The White Peacock Part 55

"No-don't bother her-she'd come if she wanted--"

But mother had called from the foot of the stairs.

"Lettie, Lettie-he's going."

"All right," said Lettie, and in another minute she came downstairs. She was dressed in dark, severe stuff, and she was somewhat pale. She did not look at any of us, but turned her eyes aside.

"Good-bye," she said to him, offering him her cheek. He kissed her, murmuring: "Good-bye-my love."

He stood in the doorway a moment, looking at her with beseeching eyes.

She kept her face half averted, and would not look at him, but stood pale and cold, biting her underlip. He turned sharply away with a motion of keen disappointment, set the engines of the car into action, mounted, and drove quickly away.

Lettie stood pale and inscrutable for some moments.

Then she went in to breakfast and sat toying with her food, keeping her head bent down, her face hidden.

In less than an hour he was back again, saying he had left something behind. He ran upstairs, and then, hesitating, went into the room where Lettie was still sitting at table.

"I had to come back," he said.

She lifted her face towards him, but kept her eyes averted, looking out of the window. She was flushed.

"What had you forgotten?" she asked.

"I'd left my cigarette case," he replied.

There was an awkward silence.

"But I shall have to be getting off," he added.

"Yes, I suppose you will," she replied.

After another pause, he asked:

"Won't you just walk down the path with me?"

She rose without answering. He took a shawl and put it round her carefully. She merely allowed him. They walked in silence down the garden.

"You-are you-are you angry with me?" he faltered.

Tears suddenly came to her eyes.

"What did you come back for?" she said, averting her face from him. He looked at her.

"I knew you were angry-and--," he hesitated.

"Why didn't you go away?" she said impulsively. He hung his head and was silent.

"I don't see why-why it should make trouble between us, Lettie," he faltered. She made a swift gesture of repulsion, whereupon, catching sight of her hand, she hid it swiftly against her skirt again.

"You make my hands-my very hands disclaim me," she struggled to say.

He looked at her clenched fist pressed against the folds of her dress.

"But-," he began, much troubled.

"I tell you, I can't bear the sight of my own hands," she said in low, pa.s.sionate tones.

"But surely, Lettie, there's no need-if you love me--"

She seemed to wince. He waited, puzzled and miserable.

"And we're going to be married, aren't we?" he resumed, looking pleadingly at her.

She stirred, and exclaimed:

"Oh, why don't you go away? What did you come back for?"

"You'll kiss me before I go?" he asked.

She stood with averted face, and did not reply. His forehead was twitching in a puzzled frown.

"Lettie!" he said.

She did not move or answer, but remained with her face turned full away, so that he could see only the contour of her cheek. After waiting awhile, he flushed, turned swiftly and set his machine rattling. In a moment he was racing between the trees.

CHAPTER IV

KISS WHEN SHE'S RIPE FOR TEARS

It was the Sunday after Leslie's visit. We had had a wretched week, with everybody mute and unhappy.

Though Spring had come, none of us saw it. Afterwards it occurred to me that I had seen all the ranks of poplars suddenly bursten into a dark crimson glow, with a flutter of blood-red where the sun came through the leaves; that I had found high cradles where the swan's eggs lay by the waterside; that I had seen the daffodils leaning from the moss-grown wooden walls of the boat-house, and all, moss, daffodils, water, scattered with the pink scarves from the elm buds; that I had broken the half-spread fans of the sycamore, and had watched the white cloud of sloe-blossom go silver grey against the evening sky: but I had not perceived it, and I had not any vivid spring-pictures left from the neglected week.

It was Sunday evening, just after tea, when Lettie suddenly said to me:

"Come with me down to Strelley Mill."

I was astonished, but I obeyed unquestioningly. On the threshold we heard a chattering of girls, and immediately Alice's voice greeted us:

"h.e.l.lo, Sybil, love! h.e.l.lo, Lettie! Come on, here's a gathering of the G.o.ddesses. Come on, you just make us right. You're Juno, and here's Meg, she's Venus, and I'm-here, somebody, who am I, tell us quick-did you say Minerva, Sybil dear? Well you ought, then! Now Paris, hurry up. He's putting his Sunday clothes on to take us a walk-Laws, what a time it takes him! Get your blushes ready, Meg-now, Lettie, look haughty, and I'll look wise. I wonder if he wants me to go and tie his tie. Oh, Glory-where on earth did you get that antimaca.s.sar?"

"In Nottingham-don't you like it?" said George referring to his tie.

"h.e.l.lo, Lettie-have you come?"