CHAPTER XXVIII
The Marquis, if he had been a keen physiognomist, might perhaps haveread all that he had come to London to know in Marcia's expression ashe made his unexpected entrance into her sitting room on the followingday. She was seated at her desk, with a great pile of red roses on oneside of her, and a secretary, to whom she was dictating, on the other.She swung round in her chair and for a moment was speechless. Shelooked at her visitor incredulously, a little helplessly, with sometraces of an emotion which puzzled him. Her greeting, however, washearty enough. She sprang to her feet and held out both her hands.
"My dear man, how unlike you! Really, I think that I like surprises.Give me both your hands--so! Let me look at you."
"I should have warned you of my coming," he said, raising theink-stained fingers which he was clasping to his lips, "but to tell youthe truth it was a caprice."
"I thought you were in the country, at Mandeleys!" she exclaimed.
"I was," he replied. "I have motored up from there this morning. Icame to see you."
She dismissed her secretary, gazed at herself in the glass and made agrimace.
"And a nice sight I look! Never mind. Fancy motoring up fromMandeleys! What time did you start?"
"At six o'clock," he answered, with a little smile. "It was somewhatbefore my regular hour for rising. If you have no other arrangements,I should be glad if you would take luncheon with me."
"Bless the man, of course I will!" she assented, passing her armthrough his and leading him to a chair. "You are not looking quite sowell as you ought to after a breath of country air."
"I am passing through a time of some anxiety," he acknowledged.
She remained on the side of his chair, still holding his arm. TheMarquis sank back with a little air of relief. There seemed to besomething different, something warmer in the world. He was moved by arare and unaccountable impulse--he drew her towards him and kissed herlips.
"I had a birthday last week," he said, with a very slight smile. "Ithink that it affected me. One begins to wonder after one has passedmiddle age, not what there is to look forward to, but how much it isworth while enduring."
"Of course," she declared, with a grimace, "you've been diving intomusty old volumes at Mandeleys and reading the mutterings of one ofthose primitive philosophers who growled at life from a cave."
"I have found myself a little lonely at Mandeleys," he confessed.
"But this visit to London," she persisted. "Is it business? Is thereanything wrong?"
"I came to see you."
"My head is going round," she declared. "This is Wednesday. Besides,I thought you were going to stay away until I wrote you--not that Iwanted you to."
"I changed my mind," he told her, "in consequence of a visit which Ireceived yesterday from a Mr. James Borden."
She gave vent to an exclamation of dismay.
"You mean that Jimmy has been down to see you?"
"If Jimmy and Mr. James Borden are identical," the Marquis replied, alittle stiffly, "he undoubtedly has."
She looked at him helplessly.
"Oh, dear," she exclaimed, "how could he be so foolish!"
"He wanted, it seems," the Marquis continued, "to have what he called aman-to-man talk. I am not the sort of person, as you know, Marcia, whoappreciates man-to-man talks with strangers. I listened to all that hehad to say, and because I gathered that he was your friend, I waspolite to him. That is all. He gave me to understand that he was yoursuitor."
"He'd no right to tell you anything of the sort," she declared, "but ina sense I suppose it is true. He wants me to marry him. It's mostfearfully unsettling. But that he should come to you! I wish hehadn't, Reginald."
"It appeared to me to be a quixotic action," the Marquis assented."However, indirectly it has been conducive of good--it has brought me agreat pleasure. I have missed you very much, Marcia. I am very happyto be here again, for however short a time."
"You are going back, then, to Mandeleys?"
"When we part, directly after luncheon. I have guests arriving thereto-night--my sister and Grantham, and I believe some others. But aftermy talk with Borden, or rather his talk to me, I felt that I must seeyou."
"Well, I've missed you," she confessed frankly. "I seem to have hadlots to do, and I have been going to the theatres, and I have quitemade up my mind to write a play. But I have missed you.--Shall I goand put on my hat?"
"If you will," he answered. "We can talk in the car and at luncheon."
The Marquis watched her cross the room and sighed. At thirty-nine, hethought, she was wonderfully young. Her figure was a little moremature, but in all other respects she seemed only to have found poiseand assurance with the passing years. He leaned back in his chairalmost with a sense of luxury. He was back again in the atmospherewhich had kept him young, the atmosphere which unconsciously had hungaround him and kept him warm and contented--kept him, too, from lookingover the edge into strange places. The room was deliciously feminine,notwithstanding a certain fascinating disorder. There were magazines,Reviews and illustrated papers everywhere in evidence, an open box ofcigarettes upon the chimneypiece, an armful of flowers thrown looseupon the table, as well as the roses upon her desk. One of her gloveslay upon a chair by the side of a pile of proofs. It seemed to himthat there were some new photographs on the mantelpiece, but his own,in the uniform of his county yeomanry, still occupied the centralposition. There were songs upon the piano; on the sideboard a silvercocktail shaker, and, as he noticed with a little pang, two glasses.Nevertheless, he sat there waiting in great content until Marcia camein, dressed for the street. She was followed by a servant with someice upon a tray, and bottles.
"Now for my new vice," she exclaimed gaily, taking up the cocktailshaker and half filling it with ice. "You are not going to beobstinate, are you?"
"I shall take anything you may give me, with great pleasure," heassured her, a little stiffly.
She saw him looking at the second glass, and laughed.
"It is Phyllis Grant who is responsible for this," she explained. "Shelives in the next flat, you know, and she comes in most days, eitherbefore luncheon or before dinner, for an aperitif and a cigarette."
The Marquis's face cleared. He drank his cocktail and pronounced itdelicious. On the threshold he paused and looked back.
"I like your little room, Marcia," he said. "I find it a strange thingto confess, but there is nowhere else in the world where I feel quiteas much at home, quite as contented, as I do here."
She seemed almost startled, for a moment unresponsive. Such a speechwas so unlike him that it seemed impossible that he could be inearnest. She walked down the stairs by his side with a new gravity inher face. Perhaps he noticed it. At any rate, as soon as they wereseated in the car he began to talk to her.
"The object of Mr. Borden's visit to me, I gathered, was to impressupon me the fact that by marrying him you would gain many advantagesfrom which you are at present debarred. I naturally made no comment,nor did I argue the matter with him. I have come to you."
She sat silent in her corner. Her eyes were fixed upon a nursemaid,with two or three young children, passing by. Suddenly she touched hercompanion on the arm and pointed to them.
"There is that, you know," she faltered.
The Marquis nodded.
"My great fear," he continued, "is that sometimes I am too muchinclined to treat you as a contemporary, and to forget that you havenever known those things which are a part of every woman's life. Imust give Mr. Borden the credit for having had the good taste not tomention them."
"Oh, Jimmy isn't a cad," she answered, "but, without mentioning them, Icannot understand what he came to you for. As regards the other thingsyou have spoken of, I don't care a rap about them, in fact I love myindependence. I go where I choose, I have found no one indisposed tomake my acquaintance, and the more I see of life--such life as comes tome--the more I love it. When Jim--Mr. Borden--us
es such arguments, hebores me. They are directly against him instead of for him. If I wereMrs. James Borden, people would leave cards upon me and I should haveto eat dinners with fellow-publishers' wives, and exchange calls, andwaste many hours of my life in all the tomfoolery of middle-classrespectable living. It doesn't appeal to me, Reginald. He is an idiotnot to realise it."
"What does appeal to you, then?" he asked.
"That," she answered, moving her head backwards.
They crossed Battersea Bridge in silence.
"It's such a silly, ordinary problem," she went on presently, "and yetit's so difficult. It's either now or never, you know, Reginald. Ishall say good-by to the thirties before long."
"It is your problem," he said sadly, "not mine."
She held his fingers in hers.
"If only, when we were both so much younger," she sighed, "we had had alittle more courage. But I was so ignorant, and there was so muchelse, too, to distract. I shall never forget our first few months oftravel--Paris, the Riviera, Italy. I was impressionable, too, and Iloved it all so--the colour and the beauty, the rich, warm stream oflife, after that wretched village school. I was so aching tounderstand, and you were such a good tutor. You fed my brainwonderfully. Oh, I suppose I ought to be content!"
"And I," he murmured, "I, too, ought to be ready to creep into my ownlittle shelter and be content with--memories."
"Ah, no!" she protested, laying her hand upon his. "If you feel likethat, it is ended.--Now come, this is a gala day. You have come so farto see me. I am seriously flattered. You must be starved, too. Notanother word until we have lunched."
At Trewly's their entrance produced a mild sensation. Their usualtable was fortunately unoccupied. The manager himself welcomed themwith many compliments. Marcia glanced around her a little listlessly.
"There is something rather mausoleum-like about this restaurant in thedaytime," she declared. "Won't you take me somewhere else one day,Reginald?"
"Why not?" he answered. "It is for you to choose."
"There are some queer, foreign little places," she went on hastily."The things to eat, perhaps, are not so good, but the people seemalive. There is an air here, isn't there, of faded splendour about thedecorations and the people, too."
"I will make enquiries," the Marquis promised.
"Don't," she begged. "You must leave it to me. I will find somewhere.And now let us be serious, Reginald. Here we are come to rather a latecrisis in our lives. Tell me, how much do I really mean to you? Am Ijust a habit, or have you really in the background memories andthoughts about me which you seldom express?"
He leaned across the table.
"I will confess," he said, "that I have been surprised, during the lastfew days, to discover how much you do mean to me, Marcia. Your quickerapprehension, perhaps, finds fault with me, rebels against the toogreat passivity of my appreciation. You have been the refuge of mylife. Perhaps I have accepted too much and given too little. That iswhat may reasonably happen when there is a disparity in years andvitality as great as exists between us. What seemed to you to behabit, Marcia, is really peace. I have forgotten what I should alwayshave remembered--that you are still young."
Her eyes glistened as she looked at him. A ray of sunshine which foundits way through an overhead window was momentarily unkind. The linesunder his eyes, the wrinkles in his face, the thinning of his hair,were all a little more apparent. Marcia was conscious of an unworthy,a hateful feeling, a sensation of which she was hideously ashamed. Andyet, though her voice shook, there was still self-pity in her heart.
"I am so glad that you came," she said. "I am so glad that you havespoken to me like this. You need have no fear. Those other thingswere born of just a temperamental fancy. They will pass. Be to mejust what you have been. I shall be satisfied."
A cloud passed over the sun. His face was once more in the shadow, andcuriously enough her fancy saw him through strangely different eyes.Age seemed to pass, although something of the helpless wistfulnessremained. It was the pleading of a boy, the eager hope of a child, ofwhich she suddenly seemed conscious.
"Do you think that you can be happy--as things are, Marcia?" he asked."Your friend, Mr. Borden, doesn't think so. He came down--he was justa little melodramatic, I think--hoping to incite me to a greatsacrifice. I was to play the part of the self-denying hero. I was togive away the thing I loved, for its own sake. I had no fancy for therole, Marcia."
"And I should hate you in it, dear," she assured him.
"Mr. James Borden will always be a dear friend, but he must learn whatevery one else in the world has had to learn--a lesson of self-denial.He will find some one else."
"I am not jealous of the man," the Marquis said. "I am jealous of justone thought that his coming may have brought into your brain--oneinstinct."
"Don't be," she begged. "It will go just as it came. It is part of awoman's nature, I suppose. Every now and then it tortures."
Luncheon was served excellently but without undue haste. They fell todiscussing lighter topics.
"You will be interested to hear," he told her, "that my daughterLetitia is engaged to be married to Charles Grantham. I am quiteexpecting that by Christmas I shall be alone. I find Letitia acharming and dutiful companion," he went on, "but I must confess that Ilook forward to her marriage with some satisfaction. It has occurredto me that if it suited your work, we might travel for a time, orrather settle down--in Italy, if you prefer it. There is so much thereto keep one always occupied. In Florence, for instance, one commencesa new education every spring."
"I should love it," she answered, with an enthusiasm which still lackedsomething.
"A villa somewhere on the slopes of Fiesole," he continued, "with agarden, a real Italian garden, with fountains and statuary, andstraight paths, and little strips of deep lawn, and a few cypresstrees. And there must be a view of Florence. I think that you wouldwork well there, Marcia. If things go as I expect, I thought that wemight leave England about Christmas-time, and loiter a little on theRiviera till the season for the cold winds has passed. Browning wroteof the delights of an English spring, but he lived in Florence."
"There is so much there that I am longing to see again," she murmured.
"You shall see it all," he promised. "If you wish, you shall live withit. I do not know whether there is anything strange about me," he wenton, after a moment's hesitation, "but I must confess that I find myselfa little out of touch with modern English life. The atmosphere of mysister's house, for instance, invariably repels me. The lastgeneration was amused by the efforts of those without just claims topenetrate into the circles of their social superiors. To-day thereverse seems to be the case. The men, and the women especially, of myorder, seem to be perpetually struggling to imitate the manners andweaknesses of a very interesting but irresponsible world of Bohemia. Ifind myself with few friends, nowadays. The freedom and yet theisolation of foreign life, therefore, perhaps appeals to me all themore.
"But you would not care to leave Mandeleys, surely?"
"My dear Marcia," he said, "I am possessed, perhaps, of a peculiartemperament, but I can assure you that Mandeleys is spoiled for me solong as that--that ridiculous old man--you will forgive me--yourfather, sits at the end of his garden, invoking curses upon my head.To every one except myself, the humour of the situation is obvious. Tome there is something else which I cannot explain. Whether it is apresentiment, a fear, an offence to my dignity, I cannot tell. I havespent all the spare money I have in the world trying to get that Vontcottage back again into the family estates, but I have failed. Really,your father might just as well have Mandeleys itself."
"You know that I went to see him?" she asked.
"I remember your telling me that you were going," he replied.
"My mission was a dismal failure," she confessed. "I felt as though Iwere talking to a stranger, and he looked as though he were speaking toa Jezebel. We stood in different worlds
, and called to one anotherover the gulf in different languages."
"Perhaps," the Marquis sighed, "it is as well that he is your father.The other morning I passed down the fencing gallery and examined myfather's collection of rifles. There was one there with a range of sixhundred yards, which was supposed in those days to be marvellous, andsome cartridges which fitted it. The window was open. You think,Marcia, that I am too placid for impulses, yet I can assure you that Islipped a cartridge into the magazine of that rifle, closed it, andknelt down before the open window. I held your father covered by thesight until I could have shrieked. Then I turned away and fired at alog of wood in the park. I found the bullet afterwards, half a footdeep in the centre of it."
She shivered a little.
"For heaven's sake, don't go near that fencing gallery again!" shebegged.--"You see the time?"
He rose to his feet, and they passed down the restaurant together.Outside, the car was waiting.
"Will you think me very discourteous," he asked, "if I send you back ina taxicab? I shall be hard pushed, as it is, to reach home before myguests."
"Of course," she assented.
He stood for a moment after she had taken her place in the vehicle,with her hand in his.
"My visit," he whispered, "has made me very happy."
She looked at him through a mist of unexpected tears.
"Come to me soon," she begged a little abruptly. "I shall want you."
"Early next month," he promised, "or, if you send for me, before."
She seemed restless, indisposed to let him go. "I wish you weren'tgoing away at all," she declared with unusual fervour. "I wish--Comeback with me now, won't you? Do!"
For a moment he hesitated. He felt an extraordinary impulse to throweverything on one side and accept her invitation. The crisis passed,however, before he could yield. Marcia, with a little laugh, becameher normal self.
"What an idiot I am!" she exclaimed good-humouredly. "Of course, youmust get down to Mandeleys as quickly as you can. Good-by!"
She threw herself back in the corner of the taxicab and waved herfarewells. The Marquis stood for a moment bareheaded upon thepavement. He watched the vehicle until it became lost in the stream oftraffic. The impulse of a few moments ago was stronger than ever,linked now, too, with an intolerable sense of depression. It was withan extraordinary effort of will that he took his place in his own carand motioned the chauffeur to proceed.
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