The Gambler Part 83

"Indeed it has--for me. Don't forget to-morrow night!"

"Forget! Why, I'm existing to see that play! Come, Daisy!" She turned to her daughter, who had joined the group at the tea-table. "Pierce, are you ready? Good-bye, Nance! Come with us to the elevator?"

Nance crossed the room readily, while Estcoit shook hands with Clodagh.

"Good-bye!" he said. "I shall see you to-morrow night--if not sooner."

She pressed his hand warmly. "Make it sooner!" she said. And they both laughed, after the manner of people who understand and like each other.

The momentary departure of Nance, left Clodagh, Gore, and Deerehurst the sole occupants of the room. After Estcoit had closed the door there was a faint pause; and in that pause Clodagh was a prey to conflicting feelings--pa.s.sionate hope that Deerehurst might see fit to go, pa.s.sionate fear that Gore might leave before they could have a word in private.

And while her mind swayed between hope and fear, Deerehurst drew forward a chair, and seated himself beside her.

"I shall be interested to know what you think of this!" he said, leaning forward and lifting the book from the arm of her chair, where she had allowed it to lie untouched.

She smiled mechanically, though her senses were strained to observe Gore's att.i.tude.

"It is very good of you! I am sure--I am sure I shall like it."

For an instant his cold glance rested curiously on her face; the next, it fell again to the book.

"I shall expect you to like it," he said enigmatically.

"What is the book?" Gore came quietly forward and stood looking down at them.

Deerehurst raised his eyes with an expression in which amus.e.m.e.nt and a faint contempt were to be read by a close observer.

"The book?" he said. "Oh, something, I am afraid, that wouldn't interest you! I don't believe the writer knew anything of far countries--or even of fis.h.i.+ng." He paused, and deliberately turned half a dozen pages. "He only understood one thing, but that he understood perfectly."

Gore laughed.

"And may a philistine ask what it was?"

"Oh, certainly! It was love."

The door opened as he said the word in his high, expressive voice, and to Clodagh's indescribable relief, Nance entered.

In the second that she stepped across the threshold her bright eyes pa.s.sed from one face to the other, and a rapid process of deduction took place in her mind.

"Walter," she said pleasantly, "Pierce says there's one question he forgot to ask you about j.a.pan. Do you mind if I ask it now?" She walked to the open window.

Gore followed her; and Clodagh drew a breath of deep relief.

Ten minutes pa.s.sed--ten interminable minutes, in which she strove to attend to Deerehurst's words, while her ears were strained to follow the conversation in the window. Then at last relief came. He rose to go.

"I must say good-bye!" he said, taking her hand. "I shall await your verdict on the verses. There is one I want you specially to read--the last one. Good-bye!"

She smiled, scarcely hearing what he said; and a moment later he had bowed to the two in the window, and pa.s.sed out of the room.

As the outer door closed, Nance came across to her sister.

"Do you mind if I run down to Sloane Street, Clo?" she asked. "I never remembered those lozenges for Aunt Fan, and I can just catch the Irish mail."

Without waiting for an answer, she stooped and kissed Clodagh's forehead; and, turning, pa.s.sed out of the room.

After she had left, there was a silence, in which neither Clodagh nor Gore made any attempt to speak.

Filled with a nervous sense of something inevitably impending, Clodagh sat very still. She dreaded to look at Gore, lest she might precipitate what he was going to say; yet, to her strained mind, suspense appeared intolerable. She clasped her hands suddenly, with a little catching of the breath.

At the faint, yet significant sound, he turned from the window; and coming quietly across the room, paused behind her chair.

"Clodagh!" He bent over her, laying his hands gently on her shoulders.

"Clodagh, we talked to-day of the night at Tuffnell--of what you said that night."

"Yes."

Clodagh's throat felt dry.

"And it was all true--perfectly true?"

"Yes. Oh, Walter, yes!"

Gore stood upright, still keeping his hands upon her shoulders.

"Then I am going to ask a great favour of you. I am going to ask you to break your friends.h.i.+p--to break your acquaintance--with Deerehurst. I want you never to have him in your house after to-day. Dearest, believe me, I know what I am saying!"

As Clodagh remained silent, he bent over her again.

"It isn't jealousy, Clodagh. It isn't pique. It is just that I cannot bear to see the man in your presence, knowing what I know of him."

"What do you know of him?" Clodagh asked faintly.

"Nothing that I care to tell you! Be satisfied that I know what I ask and that I do ask. Give him up! Cease to know him! Cease to have him here!" In the intensity of his feelings, his fingers pressed her shoulders.

"Clodagh, am I asking too much?"

Quite suddenly, almost hysterically, Clodagh rose; and, turning to him, caught his hand.

"No, Walter!" she cried--"no! no! Nothing you could ask would be too great to grant. I will do what you wish. I will give him up--_utterly_--entirely--from to-day!"

CHAPTER XV

The next morning Clodagh rose imbued with new decision. During Gore's absence, things had worn a vague, even an impersonal aspect; for, like all her countrywomen, she possessed a fatally pleasant capacity for shelving the disagreeable. While Gore was absent, it had seemed so easy to meet Deerehurst on the footing he elected to maintain--the footing of calm, rea.s.suring friends.h.i.+p. But now, with Gore's return, the aspect of affairs had altered. She was forced to look circ.u.mstances in the face--forced to consider her position. She might be a shelver of difficulties; but, before all things, she was a woman in love; and with the instinct that such a condition of mind engenders she had interpreted the look in Gore's eyes when the name of Deerehurst had been mentioned between them--and had recognised that it was not to be ignored.