Up The Hill And Over Part 47

"It was something in a gla.s.s," vaguely, "she was mixing it--look out, Esther! You are spoiling your new gloves."

The girl threw the crumpled gloves aside and drawing the child to her knee kissed her gently.

"It seems to me," she said slowly, "that big sister has been losing her eyes lately. She must find them again; it isn't going to help to be a selfish pig."

"Help what, Esther?"

Esther's only answer was another kiss, but when she had hurried out of the room, Jane found something round and wet upon her hand.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Jane was still looking at the wet place on her hand when the doctor entered.

"Esther's been crying," she told him. In her voice was the awe which children feel at the phenomenon of tears in grown-ups.

Callandar felt his heart contract--Esther crying! But he could not question the child.

"I don't know why," went on Jane obligingly. "Esther's so strange lately. Every one is strange. You are strange too. Am I strange?"

"A little," said Callandar gravely.

"Perhaps it's catching? Do you want mother? She is upstairs and her door is locked. Perhaps she'll be down in a little while. She said Esther was to stay in and entertain you, but Esther wouldn't. She has gone to a garden party. I'll entertain you if you like."

"That will be very nice."

"Shall I play for you on the piano?"

"Thanks. And you won't mind if I sit in the corner here and close my eyes, until your mother comes?"

"No. You may go quite to sleep if you wish. I'm not sensitive about my playing. Bubble says you are nearly always tired now. He says you have such a 'normous practice that you hardly ever get a wink of sleep.

That's what makes you look so kind of hollow-eyed, Bubble says."

"So Bubble has been diagnosing my case, has he?"

"Oh, he doesn't talk about professional cases usually. He said that about you because Mrs. Atkins said that being engaged didn't seem to agree with you. She said she was just as glad you didn't take a fancy to her Gracie if prospective matteromony made you look like the dead march in Saul."

"Observing woman!"

"What," resumed Jane, "is a dead march in Saul?"

"It is a musical composition."

Jane considered this and then dismissed it with a shrug. "It sounded as if it was something horrid. Mrs. Atkins thinks she's smart. Anyway, I didn't tell mother."

"Well, suppose you run now and tell her that I am here."

"Can't. The door is locked."

"Then let us have some of the music you promised. I'll sit here and wait."

Strange to say, Jane's music was not unsoothing. She had a smooth, light touch and the little airs she played tinkled sweetly enough from the old piano. The weary, nerve-wrung man was more than half asleep when she grew tired of playing and slipped off to bed without disturbing him. The moments ticked themselves away on the big hall clock. Mrs. Coombe did not come, nor did the doctor waken.

He was aroused an hour later by a voice upon the veranda. It was Esther's voice and in response to it he heard a deeper murmur, a man's voice without doubt. There was a moment or two of low-toned talk, then "Good-night," and the girl came in alone.

She did not see him as she came slowly across to the table. He thought she looked grave and sad, older too--but, so dear! With a weary gesture she began to pull off her long gloves.

"Who was it with you, Esther?" He tried hard to make the inquiry, so devouringly eager, sound carelessly casual.

She looked up with a start.

"Oh--I didn't see you, Doctor! Mr. Macnair was with me. Did you wish to see him?" She could play at the game of carelessness better than he.

"Where is mother?" she added quickly.

"In her room, I think. Esther, are you going to marry Macnair?"

The girl slipped off her second glove, blew gently into its fingers, smoothed them and laid it with nice care upon the table beside its fellow.

"I do not know."

He realised with a shock that he had expected an indignant denial.

"You do not love him!"

"No. Not now. He knows that. And I do not expect ever to love him. But perhaps, after a long while, if I could make him happy--it is so terrible not to be happy," she finished pathetically.

Callandar could have groaned aloud; the danger was so clear. And how could he, of all men, warn her. Yet he must try. He came quickly across to where she stood and compelled her gaze to his.

"Do not make that mistake, Esther! It is fatal. Try to believe that in spite of--of everything, I am speaking disinterestedly. You are young and the young hate suffering. You would marry him, out of pity. But I tell you that no man's happiness comes to him that way. You will have sacrificed yourself to no purpose. The risk is too awful. Wait. Time is kind. You will know it, some day. But even though you do not believe it now--wait. Wait forever, rather than marry a man to whom you cannot give your heart."

"That is your advice?" She spoke heavily. "You would like some day to see me marry a man I could--love?"

"Yes, a thousand times yes!"

"I shall think over what you say." She was still gravely controlled but it was a control which would not last much longer. She glanced around the empty room with a quick caught breath. "Why are you left all alone?"

"Is a keeper necessary?" Then, ashamed of his irritation and willing to end a scene which threatened to make things harder for both of them, he added in his ordinary tone, "I really do not know who is responsible for such unparalleled neglect. Jane played me to sleep, I fancy. She said her mother was upstairs but would be down presently. It must be late. I had better go."

"Wait a moment, I will see if there is any message from mother."

As she left the room her light scarf slipped from her shoulders and fell softly across his arm. Callandar crushed it pa.s.sionately to his lips and then, folding it carefully, laid it beside the gloves upon the table.

Even the scarf was not for him. Aunt Amy, pa.s.sing through the hall on her way upstairs, saw the dumb caress and s.h.i.+vered anew at the mysterious power of "They" which could tear such a man as Callandar from the woman he loved.

Esther was gone only a moment and when she returned she brought with her a change of atmosphere. Something had banished every trace of self-consciousness from her manner. She looked anxious but it was an anxiety with which no embarra.s.sment mingled.

"Doctor," she said at once, "mother seems to be ill. The door is locked and she did not answer my knocking. Yet she is not asleep. I could hear her talking. I think you ought to come up."