Helena Brett's Career Part 2

"What did he say then?" and she let herself down into the chair staidly. She was not like a woman of thirty-eight. Women of thirty-eight nowadays are young, almost unfas.h.i.+onably young, and Ruth was pathetically old. She had given her youth to her mother: she was prepared to lavish the rest of life upon her brother, asking in return nothing except that he would not be what she tearfully and often called unkind to her.

"Say?" answered Hubert, far more comfortably. "What didn't he say? My dear Ruth, I've had a cla.s.sic homily on Marriage!"

Ruth stiffened visibly. "Marriage? Then I suppose you asked him in to give you his advice?"

"Really," said Hubert in another voice, "I imagine you can't object, now, to what I ask my pals in for?--supposing that I did."

She smoothed all that kind of thing away with a restful gesture.

"My dear boy, you know I've no objection, as you call it, to anything at all you do. You are a man. I'm only your guest. I've no right to object. But I am naturally interested. Of course, though, if you'd rather not tell me what Mr. Boyd said"--she paused, "we'll talk of something else."

"No we won't," cried Hubert, with a sudden pa.s.sion. "I'm sick to death of all this constant friction."

"Friction!" and she raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. Otherwise her sad face remained expressionless, but her hands clasped each other tensely under an old-fas.h.i.+oned shawl.

"Yes, friction. That's the only word. You know, Ruth, I don't want to be a brute. You know what pals we were as kids, what pals we still are" (he forced the words out), "and that's why I intend to have it out. It isn't good enough. You know what a row we had over dinner.

_That's_ why I asked Boyd along. How do you expect a man to write when he's just had a row that's brought his soul red-hot into his throat?

And you weren't very cheery company! So naturally I asked Boyd in. I often do that or go out myself or else pretend to work, because I simply can't endure your company a moment longer."

And now his sister leapt up to her feet. When she came to life it was always sudden.

"Hubert!" she cried in tearful reproach. She only called him Hubert at such moments.

He signalled her down without any ceremony.

"For goodness' sake," he said, and it was nearly stronger, "don't let's have a row." He took a moment to calm himself and then said levelly, "Look here, old girl, I want to thrash this matter out once and for all. It's no use killing love in this world, is it? It's rare enough, G.o.d knows. We've been such good pals, you and I, and now we are--like this." He pointed at her, and she fell back dully on her chair.

"We don't mean it really," she said, fumbling for her handkerchief.

Hubert spoke seriously. "We do, though. Anyhow, we should in time.

It's just like other habits. It grows. It grows quickly, too. We never used to fight at all, you know."

"_I_ never fight now," she protested, very near to tears. "I've always given in."

Poor, timid, self-sacrificing Ruth never could understand what her brother's tempers were about. She tried so hard not to stand up against him!

"Oh, d.a.m.n!" cried Hubert, and strode madly up and down the room.

It was all very futile, quite familiar.

She looked as pained as usual. "What is it, Hugh?" she gently asked.

"Of course you've given in," he flung at her. "You always do. You're always in the right: you are so keen to be! You wouldn't make me cross for worlds! It's just your d.a.m.ned humility I can't endure. No man on earth could possibly endure it."

"I can't help my nature," she sobbed into her handkerchief. "I do my best to please you. I try to fall into your ways, I'm sure."

Hubert came up to her presently and touched her on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Ruth," he said. "It was my fault. I lost my temper. I was a cad to swear but somehow--oh, I don't know," and he sank down upon the chair again. "I suppose really it's just what Boyd has often said, brother and sister weren't ever made to live together. He says all relatives have a natural antipathy to one another and----"

"I'm sure _I_ haven't," interrupted Ruth.

This time he ignored her. "It's all so difficult," he said in a new tone, as though embarking upon an a.n.a.lysis. "I know you're wanting just to please me, Ruth; you are an awfully good sort; you'll make somebody a splendid wife some day; but just because you are my sister, I suppose, I get annoyed when you begin asking whether you can come in and saying you don't want to if----"

"You'd be much more annoyed if I came in without," said Ruth, with an unwonted spirit.

Hubert rose to the attack. "You mean it's just my nature, and not you?

I'd get annoyed whichever way it was? I'm just a selfish sort of cross-grained swine?"

"I didn't say so, you _know_ I didn't; you're simply twisting my words round."

Grown men and women, by some odd irony, are never nearer childhood than when in a temper. Hubert realised abruptly how ridiculous it was.

Once more he dropped his voice and dragged the conversation with a wrench back to the point at issue.

"I was only telling you," he said with dignity, "what Boyd said, as you asked to know. He said all this"--once more he waved his hand--"was a mistake, and that I ought to marry."

He threw it out at her like a threat at a naughty child. She would not like it if he took her at her word and really turned her out.

But even sisters can surprise a man. "Oh Hugh," she cried, forgetting all their differences, "do you mean you are really thinking----? Only, do let it be some one really nice, who'll make you as happy as you deserve to be."

He was too fl.u.s.tered to feel touched. "But wouldn't you mind?" he asked; and in spite of his efforts, surprise appeared in it.

"Mind?" She came across to him, sat on his chair-arm, and took his hand in hers. "How little you know me, old boy, really! Of course I shouldn't mind. You must never, never consider me at all! Do you imagine I expect you to remain a bachelor your whole life long, just to look after me? I shall find work to do or something; and anyhow, what is my life by the side of your career?"

Hubert at moments felt a brute, and this was one of them. He knew that he should thank her, kiss her, yet he could do neither. He found himself wondering in a dazed, abstract way, as often in these past years, whether she was really genuine or whether it was just a woman's bluff to make him feel his shaft had fallen short. If she was quite sincere, he felt almost aggrieved. The end of their long life together seemed to mean so little to her....

"No," he said automatically, not realising how inadequate it was; and then, "Well, old girl, I really think perhaps _now_ I ought to work."

He patted her hand in a perfunctory way as he released his own from it.

"We've had our little chat and it's your bedtime, I am sure."

"Yes," answered Ruth, and hesitated.

"Hugh," she said presently, "aren't I to know who it is?" Her tone was more patient than aggrieved, but he read something of the other into it.

"Who what is?" he replied, although he guessed her meaning.

"Who you think of marrying. Who's suddenly put the idea into your head." She waited a few moments; then, as he said nothing, she added almost slyly, "Well, I think I know! I've not forgotten Devons.h.i.+re yet, and what a lot there was in your letters about Miss--Miss--I forget her name."

"Oh, that Miss Hallam, you mean," came the icy answer.

It chilled even her exuberance. Her rare gaiety died quickly, and she looked the martyr once again.

"I see you don't mean to tell me," she said. "Very well. Of course I had no right to ask. I thought you'd like to let me know." She sighed. "I wish men weren't so terribly reserved."

"And I wish," he retorted, "that women weren't so horribly imaginative."

But she had shut the door. She always went abruptly, never said good night. He had told her, long ago, that those words broke up his evening and made him think of bed instead of work.

To-night indeed, after her going, although he had said he must do some writing, he sat quietly where he had been and gazed into the fire. He was not, however, thinking about bed. He was wondering whether all women were so crude and vulgar with their brothers. Ruth was the last person who would ever have said that about Miss Hallam to anybody else.