile.
Marie had gone back to the punt and dragged a cushion beneath herdark head.
Feathers sat down on the grass, his back to a tree, and produced apipe which he gravely lit.
"I've had this pipe four years," he said. "Chris says it's adisgrace to civilization, but I like it! You don't mind if Ismoke?"
"No, please do."
She closed her eyes, not from any wish to sleep, but to avoidtalking. There was a little fear at the back of her mind which shecould not capture or recognize.
Why had she cried? Why was it now that when Chris was on his wayhome--perhaps was already in London--there was no joy in her heart,only dread?
It was very still there in the backwater. Now and then a birddarted down from the trees overhead and skimmed the clear waterwith a flash of brown wings; or some little creature stirred in therushes, splashing the water and sending out ever-widening circlesto the opposite bank.
Feathers sat motionless, his arms folded, puffing at his pipe, hiseyes fixed on Marie's face.
Such a child! Such a child! That was always his compassionatethought of her; and yet--those tears she had shed just now had notbeen a child's tears, but a woman's.
He was afraid to question himself, afraid to read the answer whichhe knew was there in his heart, but his eyes searched the softcontours of her face with passionate longing.
Was she asleep? Somehow he did not think she was. And yet he wasglad of these moments in which he might look at her without havingto hold the mask before his face--for this little time in which sheseemed to be his own.
He had long known that he loved her and had accepted the fact asphilosophically as he had accepted the many other ironies anddisappointments of his life.
It was meant to be! He could not have helped or prevented it, evenhad he wished. She was his friend's wife, and there was not onedisloyal thought in Feathers' heart at he sat there and let hispipe grow cold and dreamed with his eyes on little Marie Celeste.
There was a gramophone playing somewhere in the distance, and thewater between lent it a softness and melody that was undeserved. Itgrew clearer and clearer as the boat carrying it came up stream,and presently Feathers could distinguish the words of the song:
I dream of the day I met you;
I dream of the light divine
That shone in your tender eyes, love.
When first they looked in mine,
I dream of the rose you gave me,
I dream of our last farewell,
I dream of the silent longing
That only the heart can tell . . .
A Bachelor Husband Page 16
