The Triumph of Hilary Blachland Part 24

"Isn't it?" she said ingenuously. "It often amuses me too. I did it for a freak--and--a reason."

"But why 'Fenham'? You haven't really married any--er--fool of that name?"

"Not a bit. Thanks for the implied compliment all the same. The name did as well as any other. That's all."

"What has become of Spence?"

"I don't know, and don't care. He turned out rather a cur," she answered with a light laugh, showing no more confusion or restraint in alluding to the circ.u.mstance, than he had done when first she broached the subject of their parting. "I had more than enough of him in three months, and couldn't stand the sight of him in five. He had just succeeded to a lot of money, you know, and became afflicted with swelled head there and then; in fact, became intolerably b.u.mptious."

"Yes, I heard that from Skelsey, just when I was wondering hard how Spence was in a sudden position to undertake a--well, not inexpensive liability."

She gave him a little punch on the arm--not ill-naturedly, for she was rather amused.

"It's mean of you to say that, Hilary. Come now, you can't say _you_ found it an 'expensive liability.'"

"Well, I'll concede I didn't, Hermia--not pecuniarily, that is. But it isn't to say that Spence would not have. I thought you were going to make a serious business of it that time. Why didn't you? You had hooked your fish, and seemed to be playing him all right. Then, just when you ought to have gaffed him--up goes the top joint, whipping aloft, and the fish is off."

"He was a cur, and I'm well rid of him," she returned, and there was a hard, vindictive gleam in her dark eyes. "I did mean serious business, and so did he--very much so. Do you know what choked him off, Hilary?

It was when he learned there was no necessity for you to set me free-- that I was free as air already. While he thought I was beyond his reach, he declared he was only living for the day when I was no longer so. But, directly he found I was quite within it, and had been all along, he cooled off with a sort of magical rapidity."

"Yes. Human nature is that way--and here too, there was an additional psychological motive. The knowledge would be likely to make a difference, you know. Knock a few chips out of your--er--prestige."

She burst out laughing. "You have a neat, but rather horrid way of putting things, Hilary. Yes. I quite see what you mean."

He made no reply, and for some moments they strolled on in silence. He could not refuse to entertain a certain amount of admiration for the consummate and practical coolness of this woman. She would make an ideal adventuress. Nor did he in the very least believe that she was destined to come to grief--as by all the rules of morality he ought to have believed. That was not the way of life. She would probably end by entrapping some fool--either very old, or very young--endowed with infinitely more bullion or valuable scrip than gumption or self-control, and flas.h.i.+ng out into a very s.h.i.+ning light of pattern respectability.

"What are you thinking about, Hilary?" she said at last, stealing a side look at him. "Are you still the least little bit angry with me about-- er--about things?"

"Not in the least. I never was. You had had enough of me--we had had enough of each other. The only thing to do was to separate. You may remember I told you so not long before?"

"I remember. And, Hilary--You would not--stand in my way if--"

"Certainly not. If you can humbug, to your advantage, any fool worth humbugging, that's no business on earth of mine--"

"Ah, that's just what I thought of you, Hilary," she said, her whole face lighting up with animation. "You were always a head and shoulders above any other man I ever knew."

"--But--" he resumed, lifting a warning hand as he stopped and faced her. "There is one and one only I must warn you off, and that most uncompromisingly."

"Who is it?"

The very tone was hard and rasping, and her face had gone pale. All the light and animation had died out of her eyes as she raised them to his.

"That unspeakable young a.s.s of a cousin of mine--Percy West."

"But--why?"

"Hermia, think. How on earth can you ask such a question? The boy is like a younger brother to me, and on no consideration whatever will I stand by and allow his life to be utterly spoiled, wrecked and ruined at the very outset."

"Why should his life be wrecked or ruined?" she said sullenly, but with averted gaze. "I could make him very happy."

"For how long? And what then? No. Knowing what we know, it could not be. The thing is impossible--utterly impossible, I tell you. You must simply give up all idea or thought of it."

"And if I refuse?"

"But you won't refuse. Good Heavens! haven't you got the whole world to pick and choose from, but you must needs come here and make a fool of this boy?"

"I didn't come here and 'make a fool of him.' I was here already when he came. I told you I had a reason for stopping here. Well--that is it."

"It was to tell me this that you arranged to meet me alone," went on Blachland. "I conclude it wasn't merely for the pleasure of having a talk over old times. Am I right?"

"Perfectly."

"Well, then, Hermia, I can't agree to it. Do be reasonable. You have the whole world to choose from, and you may rely upon it that in any other connection I will never stand in your way by word or act. But in this I will. Why are you so bent on winning this boy? He isn't wealthy, and never will be, except by his own exertions, i.e. the development of some potential but hitherto undiscovered vein of rascality in his nature. He is much younger than you, too."

"So you were careful enough to tell him last night," she flashed. "That was mean of you."

"Last night!" echoed the other, for the moment taken aback, for Percival had certainly had no opportunity of communicating with her at all that morning.

"Why, yes. I heard you. Remember the 'bushcat' that was disturbing the fowls? I was the 'bushcat'!" And again she broke into a ringing peal of laughter.

"Eh?"

"I was the 'bushcat,' I tell you," she repeated. "That window of yours is very convenient. I heard every word you said to each other. It was very mean of you, Hilary, to try and set him against me."

"Well, if you heard every word, you must admit that I might have set him against you a great deal more than I did. Moreover, Hermia, I believe I was the unconscious means of saving your life by refusing to open the window and let him shoot. So you owe me a little grat.i.tude after all."

"No, I don't," came the prompt response. "You don't suppose I'd have waited there to be shot at, do you? Why, directly you touched the window to open it. I'd have made myself scarce. You don't catch this weasel asleep."

"Evidently not," he answered dryly. As a matter of fact she had heard very little indeed of their conversation, only a sc.r.a.p here and there.

For the rest, she had been drawing a bow at a venture.

"Now, Hermia," he went on, "Let's have the motive--there's always a motive, you know. You can't really care for this youngster--let alone love him--"

"Oh, as for love--You know, Hilary, I never loved any one but you--" she broke off, almost pa.s.sionately--"never--before or since."

"Well then, if in that case you couldn't stick to me, how are you going to stick to this one when you don't even love him? You know you never would. And he's got nothing of his own to speak of, and never will have more when you have estranged him from the only relative he has who can help him."

"But I needn't estrange him from anybody. Nothing need ever be known."

"Let's turn back," said Hilary. "We have gone far enough. And now, Hermia, I'll tell you straight. If you don't give Percy to understand this very morning that you have changed your mind, and will on no account consent to marry him, I shall put him in possession of all the facts concerning ourselves."

"You will?" she said. "You will do that?"

She had stopped short, and with eyes burning from her pale face, and breast heaving, she stood defiant, facing him, with a very blast of hate and fury in her look.

"Certainly I will," he returned sternly, and absolutely undaunted. "I forbid this thing--forbid it utterly."

"He won't believe you," she jeered. "Even if he does, he won't care, he loves me too well. It'll make no difference to him."