Who?

by Elizabeth Kent

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A SLIP OF THE TONGUE

  Cyril spent the night in a state of pitiable indecision. Should he orshould he not risk a visit to Anita? If the police were shadowing him,it would be fatal, but he had somehow lately acquired the convictionthat they were not. On the other hand, if he could only see her, how itwould simplify everything! As she distrusted both Guy and Miss Trevor,even if his plot succeeded, she would probably refuse to leave Englandunless he himself told her that he wished her to do so. Besides, therewere so many details to be discussed, so many arrangements to be talkedover. "Yes," he said to himself as he lay staring into the darkness, "itis my duty to see her. I shall go to her not because I want to...." Ahorrid doubt made him pause. Was he so sure that his decision was notthe outcome of his own desire? How could he trust his judgment in amatter where his inclinations were so deeply involved? Yet it would beshocking if he allowed his own feelings to induce him to do somethingwhich might be injurious to Anita. It was a nice question to determinewhether her need of him was sufficient to justify him in risking avisit? For hours he debated with himself but could arrive at noconclusion. No sooner did he resolve to stay away from her than thethought of her unhappiness again made him waver. If he only knew why shewas so unhappy, he told himself that the situation would not be sounendurable. When he had talked to her over the telephone, she hadseemed cheerful; she had spoken of Guy and Miss Trevor with enthusiasm.What could have occurred since then to make her distrust them and toplunge her into such a state of gloom? As he tossed to and fro on hishot, tumbled bed, his imagination pictured one dire possibility afteranother, till at last he made up his mind that he could bear theuncertainty no longer. He must see her! He would see her!

  Having reached this decision, Cyril could hardly refrain from rushingoff to her as soon as it was light. However, he had to curb hisimpatience. Three o'clock was the only hour he could be sure of findingher alone; so he must wait till three o'clock. But how on earth, heasked himself, was he going to get through the intervening time? He wasin a state of feverish restlessness that was almost agony; he could notapply himself to anything; he could only wait--wait. Although he knewthat there was no chance of his meeting Anita, he haunted theneighbourhood of the "George" all the morning. Every few minutes heconsulted his watch and the progress of the hands seemed to him soincredibly slow that more than once he thought that it must have stoppedaltogether. Finally, finally, the hour struck.

  Flinging back his shoulders and assuming a carelessness that almostamounted to a swagger, Cyril entered the hotel. He was so self-consciousthat it was with considerable surprise as well as relief that he noticedthat no one paid the slightest attention to him. Even the porter hardlyglanced at him, being at the moment engaged in speeding a parting guest.

  Cyril decided to use the stairs in preference to the lift, as they wereless frequented than the latter, and as it happened, he made his way upto the second landing without encountering anybody.

  There, however, he came face to face with a pretty housemaid, who to hisdismay looked at him attentively. Cyril went cold all over. Had he butknown it, she had been attracted by his tall, soldierly figure and hadmerely offered him the tribute of an admiring glance. But thisexplanation never occurred to our modest hero and he hurried, quiteabsurdly flustered by this trifling incident. He found that No. 62opened on a small, ill-lighted hall, which was for the moment completelydeserted.

  Now that he actually stood on the threshold of Anita's room, Cyril felta curious reluctance to proceed farther. It was unwise.... She might notwant to see him.... But even as these objections flashed through hismind, he knocked almost involuntarily.

  "Come in."

  Yet he still hesitated. His heart was beating like a sledge-hammer andhis hands were trembling. Never had he experienced such a curioussensation before and he wondered vaguely what could be the matter withhim.

  "I can't stand here forever," he said in his heart. "I wanted to seeher; well then, why don't I open the door? I am behaving like a fool!"

  Still reasoning with himself, he finally entered the room.

  A bright fire was burning on the hearth and before it were heaped anumber of cushions and from this lowly seat Anita had apparently hastilyarisen. The length of time he had taken to answer her summons hadevidently alarmed her, for she stood like a creature at bay, her eyeswide open and frightened. On recognising Cyril a deep blush suffused herface and even coloured the whiteness of her throat.

  "So it was you!" she exclaimed.

  Her relief was obvious, yet her manner was distant, almost repellent.Cyril had confidently anticipated such a different reception that herunexpected coldness completed his discomfiture. He felt as if thefoundations of his world were giving away beneath his feet. He managed,however, to murmur something, he knew not what. The pounding of hisheart prevented him from thinking coherently. When his emotion hadsubsided sufficiently for him to realise what he was doing, he foundhimself sitting stiffly on one side of the fire with Anita sittingequally stiffly on the other. She was talking--no, rather she wasengaging him in polite conversation. How long she had been doing so hedid not know, but he gathered that it could not have been long, as shewas still on the subject of the weather.

  "It has been atrocious in London. I hope you had better luck in thecountry. To-day has been especially disagreeable," she was saying.

  Cyril abused the weather with a vigour which was rather surprising, inview of the fact that till she had mentioned it, he had been sublimelyunconscious whether the sun had been shining or not. But finally eventhat prolific topic was exhausted and as no other apparently suggesteditself to either, they relapsed into a constrained silence.

  Cyril was suffering acutely. He had so longed to see her, and now animpalpable barrier had somehow arisen between them which separated themmore completely than mere bricks and mortar, than any distance couldhave done. True, he could feast his eyes on her cameo-like profile; onthe soft curve of her cheek; on the long, golden-tipped lashes; on theslender, white throat, which rose like a column from the laces of herdress. But he dared not look at her too long. Cyril was notintrospective and was only dimly aware of the cause of the turmoil whichwas raging in his heart. He did not know that he averted his eyes forfear that the primitive male within him would break loose from thefetters of his will and forcibly seize the small creature so temptinglywithin his reach.

  "If I only knew what I have done to displease her!" he said to himself.

  He longed to question her, but she held herself so rigidly aloof that hehad not the courage to do so. It was in vain that he told himself thather coldness simplified the situation; that it would have been terribleto have had to repel her advances; but he could find no consolation inthe thought. In speechless misery he sat gazing into the fire.

  Suddenly he thrilled with the consciousness that she was looking at him.He turned towards her and their eyes met.

  The glance they exchanged was of the briefest duration, but it sufficedto lift the weight which had been crushing him. He leaned eagerlyforward.

  "Have I offended you?" he asked.

  The corners of her mouth quivered slightly, but she did not answer.

  "If I have," he continued, "I assure you it was quite unintentionally.Why, I would give my life to save you a moment's pain. Can't you feelthat I am speaking the truth?"

  She turned her face towards him, and as he looked at her, Cyril realisedthat it was not only her manner which had altered; she herself hadmysteriously altered. At first he could not define wherein thedifference lay, but suddenly it flashed upon him. It was the expressionof her eyes which had changed. Heretofore he had been confident thatthey reflected her every emotion; but now they were inscrutable. It wasas if she had drawn a veil over her soul.

  "I don't know what you mean," she said. There was more than a hint ofhostility in her voice.

  The evasion angered him.

  "That is impossible! Why not be frank with me? If my visit isdistasteful to you, you have
only to say so and I will go."

  As she did not immediately answer, he added:

  "Perhaps I had better go." His tone, however, somehow implied more of athreat than a suggestion; for since they had exchanged that fleetingglance Cyril had felt unreasonably reassured. Despite her coldness, thememory of her tender entreaties for his speedy return, buoyed up hisconceit. She could not be as indifferent to him as she seemed, he arguedto himself. However, as the moments passed and she offered no objectionto his leaving her, his newly-aroused confidence evaporated.

  "She does not want me!" he muttered to himself. "I must go." But he madeno motion to do so; he could not.

  "I can't leave her till I know how I have offended her.... There are somany arrangements to be made.... I must get in touch with her again,--"were some of the excuses with which he tried to convince himself that hehad a right to linger.

  He tried to read her face, but she had averted her head till he couldsee nothing but one small, pink ear, peeping from beneath her curls.

  Her silence exasperated him.

  "Why don't you speak to me? Why do you treat me like this?" he demandedalmost fiercely.

  "It is a little difficult to know how you wish to be treated!" Hermanner was icy, but his relief was so intense that he scarcely noticedit.

  "She is piqued!" he cried exultingly in his heart. "She is piqued, thatis the whole trouble." He felt a man once more, master of the situation."She probably expected me to--" He shrank from pursuing the thought anyfurther as the hot blood surged to his face. He was again conscious ofhis helplessness. What could he say to her?

  "Oh, if you could only understand!" he exclaimed aloud. "I suppose youthink me cold and unfeeling? I only wish I were!... Oh, this istorture!"

  She seemed startled by his vehemence, for she looked up at him timidly.

  "Can't you trust me?" he continued. "Won't you tell me what has comebetween us?"

  Two big tears gathered in her eyes.

  The sight was too much for Cyril. Right and wrong ceased to exist forhim. He forgot everything; stooping forward he gathered her into hisarms and crushed her small body against his heart.

  She thrust him from her with unexpected force and stood before him withblazing eyes.

  "You cannot treat me like a child, who can be neglected one day andfondled the next! I won't have it! At the nursing home I was too weakand confused to realise how strangely you were behaving, but now I know.You dare to complain of my coldness--my coldness indeed! Is my coldnessa match to yours? Why do you suddenly pretend to love me?"

  He interrupted her with a vigorous protest.

  "If you do, then your conduct is all the more inexplicable. If you do,then I ask you, what is it, who is it, that stands between us?"

  "If I could tell you, don't you suppose I would?" declared Cyril.

  "Then there is some one, some person who is keeping us apart!"

  "No--oh, not exactly."

  "Ah, you see, you can't deny it! There is another woman in your life. Iknow it! I felt it!"

  "No--no! I love you!" cried Cyril.

  He hardly knew what he was saying; the words seemed to have leaped tohis lips.

  She regarded him for a second in silence evidently only partiallyconvinced.

  Cyril felt horribly guilty. He had momentarily forgotten his wife, andalthough he tried to convince himself that he had spoken the truth andthat it was not she who was keeping them apart, yet he had toacknowledge that if he had been free, he would certainly have behavedvery differently towards Anita. So in a sense he had lied to her and ashe realised this, his eyes sank before hers. She did not fail to notehis embarrassment and pressed her point inexorably.

  "Swear that there is no other woman who has a claim on you and I willbelieve you."

  He could not lie to her in cold blood. Yet to tell her the truth wasalso out of the question, he said to himself.

  While he still hesitated, she continued more vehemently.

  "I don't ask you to tell me anything of your past or my past, if you hadrather not do so. One thing, however, I must and will know--who is thiswoman and what are her pretensions?"

  "I--I cannot tell you," he said at last. "I only wish I could. Some day,I promise you, you shall know everything, but now it is impossible. Butthis much I will say--I love you as I have never loved any one in mywhole life."

  She trembled from head to foot and half closed her eyes.

  For a moment neither spoke. Cyril felt that this very silenceestablished a communion between them, more complete, more intense thanany words could have done. But as he gazed at the small, droopingfigure, he felt that his self-control was deserting him completely. Healmost reeled with the violence of his emotion.

  "I can't stand it another moment," he said to himself. "I must gobefore--" He did not finish the sentence but clenched his hands till theknuckles showed white through the skin.

  He rose to his feet.

  "I can't stay!" he exclaimed aloud. "Forgive me, Anita. I can't tell youwhat I feel. Good-bye!" He murmured incoherently and seizing her hands,he pressed them for an instant against his lips, then dropping themabruptly, he fled from the room.

  Cyril in his excitement had not noticed that he had called Anita by hername nor did he perceive the start she gave when she heard it. After thedoor had clicked behind him, she sat as if turned to stone, white to hervery lips.

  Slowly, as if with an effort, her lips moved.

  "Anita?" she whispered to herself. "Anita?" she repeated over and overagain as if she were trying to learn a difficult lesson.

  Suddenly a great light broke over her face.

  "I am Anita Wilmersley!" she cried aloud.

  But the tension had been too great; with a little gasp she sank faintingto the floor.