by Sara Seale
Mentally he cursed his sister furiously. He could well imagine the sort of scene she had created for Gina.
"I'm sorry she told you that," he said quietly. "I only didn't tell you myself because you seemed so sensitive about these things and I didn't want to hurt you unnecessarily. But, Gina, you know I was always glad to do anything for you. It gave me great pleasure to see you enjoy your pretty things."
"May I think about it, Mark?" she said. "It's a little— unexpected. May I tell you tomorrow?"
"Of course, child. Take as long as you like," he said warmly. "Don't do anything against your will, but remember that I shall always want you, whatever happens. Talk it over with Sebastian, and see what he has to say."
"Thanks, I will," she replied, and got out of the room as quickly as she could.
V
Talking it over with Sebastian involved no difficulties. He thought it was an excellent idea and the solution to all life's troubles.
"After all, Ginny, you always said you'd have to marry somebody, and though I 'admit I'd never in my wildest dreams thought of Teacher, here's your chance," he said.
"What are your pros and cons?" Gina asked in an odd little voice.
"My dear old Ginny, there aren't any cons, surely you must see that?" Sebastian exclaimed impatiently. "Let's tick off the pros. If you marry the Judge you'll go shares in everything. No more doling out clothes and pocket-money. You'll have unlimited claim on his purse, and that means you can pass some on to me whenever I want it. Then we'll both have a home 'and be provided for for ever, and when I've done with Oxford I can settle down comfortably and work at music. I should never be any good really as the little bread-winner, darling. We'd have the grandest times. Why, we'd be quite rich! I can't see where the snag is, can you?"
"You're looking at it entirely from your point of view, Sebastian," she said slowly. "I quite see it solves all your troubles." There was a sarcastic note in her voice which made him wriggle.
"Oh, well, it applies to you just as much," he said uneasily. "I suppose you're thinking of the wife side of it. I believe girls have all sorts of queer ideas about being a wife, but it's nothing really. It isn't as if you'd have to be making love all day. The Judge isn't a bit like that. I don't suppose you'd even have to kiss him very much once you were married. Anyway, think of the fun we'd get thrown in."
Gina realized afresh how far away from him she had grown, and felt suddenly very miserable.
"You have an awfully funny idea of marriage," she observed a little dryly. "Anyway, what about Mark's side of the business?"
Sebastian wriggled again. "How silly you are, Ginny. As if the Judge would care one way or the other," he said. "He'd hardly notice the difference, because we've lived with him so long now. Of course he'd expect you to be nice to him and take an interest in his health, and entertain his friends, but at his age he couldn't want anything else."
"He's only thirty-five."
"Well, but that's getting to the sere and yellow. Mark's no chicken, and he knows it," said Sebastian, aged eighteen.
"Well, why do you think he 'asked me to marry him, then?"
"It was the obvious way out," he said cheerfully. "After all, Julie saying she's going to marry the Swann rather mucked things. It was the most sensible thing he could do in the circumstances because it provides for both of us at one blow."
"Do you think that was his only reason?" asked Gina with a wistfulness that entirely escaped him.
"What other reason could he have? I think it was jolly decent of him. But then he's always been awfully fond of you, darling. I told you you went down best with older men, didn't I?"
"Yes."
"Well, go on. What are you hesitating for? If I were you I'd go right in now and tell him it's all fixed up. I wonder if he'd begin making me a private 'allowance. After all, I'll be his brother-in-law."
"You're perfectly disgusting!" she cried in a choked voice. "All you can think about is what you can get out of people. You judge everyone in terms of hard cash, and you'll live like that for the rest of your life if you get half a chance. You're nothing but a rotten little sponger, only you get away with it because you're young and charming. It's beastly—beastly!"
There was a trembling silence, then Sebastian said in angry tones, "Well! Of all the filthy things to say when I was only trying to help you!"
"Help yourself, you mean!" she said, her voice shaking with passion. "You think that through me you'll be able to sponge on Mark and never do a stroke of work for as long as you live. You only think what good times we'll have on his money. You don't care anything about him, or me either."
"All right! I don't care 'about him or you either!" shouted Sebastian. "And I don't, too, when you're like a howling witch."
"Well, it may please you to know that you've given me the very reason why I won't marry Mark," she sobbed. "I won't have him sponged on! I won't, I won't!"
"You're a little fool!"
"Not half as bad as you!"
"Oh, yes, you are, because you want to marry him."
"I don't!"
"You do!"
"I don't! How d'you know, anyway?"
"I didn't, but I do now."
"You're a perfect little beast, and I wish I was dead!"
"You soon will be if you go on like this. I never knew a girl cry as much as you do."
She stood looking at him, the tears pouring down her distracted face, and Sebastian's wrath began to cool.
"I'm sorry, Ginny. Forget it, and let's be friends," he said persuasively. "We never used to quarrel like this. Hang it all, I don't want to put you off the Judge."
He held out his hand, but she backed away from him.
"Leave me alone!" she cried violently. "I don't want to be friends. And you needn't have hopes I'll change my mind about Mark. You've made it impossible. I'll never marry him now—never—never—never!"
CHAPTER XII
I
MARK took Gina's decision philosophically, arguing that after all what could he have expected? She had refused young Hunter, although she had admitted that he attracted her. The child was evidently too honest to marry where she didn't love.
"I'm sorry, Mark. But you don't really mind, do you?" she finished politely.
He couldn't help smiling at the way she put it, but her words hurt all the same.
"I don't want to persuade you to anything against your will, my dear," he said, evading her question. "Did you talk it out with Sebastian?"
A queer expression came into her eyes. "Oh, yes. He quite decided me."
He looked at her sharply. "Unfortunate for me," he said quietly. "What had I done?"
"Nothing."
"Then wasn't it a little hard to object?"
"He didn't object. He thought it was a grand idea," she said hardly. "He thought it was a very good means of future security for himself, and that we'd both have a great time with your money."
"I see," he said comprehensively.
So he had committed an obvious folly in referring Gina to her brother. She was evidently not prepared to sacrifice herself or Mark for Sebastian's sake, and he admired her for it, while he blamed himself for his shortsightedness. He found himself wondering what her answer would have been had he told her that he loved her and wanted her on any terms. But Gina was in a strange mood just now. It was clearly the wrong moment to have put forward such a proposition at all.
"Well, what are we going to do with you?" he said with an attempt at lightness. "You're a little old to be adopted, I'm afraid!"
She looked up at him quickly, and her eyes were very bright. "Something will turn up between now and the time when Julie marries," she said quickly. "Something must turn up."
"My dear, I was only joking," said Mark, upset by her anxiety. "You're not to worry 'about the future, Gina. Julie isn't going to be married until after Easter, so there's plenty of time. I shall have thought of something by then."
That night Sebastian slipped into her room when ever
yone else had gone to bed.
"Ginny—are you awake?—I can't find you," he said, groping across the room.
"Here," said Gina, sitting up in bed.
"Darling, I'm sorry about the row. Was the Judge angry?"
"Angry?" She gave a queer little laugh. "Oh no—not angry. I think he understood."
"Ginny—have I mucked things for you?" He was sitting on the bed now, and he could just see her face, a faint pale blur in the dark.
"It wasn't altogether your fault," she said, thinking that but for Sebastian's outrageous attitude she might have yielded to temptation and accepted Mark against her better judgment.
"You're quite decided?" he asked with one last hope that she might change her mind. "Quite!"
"Oh, well, what do we care?" he said with a mournful sigh. "Something'll turn up." "Yes. Something'll turn up."
He moved nearer. "The Victor business doesn't worry you any more, does it?" "No."
"You seem different these days, somehow. Are you unhappy, darling?"
"No—yes, frightfully." She flung her arms round him in the darkness. "It isn't anything really. It's just growing up. It's so—b-beastly."
"Poor Ginny. Why do it, then?" "I can't help it."
"Girls have rotten luck," said Sebastian obscurely, and kissed her.
II
The rest of January passed uneventfully, and early in February, Sebastian learned that he had won his scholarship. He was to go into residence after Easter, which meant that if Julie kept to her present marriage arrangements, Gina would be left solitary on Mark's hands. The problem rather worried Mark, for although he recognized that in these days it was usual for a girl to find some means of earning her own living, he hated the idea of Gina working when he could still afford to keep her, added to which she was not fitted for anything that would help very materially.
He went to dinner one night with the Careys, and discussed it thoroughly with Philippa, whom he considered a sound person, with the advantage of being in sympathy with Gina.
"I quite see it's a bit of a problem," she said when he had explained matters. "I'm sorry about Julie's decision, though I always felt she meant to marry the man eventually. But I don't quite understand, Mark." She looked at him speculatively. "When I last saw you I thought—Perhaps I was wrong, but that would have solved your difficulties for you."
"You thought I meant to marry Gina?" he said bluntly.
"Well, I rather got that impression."
"I was refused."
"What?—Oh!—You asked her then?" He nodded. "And she refused you?—Gina?"
"I don't know why you should be so amazed," he said a little irritably, "I see no earthly reason why she should have accepted me, now I come to think of it. At least she paid me the compliment of refusing to make use of me."
"But I could have sworn—Well, you do rather amaze me, Mark." Philippa looked a little blank.
"It's very charming of you to take my personal assets so much for granted, Phil," he said with a rather wry smile. "But I've no doubt the very young look at life with different eyes."
She looked at him rather hard. "Did you propose to Gina in that sort of spirit?" she asked suspiciously.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, did you ask her to marry you in a nice, soothing, business-like sort of fashion?"
"What are you getting at? I put it as calmly and unassumingly as I could."
"I knew it!" she exclaimed with resignation. "Mark, you really are a fool!"
"For heaven's sake, why?"
"Well, can't you see—? What do you suppose the poor child thought?"
"She asked me if it was just a business proposition."
"And was it?"
"Of course not," he said a little harshly. "But how could I tell her that when she so clearly looked on it as a convenience?"
"But, Mark, can't you see that she had to take her cue from you?" said Philippa gently. "If you created that impression from the very first—as you admit you did—why should she imagine anything else? You do love her, don't you? I wasn't wrong?"
"I love her so much that I can scarcely bear the though of her living away from me, as she must quite soon," he said very quietly.
"Why, in heaven's name, didn't you tell her so?" cried Philippa.
A look of weariness came into his face. "I didn't see that it would serve any purpose," he said in a lifeless voice. "The child had been through a series of emotional crises in a very short space of time, and as I'd no reason to suppose she had any feelings for me other than ones that were purely platonic, I really couldn't bring myself to that sort of confession. She would probably have been highly embarrassed."
"My poor Mark!" she said pityingly. "Your sentiments are so admirable and so entirely idiotic. How do you suppose Gina liked being offered marriage as the easiest way of solving her future? You probably hurt her very much."
"I imagined the common-sense side of the business would appeal to her, and I confess I thought she would agree if only to provide for Sebastian." "You suggested that too?"
"Yes. It had the opposite effect. Whatever he said to her—and I gather he was in favour of the idea—definitely decided her against me."
Philippa smiled. "Don't you think that proves she's rather fond of you?"
"I don't know. It might prove anything. But really, Phil, Gina refused young Evan, although she admitted that she thought she might care for him, so I don't see much reason why she should have accepted me."
"I don't say she's in love with you, Mark," she replied frankly. "I've no reason to suppose she is, any more than you have. But I do know she's extremely fond of you, and she's already filled with such gratitude towards you that, with wisdom on your part, she might have fallen in love with you."
"Oh, gratitude!" he exclaimed impatiently. "She's not had much chance to forget it. Julie's given her a bad time."
"I wonder what careful little seeds she planted for you," Philippa said shrewdly.
"Yes, I'm afraid there's been a lot of mischief done one way and another. It can't be helped now. I didn't choose my moment very well under all the circumstances. But I still hope in time perhaps, Phil—"
"Of course, my dear. The damage isn't fatal," she said warmly. "But I still think that if you'd told her what you really felt, you'd have had her—even though she may not love you. Or would you not consider gratitude a good enough reason for her?"
"I'm not as proud as Gina. I'd have had her on any terms," he said a little sadly.
"I'm sorry, my dear," she said sympathetically. "Well, anyhow, it's settled that when Julie marries, Gina shall come here and stay with us indefinitely. Something may have turned up by then. Do you see much of her now?"
"Not a lot. I don't go down every week-end. She seems to avoid me rather."
"Yes, well, perhaps that's natural. How are she and Julie getting on now?"
"Superficially, I think things are all right. I don't believe Julie cares much now she's definitely ending the relationship, so things are easier."
"Poor thwarted creature! I'm terribly sorry for Julie. She makes her own hell," said Philippa compassionately.
III
February was a bleak month, cold and rainy, with biting east winds that skinned your face out hunting and numbed your already aching fingers.
Gina, just now, was not very happy. Her position in the Barn House had become almost intolerable, since she now must stand alone, and confide in no one. Perhaps more than anything, she missed the old intimacy with Sebastian, more so, because he didn't appear to notice any difference. But the change was there. She had moved on and he had not. She recognized in him a certain Peter-Pan quality which might never let him grow up. She could see him in ten, twenty years' time, still the little boy, irresponsible, charming, such experience as the years might bring him sitting lightly on his slim shoulders. When Sebastian shrugged and laughed and said, "What do I care?" with a snap of the fingers, he meant it. That was the fundamental difference between them. With
her it was bravado, but with him it was genuine. He really didn't care; consequently he had very little capacity for suffering, while hers was limitless. Between herself and Mark there was no very noticeable constraint, since he treated her exactly as before, and never mentioned his proposal again. She never knew if Julie was aware that he had asked her. If she was, she gave no sign, and her whole attitude towards Gina was one of forced pleasantness. She seemed determined to steer clear of any more scenes during the short time that remained to her in her brother's house, and Gina, taking her cue, responded accordingly.
She didn't see much of Mark during the early part of the new year, but towards the end of February he came down more often to Sussex, and she looked forward to these week-ends with a mixture of dread and pleasure. It was torture to be with him and endure his old kindly affection, which now had such a different aspect. His small automatic endearments were almost unbearable, since each time he touched her, she wanted either to recoil violently or fling herself into his arms.
Once he caught her by the shoulders and turned her to face the light.
"I wish you'd let me send you both to Ireland for three weeks or so, Gina," he said, "It would do you good to get away as soon as the milder weather comes."
"We mean to go when Sebastian's sold a tune," she said cheerfully. "Perhaps at Easter, before he goes to Oxford."
"If you went then, I might manage a few days myself," Mark said. "I should like to go back there. I suppose you'd have no objection to my paying for the holiday if I was coming too?"
Gina's body grew tense. To be with Mark in the sweetness and magic of her own country would be unendurable. Her control couldn't hold out under too great a provocation.
"Yes, I would," she answered abruptly, almost rudely in her misery. "I don't want you to come."
He looked taken aback and rather hurt. "I'm sorry," he said a little stiffly. "It was stupid of me. I'd no idea—"
