"Didn't you hate that? Being her husband — and yet not her husband?"
"I was her husband in everything that mattered," he said dryly. "And, so long as she was mine and I could look after her, I didn't really care much whether the world thought me her husband or her lover."
Alix saw that was no affectation but the literal truth.
"She had some strange idea that she preserved her independence that way." He shrugged and smiled indulgently. "I suppose, in a sense, she did. She was welcome to whatever satisfaction it gave her."
"And that is how it has been ever since?"
"That is how it has been ever since," he agreed.
Alix was silent, wondering very much how it was going to be in the future.
"Where is Nina now?" she asked at last. "Gone to bed?"
"Gone to bed!" Moerling looked surprised. "Certainly not. She has gone back to her party, of course. She couldn't stay away indefinitely."
"But she was so upset. Couldn't she have sent an excuse that she was ill?"
Moerling shook his head with a smile.
"Nina's self-discipline is better than that. She can cover any distress of mind or heart better than anyone I know."
"Oh, was she very much distressed, poor Nina? I don't want her to be unhappy. It must seem to her as though everything is overtaking her at once. We must do something to reassure her."
Moerling got up and went over ta cut and light a cigar before he replied.
"Do you mean that you would be prepared, if necessary, to keep up this absurd conspiracy of silence?" he asked, regarding the lighted tip of his cigar.
"Well — yes. If she wants that," Alix admitted diffidently.
He smiled across at her suddenly.
"You are very much more my child than hers, Alix, in spite of your golden hair. I think perhaps you and I are very foolish — and even not very good for her."
"You mean because we give in to her too easily?"
"Well, what do you think?" he asked half seriously.
Alix considered the point gravely.
"I think it's too late to do anything else. We should only hurt and bewilder her now — much more than we could ever want to. Besides, she's far more frightened by time than either of us can realize. It's really that which makes her resort to these — these rather cruel absurdities. We can only wait and try to understand her, because one day time will win, of course, and then, because we love her, we shall be the only people in the world who can help her."
Moerling held out his hand to her.
"Come here, my child."
She came to his side, smiling a little, and he passed his hand lightly over her hair.
"Have I really had such a sweet daughter in the world for twenty years and not known it?" he said with half humorous regret.
"Oh—" Alix flushed. "Never mind. You know it now."
"Yes, I know it now." He frowned very slightly, and Alix suddenly saw what complications there were going to be. He was savouring the novelty of pride, as well as pleasure, in his daughter. Was he going to be willing to keep all that secret?
He didn't add anything about it. He said instead:
"And now what about your Barry Ehon?"
"Oh—" Alix looked rather taken aback. "There — there's nothing to say about Barry."
"But now that this — misunderstanding, shall we say? — has been cleared up, doesn't he take a rather interesting place in the scheme of things again?*
Alix shook her head dumbly.
"No?" Moerling raised his eyebrows. "Am I displaying too much curiosity for a mere parent?"
She saw that his position intrigued him immensely, and tried to smile. But the attempt failed miserably.
"It doesn't matter — about your asking questions, I mean. But — but you see—" she stopped.
"What is the matter, darling?" Moerling put his arm round her and drew her to his side again. It was all done so naturally and easily that she might have been his beloved little daughter for years.
"I quarrelled with him — on purpose, because of what I thought. It was the sort of quarrel that is terribly difficult to make up."
"So?" Moerling looked at her speculatively. "And you don't feel like making the first advance?"
"I can't. You see, there is no explanation for what I did
— except the real one, and I couldn't posibly make that without giving Nina away pitilessly. No one outside would understand what she did. Certainly not Barry. Besides — I just couldn't tell him," Alix finished helplessly.
"I — see." The slight pause showed he did indeed see how deeply Varoni's deception had involved her daughter.
"Why does she do these things? They're so senseless," he said half to himself.
"She doesn't mean to be wicked and cruel," Alix said quickly. "She gets frightened — some horrid person says something spiteful, and though she pretends she's not frightened, she is really. Then the only thing that restores her confidence is to know that people think she's the most wonderful thing in the world. I do see dimly why it was shattering that so staunch an admirer as Barry, and her own daughter, should be — should be finding each other more wonderful than herself. It must have been like two gaps in her safest defences. She probably thought she would repair them brutally before they went any further."
Moerling looked at her thoughtfully and smiled slightly.
"You are remarkably objective, child, and I wish I could do something towards putting your affairs to rights. But for the moment—" he glanced at his watch and frowned
— "I have to go downstairs again. I had forgotten how long I had been away. Are you coming too?"
"/" Alix looked astounded and a little shrinking. "But it's so late, isn't it?"
"Half past one," he said indifferently. "We shall not break up for another hour at least."
She still hesitated.
"Have you had your supper? or anything to eat since lunch?"
"N-no."
"Then you must either have something here or come downstairs."
"Will Nina — mind?"
They looked at each other doubtfully, their faintly worried brown eyes extraordinarily alike.
"If s impossible to tell," he said slowly at last, "but I think she would probably be very thankful if you came."
•Then IT1 come."
They went down together, to the room where that first party had been held. Alix supposed so much had happened that, in a way, she was almost drained of emotion. It wasn't possible, even now, to realize the full implications of that quarrel with Barry. When she did, of course, she would probably be bitterly angry with her mother again. But as it was —
Her eyes went to Varoni, sitting at the head of the table — beautiful, dazzling, confident
How did she do it? Alix wondered. Her heart must be full of fear, perhaps anger — certainly misgiving. Yet no one was allowed to guess it.
One or two people called out laughing reproaches to Moerling for having been away so long, but he smiled quite calmly and said:
"I found an extremely urgent matter upstairs which had to be attended to. I beg you to excuse me." And he threw down on the table the papers he had originally gone to fetch.
"And the charming young lady in white? Who is she?" inquired an elderly man on Varoni's left.
"My little sister," Nina said, and Alix found she didn't mind the description at all this time. It didn't matter now. Moerling had called her his daughter. She was their daughter, whatever Nina might call her — the fruit of their strange yet beautiful love-story.
"Come here, Alix, and be introduced to Professor Cher-mont" Nina held out her hand carelessly as Alix came down the room to her. For a moment their eyes met, and suddenly Alix knew there was fear, and a sort of helpless misery in her mother's blue eyes.
She came quite close, and stood by Nina's chair while the introduction was made.
"She has her share of the Varoni charm, I see," observed the old professor gallantly.
"Oh, she is
a very dear child." Varoni spoke with just the correct amount of affectionate interest, and at that Alix put her arm lightly round her mother's shoulders.
She had not been mistaken. Varoni was trembling.
"Nina is very dear too," Alix assured the Professor with a grave little smile, and bending down she softly kissed Varoni's cheek.
It was all quite lightly done, as though on impulse, but the kiss was very warm and sweet.
"Alix!" Varoni said in a choked whisper, and held her convulsively close. But even that was only for a second, and quite unnoticed by any of the visitors.
As Alix straightened up, however, she found Moerling's eyes upon her, and with something warm in her heart, in spite of all that had happened, she exchanged a smile of extremely tender understanding with her father.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"WHAT'S THE matter with Nina this morning? She's about as chatty as the Sphinx," Prescott stared across at Alix with those bright black eyes that saw so much. "Did she and Moerling have a row last night?"
"Not that I know of," Alix said, with all the composure at her command. "And anyway, I don't expect she'd tell me about it if they had."
Prescott didn't answer that at once. Her gaze became more reflective.
"I thought perhaps something happened during the long time you were all up here," Prescott observed slowly at last.
"Iwas out with Barry part of the time — all the earlier part of the evening," Alix pointed out sharply.
"But you came into the supper room with Moerling later," countered Prescott.
"I met him upstairs in the suite."
"Quite," Prescott said, and went on with her work.
She and Alix were both in the study the afternoon after the supper party, and Varoni had just gone through, with scarcely a word for either of them, on her way to do some shopping she had certainly not previously mentioned.
Alix sat there for a minute or two longer, trying to fix her attention on a newspaper account of last night's performance, but it was useless to pretend that she was taking anything in. Tossing down the paper, she said:
"I think I'll go out for a while — until tea-time anyway."
"I should," commented Prescott sourly. "Shopping too, I suppose."
But Alix took no notice. She put on her hat and went out into the Park. It was very warm, but walking along slowly under the trees was much pleasanter than being indoors, and it was easier to think out there in the open air.
She supposed it was for her herself to think of something constructive to do about this desperate muddle in which she found herself, but she must know first what line Varoni and Moerling intended to take.
For herself, she could bear to go on with what Moerling had called "this absurd conspiracy of silence," but
there was not only herself to be considered now. And, in any case, how was this going to affect any possibility of explanations with Barry?
"Not that there is really any chance of that,'* Alix told herself with a sigh. "Even if I saw him—"
And at that moment she did see him.
He was coming along the path towards her now, walking quite rapidly, with that easy, swinging stride, his head a little bent, his thoughts obviously far away.
There was something almost ridiculous about their meeting like this after the dramatically expressed hope only last night that they would never meet again. But Alix was conscious of no absurdity. She only knew that her heart was beating frantically with something between hope and fear.
He was almost up to her before he saw her, and then only the slightest expression of surprise showed that he had seen her. He looked at her, and then through her, and he continued his way without the slightest sign of recognition.
If he had struck her in the face Alix could not have been more utterly shocked or astounded. That he was furious with her she knew. That he really didn't want to see her again was probably true. But that he should pass her like this, as though she didn't exist, was somehow outside anything she had expected.
She couldn't leave things like this. Turning quickly, she ran back to overtake him.
"Barry!"
For a moment he took no notice even then, and she had the ridiculous impression of being in some silly film farce, where the heroine ran along persistently beside the masterful hero.
Then the pathetic absurdity of it seemed to make its impression on him, for he stopped and faced her.
"What is it, Alix? What can you possibly have to say to me now? — especially when I've shown how little I want to hear it."
She winced at the crude candour of that.
"It's about last night—" she began desperately, twisting her gloves round her hand.
"I can't think of anything left to say about last night," he said very stiffly, and looked as though he might walk away again at any minute.
"No, but listen. It — it was a mistake."
"In what way?" Barry's voice was cold, almost bored.
Alix swallowed.
"When I said all those things, I thought something different. It was a dreadful mistake." She wasn't doing well, she knew, and something in his expression reminded her that, for the sake of one's pride, one could not go on speaking like this indefinitely. "Barry, if you could believe me—"
"But you don't tell me what to believe. You keep on talking unconvincingly about a mistake. I haven't seen any mistake yet. You were extremely clear and circumstantial last night," he added rather bitterly. "I don't know why you want to dig it all up again, and frankly, I'm not interested."
"Oh—" Alix backed away a step.
"If this is 4 playing a part' again, I'm afraid you're not doing it so well as the first time. And, anyway, though I certainly was fool enough to be caught once, I am not such an absolute half-wit as to be caught twice. Good afternoon, Alix — and I do think it's much the best if you make up your mind not to chase after me offering 'excuses'."
He had gone several yards before she recovered from that last stinging blow — and, anyway, of course, there was absolutely nothing left to say.
Turning, she walked away in the opposite direction, not noticing now where she was going.
She walked for a long time, until she was so hot and tired that she had to sit down on a bench, but she still could not walk away from Barry's agonizing advice not to "chase after him".
She hadn't. Only, if you loved someone, you couldn't let him think awful things about you without trying to explain.
That was it, of course. She loved him. She was frightened even to look at the fact in her own mind after what he had said, but it was quite true. She loved Barry. She loved him for his half flippant, half serious view of life, for his frankness and his kindness to her, for his odd flashes of responsibility about her, his concern that life should not hurt her too much.
And, if it had not been for this disaster, he would have loved her too. Of that she was certain.
Alix got up forlornly at last, and began to make her
way home. There was no point in sitting moping on a park bench. Besides, she had said she would be in about tea-time, and even if the foundations of their world were rocking, Varoni probably expected her to come in when she said she would.
It seemed that was so, because as soon as she entered the study again, Prescott said:
"They want you. In there." She jerked her head in the direction of Varoni's private sitting-room.
"Who wants me?"
"Varoni and Moerling, of course."
Alix went over and opened the door, feeling very nervous in spite of her efforts to assure herself that Moerling would not let anything very dreadful happen to her.
Her mother was not looking specially forbidding either — only dispirited and rather unhappy. She was leaning back in an armchair, her fair head against a dark velvet cushion, and the half unconscious pose was perfect even at this moment.
Moerling was sitting at the table, leaning forward, his arms resting on the table, and his hands loosely clasped. He got up when A
lix came in.
"Hello, child. We may as well have tea now. It can be sent up here." He spoke quite naturally, as though no crisis were in progress, and he himself telephoned for tea with the utmost calm.
While they waited he made one or two remarks — about last night's performance, the criticisms and so on. Alix seconded him with what courage she could muster, and Varoni even vouchsafed one or two replies.
When tea had been brought, Varoni made no move, and after a moment, Alix said timidly:
"Shall I pour out?"
"Yes, please, Alix."
She did so, hoping very earnestly that neither of them noticed how the cups rattled in their saucers when she picked them up.
There was silence for a moment, then Moerling spoke.
"We have been discussing the future, Alix, because of course, we must come to some sort of arrangement after all that has been said."
"Can't we — go on as we were?" Alix suggested almost
pleadingly, whereupon Varoni and Moerling exchanged a glance.
It was Varoni who answered.
"Moerling seems to think it's all very unfair to you," she said dryly.
"To me! I don't mind — if he doesn't. I'm quite used to it, really."
Varoni made a gesture to Moerling as though to say "What did I tell you?"
"But I rather think I do mind," Moerling said slowly and deliberately. "I've been thinking over a lot of things since last night. Am I really expected to treat my own child as an unimportant relation of my chief soprano?"
There was a heavy silence.
"It needn't be quite like that, need it?" Alix said at last
"It would have to be, my dear." Getting up, Moerling walked up and down the room, his hands thrust into his pockets. "I haven't had people gossiping about me half my life for nothing — and about Nina too. Our ages — our friends — our love-affairs — anything is food for gossip* It always is with people in our position, especially if they're not actually revolting to look at."
Alix glanced with the faintest smile from one attractive parent to the other, but Moerling went on in deadly earnest.
"If I forgot once or twice and were affectionate to you in public, you'd have people saying that, having tired of one sister, I was running after the other. I don't usually care a damn what these people say, but I'm not going to have mud sticking to a perfectly innocent person, who is, in addition, my own daughter."
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