The Potter and the Clay: A Romance of Today
Page 7
*V.*
Instead of returning to London from the Camerons’ place in Scotland,Cary and the Captain went to the south of France. Just what it was thathad suddenly made Cary so persistent in her desire not to return toEngland, was not known. Trevelyan, indeed fancied that he knew, when hehad finished reading Cary’s brief note telling of their change of plansand their intended prolonged absence from England, and he cursed thefolly that had separated him from Cary in the long months that layahead.
To Stewart, and indeed to the world at large, she gave the old,threadbare excuse—the London climate. If Stewart ever suspectedotherwise, he kept it to himself.
The Captain, like Trevelyan, fancied he knew something of the cause, butthe Captain was a wise man, and he asked no more than Cary chose toimpart—which was next to nothing at all. Still Cary wanted to get awayfrom London and Cary was not given to whims. The climate was asufficiently good excuse. The fact that it was an excuse made nodifference to the Captain, and to the south of France they went.
They were gone all winter, traveling in a desultory way, since there wasno call for haste and Cary’s pleasure was the chief consideration. AndCary delighted in the quaint old towns and grew enthusiastic again overthe trifles of life, as she had done as a child down by the sea-coastfort, or out on the western plains. Now it was a month at Cette, on theGulf of Naples; then it was down to the Eastern Pyrenees, and over, anda month in Spain, and back again to France and up to Bayonne andBordeaux, and then to Paris by easy stages, and then on to Calais and toEngland.
There were letters from Stewart awaiting to welcome her, whenever heknew her next stopping place, and they often enclosed notes ofintroduction to people who could add either to her comfort or herpleasure. Stewart knew the country like a book. He had toured it onfoot after his Eton days. As for London—London was duller than he hadever known it; the fogs were unusually frequent and heavy, and he wasglad that she had escaped them. He hoped she was enjoying herself; shemust surely see such and such a thing, or take such and such a drive.He had not taken it in years, himself, but she would tell him all aboutit. He supposed she would be able to brush up his French when shereturned. By the way, when was she returning to England?
She returned to England in the late spring and in all that timeTrevelyan had not written her a line. He was at the station to meet herthough, and it was he who took possession of her while the Captain andStewart went to see about the luggage.
Indeed, in the weeks that followed, London observed that it wasTrevelyan who monopolized the American officer’s daughter. It wasTrevelyan who dropped in to afternoon tea with unfailing regularity, andfought with her, and scolded her, and laughed with her, and took herdriving, or riding on the Row. His superior officer fretted andspeculated at the change in the young Engineer, until he passed him oneday with Cary.
"There’s a brilliant young chap being ruined," he said crossly to hisaide. "Served out his sub-lieutenancy finely, and has behaved thiswinter like an officer and a gentleman. Now the barracks can’t hold him,and he shirks like a weak-livered chicken. Who’s the girl?"
"An American—the daughter of a retired officer. I fancy you’ve oftenseen them together—elderly man with iron gray hair; sat next to you, butone, at the Stewarts’ dinner."
The aide broke off and looked fixedly after Trevelyan.
"Some day in danger—" he said, as if to himself.