Melanie moved across the room and knelt down by his couch.
"I don't blame you for being hurt at my behaviour, Dickson. When I look back on it, I can hardly believe it was me. But I've changed since then—I've changed a lot."
"But have you?" he said earnestly. "That's what I want to know. How can I be sure you won't change back again?"
"There's no way of being sure. You must just take my word for it." She put her arms around him. "You've got to believe me, Dickson. I know you feel you can't trust me, but sometimes there are things one has to take on trust, and this is one of them. I've accepted the fact that you may never be able to walk again, and I know that if I want a partner for a dance, someone to ride with or play tennis or golf with, I won't find it in you. But that doesn't matter. I love you, Dickson, and the fact that you can't walk needn't prevent us from being happy together. I'll try to make up to you for what you've lost and perhaps one day I'll be able to convince you that the spoilt child I was when I arrived has disappeared for ever."
Dickson caught her to him in passionate joy. Then, unable to restrain himself any longer, he threw back the rug and stood up.
Melanie gasped and whitened, and if it had not been for his arms around her, she would have fallen.
"Dickson! You can walk!"
"Yes, my darling, I can walk."
"But when?" she stammered incredulously. "How—?"
"Since the night of the fire. When I thought you were trapped in the barn, I stood up and started to walk before I realized what I was doing."
"But—but do your parents know? "
"No one knows. When I realized I could walk again, I was suddenly so scared I fell over, and when Mother found me on the lawn she thought I'd crawled there."
"But why didn't you tell her? Why didn't you tell us all?"
"I had to be sure first that you'd marry me whether I could walk or not. I had to be sure that the vows we're going to make for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, really meant something to you, and this was the only way I could find out. Once I could be sure you'd marry me, I was going to tell you the truth."
Melanie drew back as if he had struck her.
"How could you be so cruel? How could you let me—let us all—go on thinking of you as a cripple? Don't you care how much unhappiness you bring the people who love you? Every day I've prayed, prayed with all my heart that God would make you well again. Night after night I've cried myself to sleep. I've watched you lying there and ached with sympathy for you. And all this time, ever since you knew you could walk, you've been playing with me like a cat with a mouse—making me dance like a puppet on the end of a string!" She put up a hand and dashed the tears from her eyes. "I know I haven't behaved very well since I've been here, but it didn't take me very long to grow up, Dickson. Perhaps if you'd had a little more kindness and understanding, it would have taken me even less time. But you were so concerned with yourself and your own feelings that you never thought about mine! You had to wait for me to prove whether I loved you enough to marry you as an invalid. You had to be sure—one hundred per cent sure—because you had so little faith or courage! You were afraid, Dickson—afraid to find out what I'm really like. I shall never forgive you for your heartlessness to us all—never, never, never!" She ended on a sob and before he could stop her, ran out of the room.
"Melanie!"
Dickson started to run after her, but his legs were still unsteady, and as he reached the door he stumbled, missed his footing and crashed to the floor.
Half-way up the stairs, Melanie halted at the sound of his fall. She turned swiftly and saw him lying on the floor, then without thinking ran down the stairs again and threw herself down by his side, cradling his head in her arms.
"Dickson darling, you've hurt yourself again! Oh, God, I hope you're not badly injured—how could I have said all those things to you? I love you, Dickson, I love you! Of course I'll marry you, I'll marry you whenever you want me to!"
Throwing her arms round his neck, she burst into tears, and he gathered her to him without a word. They clung together, lost to everything except each other, and it was only when they heard Mrs. Loftus and the children coming up the drive that Dickson, with surprising agility, scrambled to his feet, and with Melanie by his side, walked down to meet them.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Time passed slowly for Loris while she was in hospital. Reading only held her interest for brief periods, and there were long stretches of the day and night when she lay silent and still in the narrow white bed, her mind going back over those last dreadful minutes before she had lost consciousness in the barn; back further to the misery of her dance with Brett; and further still to the months between their meeting on the boat and the announcement of his engagement to Elaine.
The news that the engagement had been broken occupied her mind almost to the exclusion of everything else. At first she doubted whether Melanie was telling the truth, and wondered if it was just her way of trying to help Loris's recovery. Not that Melanie would deliberately lie, but she was quite capable of embroidering on what she believed to be likely in the hope that giving her wishful thinking the light of day would make it more possible; but when the Loftuses confirmed Melanie's story, Loris was filled with conflicting emotions.
When the first magnificent bouquet had arrived from Brett she had been too ill to know, and by the time she was well enough to take pleasure in the daily gift of flowers he was already thousands of miles away on the other side of America. She debated whether to write and thank him, but as he had not written to her she did not like to be the one to take the initiative, and feared he might think she wished to reopen their relationship because she had heard his engagement had been broken, picturing to herself the faintly cynical smile with which he might receive any letter from her—the look she had seen on his face when he had come upon her reading to Dickson or walking through the house with the children.
She did not try to solve the mystery of his broken engagement, and wondered whether he had gone to New York to escape from Elaine and also, perhaps, from herself. For she had known by his very glance on the night of the party, from the way his eyes had caressed her, that his desire for her was not dead; that there still existed between them a spark which could be easily kindled into flame, and she wondered whether he feared that by staying in California he might be drawn against his will into a relationship he did not want, and that realizing his weakness, he had probably decided it would be safer to put distance between them.
If all this was merely a figment of her imagination or the outcome of her acute awareness of him, Loris asked herself why he had not written, for nothing could have been more natural than a friendly letter or even a note enclosed with his first flowers. The fact that he had sent neither forced her to the conclusion that his daily bouquet was merely his way of expressing regret that her accident had occurred while she had been a guest at his party.
Brett would have been astonished if he had known what direction Loris's thoughts were taking. His one regret was that he had been unable to see her before leaving California, and he only dismissed the idea of writing because there was so much to be cleared up between them that he felt a letter—or even several letters—would be inadequate. A man who had always regarded letter-writing with distaste, he could not deal on paper with her reasons for ignoring his telephone call from New York, coolness when he had returned from Los Angeles, and most of all with her supposed attempts to steal Dickson from Melanie. Even now he had only to close his eyes to see an image of her in the boy's arms and feel a fierce stab of jealousy at the memory.
No, there were too many things to be explained between them for correspondence to suffice. How could he tell her in a letter that in spite of everything that had happened he still loved her, that in spite of her being in love with another man he wanted her to be his wife?
In the ordinary way he would have ridiculed the idea of marrying a girl in love with someone else, but the depth of his desire fo
r Loris outweighed any objections his logic could find, and he only knew he wanted her—and that the longing to hold her in his arms once more, to watch her and be with her always had become so much a part of him that it never left him for a single waking moment.
He could hardly believe his engagement to Elaine had ended so peaceably, for he had been convinced she would refuse to release him, or at least try to make him change his mind. That she had done neither had surprised him immeasurably, and he was still debating her reasons when he reached New York.
He had to stay there much longer than he had anticipated and though furious at the delay there was nothing he could do about it, for the business deal on which he was engaged was too important to be dismissed. It entailed many long and tedious conferences, and by dinner time each evening he was so tired, mentally and physically, that as soon as he had swallowed his meal he retired to his room and fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.
Meanwhile Loris had been told the good news of Dickson's recovery.
"You must hurry up and get well," Melanie said excitedly, "because we've decided not to get married until you can be my bridesmaid."
"But I might be here for weeks yet," Loris protested.
"Oh, no, you won't! I spoke to the doctor today and he said you'll probably be able to come home in about a week."
"Did he really say that?" Loris asked eagerly.
"Yes. And even if he hadn't we'd still wait until you came home. I'll never forget I owe my life to you, Loris." Suddenly Melanie bent and kissed her, drawing away quickly lest she cry.
"Don't make me out another Grace Darling!" Loris said with an unsteady smile. "When I think about my lovely new dress being used as a rope, I don't feel a bit like a heroine!"
"What about mine?" Melanie countered in rueful indignation. "All that material going up in smoke!"
"You're lucky you weren't inside it!" Loris retorted. "Never mind, you'll soon be getting a wedding dress." Then casually: "I suppose Elaine'll be coming back for the wedding."
"I doubt it. She's far too busy enjoying herself in Washington. We had a letter from her the other day, congratulating us and saying her present is on the way, and I suppose that's that."
"How odd! After all, she is Dickson's sister, and you'd expect her to be at his wedding."
"Depends on the sister," Melanie said drily. "Anyway, the less I see of her the happier I'll be. I can't stand her at any price!"
Loris smiled at her vehemence. "She's going to be your sister-in-law, darling, so you'd better be careful what you say about her."
"Rubbish! Dickson isn't very fond of her either. But don't worry—I haven't aired my views to Mr. and Mrs. Loftus—they're such darlings, I wouldn't say anything to hurt them." Then, with a lightning change of tone: "Have you heard from Brett?"
Loris flinched involuntarily. "Why should I?"
"No reason—I just thought he might have written. After all, he did risk his life to rescue you."
"I know, and I'll always be grateful. But sometimes I wonder why he bothered."
"Loris, what a terrible thing to say!" Melanie was aghast. "Don't ever let me hear you talk like that again. You're just feeling depressed and miserable because you've been cooped up here so long. When you come home you'll be more cheerful."
"Perhaps you're right. But California isn't home to me, Melanie. Once you're married there'll be no reason for me to stay. Now all I want is to get back home as quickly as possible and forget everything that's happened?"
"Do you think you'll ever do that?" Melanie asked gently. "Do you think you'll ever be able to go back to living that kind of life? You may not realize it, Loris, but you're not the same person who helped to smooth the parish path or acted as mediator between Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Brown. I'll take a bet that after three months you'll be so bored you won't be able to stand it."
Loris shook her head. "Roxborough's my home and all my roots are there. A few months away can't make me forget all that."
"I didn't say you'd forget it or want to. All I'm saying is that although it was all right for the Loris of the past it isn't going to be all right for the Loris of the future."
"I don't agree—I daren't agree, Melanie. I can't stay here any longer. I've got to go back and forget."
Seeing the determination in her face Melanie knew that argument would avail her nothing. "Well, you know best, darling, although I can't see why you're in such a hurry. Oh, I forgot to tell you," she added excitedly. "Dickson and I are going to England for our honeymoon! Won't it be marvellous to see Mummy and Daddy again?"
"Wonderful, darling. Have you written to tell them yet?"
"Yes. I had a reply yesterday. Mummy's absolutely thrilled. It'll help to make up for her disappointment at missing my wedding. But the most important thing is that Daddy's getting better and we shall see them soon anyway. Then perhaps they'll come over here for the christening."
"First christening?"
"Lord, yes, we're going to have dozens of children!"
When she had gone Loris lay back smiling affectionately at the girl's high spirits, and thinking how thankful they should all be that things had turned out so well for her and Dickson. His illness had obviously made him more serious and mature, giving him a greater understanding of Melanie which would help him to make their marriage a success.
When the time came Loris was quite sad to leave the hospital knowing she would never see her little room again, or the smiling, fresh-faced nurses in their attractive uniform, and above all that she would no longer see Dr. Marchbanks, to whom she owed so much and whose daily visits she had come to look forward to throughout the long weeks.
The luxurious bedroom awaiting her at the Loftus home was rather overpowering after the simple furnishings to which she had become accustomed, and it was strange not to live to a routine any longer, not to be guided by a clock or a thermometer. It seemed strange, too, not to be in charge of the children, but the Loftuses would not hear of her taking them on again.
"No, my dear," Mabel Loftus said firmly, "you may be well enough to leave hospital, but you still look as though you can do with a good rest. Sunshine and plenty of food are all you have to think about for a long time yet. I can look after my obstreperous grandchildren a while longer, and in any case, you'll soon be busy helping Melanie with her wedding."
Indeed, Loris soon found herself drawn into the excitements of the approaching marriage, and although there were hours at a time when she did not think of Brett, the happiness of the people around her and the pleasure they found in the preparations for the wedding only accentuated her own unfulfilled desire to be loved.
At first planned as a quiet affair, Melanie's marriage now promised to become one of the events of the season, and the little bride-to-be went around in a happy daze. Mr. Loftus had brought the young couple a house as a wedding present—a small, white villa on the outskirts of Bel Air, with a garden and tennis court, and she plunged into the task of furnishing it with joyous abandon.
"I'm glad Mr. Loftus didn't buy us anything grand," she confided to Loris. "I'd much rather we started off like any ordinary couple. It's true Dickson has a good position in his father's firm, but I want to encourage him to take an active part in the business so he'll know that when he does achieve something, it'll be through his own efforts."
Loris was a little surprised at the wisdom of this remark, but the more she talked with Melanie now, the more she came to realize how much her friend had changed. She seemed to have grown up almost overnight, and although she had lost none of her high spirits and effervescent vitality, there were times when Loris surprised a thoughtful look on the young face, a look of consideration and reflection, almost of sagacity. Dickson seemed to have sensed this change too, for there now existed a depth of understanding between the young couple which warmed Loris's heart whenever she saw evidence of it.
Melanie was insistent upon her being chief bridesmaid, although Loris's shyness made her unwilling to be the cynosure
of all eyes. She did not relish being pointed out as "the heroine of the fire" and had been relieved that during all the publicity it had caused, she had been in hospital, hidden away from prying reporters. But she could not find it in her heart to disappoint Melanie, and once more went to Madame Thérèse to have a dress made.
Since she had left the hospital no more flowers had come from Brett and she surmised that he had given the florist orders to stop sending them when she had ceased to be a patient. Mr. and Mrs. Loftus seemed to bear him no ill-will for breaking off his engagement to their daughter, and her absence went so unnoticed that had it not been for Timothy and Gillian, Loris would have found it difficult to believe Elaine had ever shared her parents' home at all. That they heard from her they knew, for more than once Mrs. Loftus expressed annoyance and disappointment at her daughter's refusal to come home for Dickson's wedding, but Loris did not know whether this was merely because Elaine was flouting a family convention or because she hopes that by coming home Elaine might see Brett again and heal the breach between them.
The evening before the wedding Loris helped Melanie to pack for her honeymoon, for Mrs. Loftus had shown herself to be as old-fashioned as any other mother and would not hear of Melanie spending the last night before her marriage in the same house as her fiancé. In spite of all their laughing protests she had insisted on their going to stay with some friends who lived in Beverly Hills, and immediately after dinner Melanie kissed Dickson goodbye and having threatened him with dire consequences if he was late for the ceremony the following day, she and Loris were driven off to spend the rest of the evening with Mr. and Mrs. Gaylord, who were to be their host and hostess for the night.
They were a charming middle-aged couple, who, having no children of their own, were delighted that a young bride was to be married from their house, and Mrs. Gay-lord, a small, plump woman with the quick movements of a sparrow, ushered them to their bedroom as soon as they arrived. Furnished in pseudo-English style of which she was obviously very proud, she asked them naively whether it was not exactly like a typical English bedroom? Looking at the massive four-poster bed, the large marble-topped washstand which, from a glimpse of the shining up-to-date bathroom, was evidently only for show, Loris restrained a smile and assured her hostess that it was more English than her own bedroom at home.
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