Then she patted his nose and put her arm over his glossy neck. "I wish I had some sugar! I'm terribly sorry I forgot to bring some in the excitement, but I'll be here, first thing in the morning, with some sugar for you," she promised.
Justin Yorke stood by, observing the scene with some amusement. Then, when Norma leant her head against the gleaming chestnut coat, he said a little mockingly: "Do you always love things and people so extravagantly?"
Norma straightened up.
"I don't know," she said rather soberly. "There haven't been many things or people to be extravagantly fond of before you and the horse."
There was an odd little Silence. Then he said: "I'm glad you put us in that order, anyway? Shall we go back to the house now?"
So the chestnut was coaxed to go back into his box and the door was shut, and Norma and her guardian retraced their steps to the house once more.
"I simply don't know how to thank you, you know."
Norma took his arm and pressed it affectionately.
He glanced down at her and perhaps because of the softening effect of the moonlight his thin, sarcastic mouth seemed to have a kindlier curve than usual.
"All right, child. I think I know how you're feeling," he said, and slightly returned the pressure on his arm.
"I wonder if you can possibly," Norma said reflectively. "It's not only the sheer material indulgence, the lovely spoiling. It's having someone so interested and caring. I feel I really belong to you, in a way I never belonged to Aunt Janet."
He gave a slight, scornful laugh.
"Oh Janet!" He spoke with cool, unbrotherly contempt. "No. Certainly you never belonged to her."
He didn't actually say that she belonged very much to him, but the implication was there.
"I'm sure no one else ever had such a generous guardian," Norma said earnestly.
But he dismissed that rather lightly. "So long as you are a good, obedient child, why shouldn't I let you have a few indulgences?" was how he put it.
Norma took that question as rhetorical, and left it unanswered. For, by an uncomfortable association of ideas, the reference to her being "a good, obedient child" had suddenly recalled Paul to her mind. And, with that recollection, came the still more uncomfortable one that she had still not spoken to her guardian about his unjust comments on Paul.
It was quite impossible to choose just this moment to call him to account, of course, but Norma felt vaguely disloyal to Paul in remaining silent. There would be another opportunity, no doubt. Butte knew she would not like the task any better for having to anticipate it longer.
"Well, Norma?"
They had returned to the lighted hall by now, and she realized, from the quizzical way her guardian was regarding her, that something of her disturbed thoughts must be mirrored on her face.
"Nothing," Norma said hastily, and tried to look perfectly composed.
"Nothing, eh?"
He took her by her round chin, as he had that first evening, and regarded her with slightly mocking interest.
This made Norma feel, not only disloyal to Paul, but deceitful to her guardian, and she felt herself blush.
He laughed at that, not' very kindly, but he kissed her before he let her go.
"All right," he said. "Go along to bed."
And, as Norma rather slowly climbed the stairs, she had the uncomfortable and quite inexplicable impression that he knew exactly why she had looked disturbed and exactly why she had blushed.
CHAPTER FIVE
DURING the next few weeks, Norma found life an altogether delightful business.
Not only did her guardian teach her to ride. He took her about the estate with him, and seemed to enjoy her society with something more than his usual halfsarcastic appreciation of anything which interested him.
As she had expected, it was he, and not Paul, who also taught her to drive a car, and his air of amused indulgence was such that she sometimes thought, if she had expressed a wish for a car of her own, that too he would coolly have supplied.
"It's incredible that Mr. Yorke should be so good to me," she told Mrs. Parry earnestly. "Why, only a short time ago he hardly knew of my existence. At least, only as a sort of theoretical family responsibility."
The housekeeper gave her an odd little glance.
Possibly she also found it rather inexplicable. But aloud she said: "Well, Miss Norma, I daresay he likes having someone to spoil. Most men do, when it comes to the point. Arid I'm sure if you do anything that he makes a point of, you'll find Mr. Yorke will give you most things a girl could want."
"The funny thing is that there is hardly anything he does make a point of," Norma remarked. "At least, he never puts any definite wishes into words. Of course I'd do anything for him, if he actually asked it," she added making only a very few mental reservations where her friendship with Paul was concerned.
"That's the way to look at it, Miss Norma," the housekeeper agreed rather primly. "And then there's nothing to worry about."
"I'm not worried," Norma assured her.
She was not, of course, anything so definite as worried. But so many people had said or implied that Justin Yorke only bestirred himself where his own interests were concerned, that sometimes she caught herself wondering uneasily if there were some motive behind all this generosity and spoiling. If, for instance, she would suddenly be called on to act against her own wishes over something vital when, of course, heavily weighing in the balance would be all the charming ways in which her guardian had put her in debt.
"But it's absurd to invent reasons for worry," Norma always ended by assuring herself. "It's simply that he's much fonder of me than he ever expected to be. Just as I am of him," she thought, with a pleasant, warm feeling at her heart.
Even Paul had ceased to be a bone of contention, because, a few days after her visit to Fairlee, he had been forced to go away for a while, to deal with some difficulty which had arisen in connection with one of his clubs.
He had called at Bishopstone to explain his sudden departure and to say good-bye. But, unfortunately Norma had been in the orchard at the time, and the servant who had admitted him had stupidly just said that she was out. So she had not seen Paul again, though she had received a very friendly letter of explanation (the first intimation she had had of his call) in which he said that he and Xenia would be going to the Continent for September, and he might not get home to Fairlee before their departure. But he added that he would certainly see her in London during the autumn.
It was disappointing, of course, to have this pleasant friendship broken off so abruptly. But, on the other hand, Paul's absence did undoubtedly remove a dangerous possible source of friction with her guardian, and Norma was aware of a cowardly sense of relief mingling with her disappointment.
Prompted by a sense of loyalty though with a certain amount of trepidation she did manage to introduce the subject of Paul, more or less naturally, and earnestly gave an account of the good work he was doing. She had wished that her guardian would have looked more impressed, instead of just listening with a faint smile which suggested nothing so definite as surprised approval.
At the end, she even plucked up courage to say firmly: "So you see he really isn't at all an idle, meretricious young man."
"It seems not," agreed her guardian politely, as though the words were hers, and this was the first time he had heard them in connection with Paul Cantlin.
Then he changed the subject, and Norma realized that she could not return to it without an altogether ostentatious show of interest.
She would have liked very much to be able to write to Paul, both to thank him for his letter and because it would have been nice to keep in personal touch with him. But, unfortunately, there had been no address on his letter and, short of making inquiries of Xenia which would have been a little overdoing the interest, Norma thought there was no way of knowing where to write.
Besides, if Paul had wanted a correspondence, he would naturally have put his address, and
the omission rather suggested that, being a bad correspondent himself, he preferred not to start something which might prove a tax.
In Paul's absence, however, there was someone else who was very willing to act as companion to Norma, when her guardian permitted it. And that was Sir Richard Inworth.
Norma was not such a schoolgirl as to be unaware that the baronet admired her immensely. Nor was she so high-minded as to be above enjoying the fact.
Besides, Richard as he very soon became, on their fairly frequent rides was a good-natured, easy-going companion, and an extremely capable country landlord. He never ceased, to be amused by the fact that Norma was genuinely interested in problems of estate management, being the kind of man who expected his womenfolk to be rather helpless and what he unoriginally called "feminine" though why, it was difficult to say, for all the Inworth women had been hard-headed, capable creatures.
But, once he had established the fact that Norma really liked to hear and see things for herself in connection with his estate or her guardian's, he was delighted to take her anywhere with him and to go to great pains to see that she understood the matters which interested her.
Whether or not Justin Yorke entirely approved of their increasing friendship, it was hard to say. But, since he put nothing in the way of it, Norma assumed that it had his qualified approval.
On the day that her examination results arrived, she was due to go out with Sir Richard and, apart from her guardian, he was the first to congratulate her.
"I say! This is marvelous, isn't it?" he said, scanning the meager information with an impressed air.
"No. Not specially," Norma assured him. "I'm not bristling with distinctions or anything like that. It's a perfectly respectable pass, but that's all."
"Well, it sounds to me as though you're terrifyingly clever," retorted Sir Richard. At which her guardian laughed.
"At least it's creditable enough to enable Norma to leave school now, with a clear conscience if she wishes," he remarked.
"Oh, of course she's going to leave school," declared Sir Richard. "You are, aren't you, Norma?"
Norma stood there, smiling and still undecided, holding the announcement of the examination results in her hand. Then she glanced up, and found her guardian's eyes on her. And, to her extreme astonishment, she thought she detected not only intense interest, but even a hint of anxiety in them.
Norma stared back at him, her eyes widening. "Do you very much want me to leave?" she asked quickly.
But he was a match for any sudden questions.
"My dear, I want you to follow your own inclinations over this," he assured her. "It is your life, not mine."
"But you'd be very glad if I did decide to leave?" she pressed.
He smiled at her then, in a way which reminded her of Paul's annoyed assertion that he could "charm a bird off a tree" if he chose.
"Well, Norma," he conceded, "having had you with me during these last weeks, I must confess that I shall miss you very much if you decide to go away from me. On the other hand "
"Oh, darling, I won't go!"
Norma ran to him and threw her arms round him, which made Sir Richard remark with a grin: "My dear Yorke, that's a denial worth having!" Justin Yorke didn't say anything. He was looking down at the vivid, eager young creature, clinging to him, and for a moment there was that faintly startled look in his face.
"I'll stay with you," Norma insisted earnestly.
And: "My dear child, I'm very glad, if that's really what you want," he replied quite coolly. But he bent his head and kissed her before he let her go.
Norma was deeply moved not only by the admission that she would be missed, but because he had used the expression "if you go away from me" rather than the simple "if you go back to school." Even the doubting Paul, she thought, must have seen what a bond there was between them, if he could have witnessed this scene.
"Well, that's very nicely settled," commented Sir Richard. "Now, what about our ride, Norma?"
She was aware of an absurd desire to stay with her guardian, for no better reason than that he had admitted that he valued her company.
"Shall I go?" She looked at him, inquiringly. "My dear, of course."
He sounded both amused and surprised, and she blushed very slightly for her own foolishness, because, after all, the arrangement had been made the previous day and certainly nothing which had since happened could be regarded as a reason for cancelling it.
Sir Richard Inworth was not a subtle man where other people's reactions were concerned, but, as he and Norma rode slowly down the drive, he said, as though it rather surprised him: "You and Yorke get on very well together, don't you?"
"Yes, very." Norma glanced at him with a quick smile. "We're very fond of each other," she added, amplifying that, in mental defiance of Paul's declaration that Justin Yorke had never been very fond of anyone in his life.
Perhaps Sir Richard thought something the same as Paul, because, after a moment's reflection, he said: "Queer fellow, Yorke. It's a great tribute to you, Norma, that you have made him fond of you."
Norma thought she had never liked Sir Richard so much before. He didn't query her guardian's fondness for her, or try to attribute it to some unworthy motive. Sometimes these very simple, direct people arrived at the truth more easily than the clever ones, she reflected and then was glad that Paul could not know what she had thought, because he would probably have laughed unmercifully.
I So she smiled again at her companion and said: I "Oh, I think; it's just that he's never had anyone to ;be specially fond of before."
"Maybe," conceded Sir Richard, though even he seemed to consider this a rather naive and oversimplified view of Justin Yorke's reactions. "However " he dismissed the debatable and not very interesting point in favour of something more concrete "the important thing is that he is a fond, indulgent guardian. You're going to have a good time hi London this autumn, Norma."
"Am I?" Norma laughed happily.
"Um-hm. Feeling rather grown-up to-day, aren't you?"
"No. Why specially to-day?" Norma wanted to know.
"Well, you've definitely left school. First step on the way to being a woman, you know."
"Yes," Norma said slowly, "I suppose it is. Perhaps I do feel a bit different." And she glanced at her companion, a little surprised that someone who was usually not sensitive to gradations of feeling should have underlined the importance of her recent decision for her. "And I shall be eighteen the day after tomorrow. That makes a difference, too," she added. "Eighteen seems a lot more grown up than seventeen."
"Your birthday on Thursday, is it?"
"Yes."
"You never told me," said Richard Inworth, with a slight air of accusal.
"No? Why should I?" Norma laughed.
"Well, it's very interesting," he insisted.
But she only laughed again, and shook her reins, so that the chestnut broke into a canter. And, after that, there was no more opportunity of talking for some while.
On the way home, he took her round by Munley Towers, and, in spite of her protest that it was getting late, insisted on her coming in.
"There's something I want to show you," he said and went rather red, which excited both her curiosity and her sympathy.
"All right. But I mustn't stay long," Norma insisted.
It was not her first visit to the house, as she had been there once before to dine, with her guardian, but this was the first time she had had a close view of it by full daylight.
"It's really a magnificent place, isn't it?" she said, regarding the place with respect.
"Yes. It's very impressive and all that," her host agreed, without much enthusiasm. "I sometimes think Bishopstone's a more attractive house, though. But perhaps that's since you came to live there," he added, with a grin.
Norma smiled, but she too privately thought Bishopstone more attractive. And when he took her into the enormous, dark-panelled library where he had whisky, though Norma insisted firmly on lemonad
e she thought there was a faint hint of forlornness in all the magnificence, as though Munley Towers had lived beyond its own period, and hardly knew how to sustain its own grandeur in a much changed world.
"What was it you wanted to show me?" Norma asked, turning from the silent contemplation of the room.
"Well" Richard cleared his throat "as a matter of a fact, it's a birthday present for you."
"But you didn't know it was almost my birthday until I told you this afternoon," Norma objected.
"No, but, the moment you said it was your birthday the day after to-morrow, I thought I'd like to give you something," he explained hastily. "Just wait here a minute and I'll go and get it." And he went out of the room before Norma could make any further protest.
She looked after him, feeling faintly uncomfortable.
A casual offering of flowers or chocolates on her birthday would have been quite unexceptional, of course. But there was something a little solemn and ceremoniously about this, which slightly disconcerted her.
However, she had not had time to have many misgivings before he returned and, while Norma watched in astonishment, he very determinedly laid on the table in front of her a bracelet and matching earrings.
They were almost barbarically beautiful, being a curious mixture of semi-precious stones and exquisite enamel work, and, though intrinsically they would probably hardly rank as valuable jewellery, Norma guessed that their workmanship and possibly then age would confer a considerable value on them.
"Richard, they're beautiful! But I couldn't possibly let you give me anything like that," she exclaimed.
"Yes, you could. They belonged to my mother, and her mother before that, but I'd like you to have them. They're so colourful and vivid. I thought of them in connection with you at once."
"It's terribly nice of you." Norma was divided between distress and pleasure. "But I really don't think"
"Please let me give them to you, Norma. They'll look lovely on you. You're a bit young for the earrings yet except perhaps sometimes in the evening but you'll be able to wear them later on, and you can wear the bracelet now."
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