Far to Seek Part 22

Still demurely distant, she thought "how topping it would be"; and the thought kept her silent so long that he grew impatient.

"High Tower Princess--do give over. Your grown-up airs are awfully sweet--but not to the point. You are coming? It'll spoil everything now, if you don't."

She shook her head with a small wise smile that seemed to push him away from her, gently yet inexorably; to make him feel little more than a schoolboy confronted by a woman; very young in her new shyness and dignity, but still--a woman.

"No, Roy--I'm not coming. It's--dear of you to want me. But I can't--for lots of reasons. So please understand, once for all. And don't fuss."

"But you said--you cared," Roy murmured blankly.

"Of course I do. Only--there's caring--and caring ... since you make me say it. You must know that by now. Anyway, I know we simply can't get married just because we're very fond of each other and it would please 'Mummy' and be convenient for India."

Roy sighed portentously. He found himself feeling younger and younger with every smiling, reasonable word she uttered. It was all so unlike his eager, fiery Tara that perplexity tempered a little his genuine dismay.

"I s'pose you're right," he grudgingly admitted. "But I'm fearfully disappointed."

"You are now. You won't be afterwards. It's not marrying time for you--yet. You've lots of big things to do first. Go out to India and do them. Then--when the time really comes, you'll understand--and you'll be grateful to me--for understanding now. There, what a lecture! But the point is--we can't: and I won't be badgered about it. _I'm_ going back to tea; and if you don't come, I'll have to tell Aunt Lila--why?"

He sighed. "I'll probably tell her myself to-night. Would you mind?"

"N-no, she'll understand."

"Bet she won't."

"She will. You're not the only person the darling understands, though you _are_ her spoilt boy."

She swung round on that impetuous little speech, more like her normal self; and her going was so swift that Roy had some ado to keep pace with her. He had still more ado to unravel his own tangle of thought and emotion. A few clear points emerged from a chaos of sensations, like mountain peaks out of a mist. He knew she was all of a sudden distractingly lovely; that her charm and obstinacy combined had thoroughly churned him up; that all the same, she was right about his unreadiness for marrying now; that he hoped she didn't utterly despise him; that he hated the idea of leaving her more than ever....

Her pace, perhaps intentionally, made talk difficult; and he still had a lot to say.

"Tara--why _are_ you sprinting like this?" he broke out, reproachfully.

"Are you angry with me?"

She vouchsafed him a small smile.

"Not yet. But I soon will be, if you don't take care. And I'm dangerous in a temper!"

"Don't I know that? I once had a scratch that didn't heal for a month.

But do walk slower. You're not chucking me--for good--eh?"

She slowed down a little, perforce; needing her breath for this new and hopelessly intractable Roy.

"Really, I've never known you ask so many foolish questions in one hour before. You must have drunk some potion up on the moor! Have you forgotten you're my Bracelet-bound Brother?"

"But that doesn't bar--the other thing. It's not one of the Prayer-book affinities! I say, Tara--you might promise to think it over. If you can't do that much, I won't believe you care a bean about me, for all you say----"

Her blue eyes flashed at that--genuine fire; and she stood still again, confronting him.

"Roy--be _quiet_! You make me furious. I want to slap you. First you suggest a perfectly crazy plan; then you worry me into a temper by behaving like a spoilt boy, who won't take 'No' for an answer."

Roy straightened himself sharply. "I'm not spoilt--and I'm not a boy.

I'm a man."

"Well then, try and _behave_ like one."

The moment her impulsive retort was spoken, she saw how sharply she had hurt him, and, with a swift softening of her expressive face, she flung out a hand. He held it hard. And suddenly she leaned nearer; her lips tremulous; her eyes melting into a half smile.

"Roy--darling," she murmured, barely above her breath. "You are really--a little bit of all three. That's part of your deliciousness and troublesomeness. And it's not your fault--the spoiling. We've all helped. I've been as bad as the others. But this time--please believe--I simply, utterly can't--even for you."

Words went from him. He could only cling to her hand.

But with a deft movement she freed herself--and fled round the corner of the house; leaving him in a state of confusion worse confounded, to seek his mother and the outraged teapot--alone.

He found her, companioned by the ruins of tea, in the depths of her great arm-chair; eyes and fingers intent on a square of elaborate embroidery; thoughts astray with her unpunctual son.

Bramleigh Beeches drawing-room--as recreated by Sir Nevil Sinclair for his Indian bride--was a setting worthy of its mistress: lofty and s.p.a.cious, light filled by three tall French windows, long gold curtains shot through with bronze; gold and cream colour the prevailing tone; ivory, bra.s.s, and bronze the prevailing incidentals, mainly Indian; and flowers in profusion--roses, lilies, sweet-peas. Yet, in the midst of it all, the spirit of Lilamani Sinclair was restless, lacking the son, of whom, too soon, both she and her home would be bereft----

At the sound of his step she looked up.

"Wicked one! What came to you?"

Impossible to hide from her the disarray of his emotions. So he spoke the simple truth.

"Tara came to me----! I'd been prowling on the moor, and forgetting the time. I met her on the lawn----"

"Yes--where is she?--And you----?"

He caught the note of apprehension. Next moment he was kneeling by her chair, confessing all.

"Mummy, I've just asked her--to marry me. And she simply ... won't hear of it. I thought it would be so lovely, going out together--that it would please you so----"

The smile in her eyes recalled Tara's own. "Did you say it that way--to her, my darling?"

"No--not exactly. Naturally I did mention you--and India. She admits she's fond of me. Yet she got quite angry. I can't make her out."

A faintly aggrieved note in his voice, implied expectation of sympathy.

To his inexpressible surprise she said pensively, as if to herself: "Such a wise Tara!"

"Well, _I_ don't see where the wisdom comes in," he muttered a trifle disconcerted.

"Not yet, son of my heart. Some day perhaps when your eyes are not too dazzled from the many-coloured sparkle of youth--of yourself--you will see--many surprises. You are not yet ready for a wife, Roy. Your heart is reaching out to far-away things. That--_she_ has been woman enough to guess."

"Perhaps, I'm not so sure. She seemed--not a bit like herself, part of the time." He looked pensively at a slim vase overflowing with sprays of blush rambler, that, for some reason, evoked a tantalising vision of the girl who had so suddenly blossomed into a woman; and his shy, lurking thought found utterance: "I've been wondering, Mummy, is it ... can she be--in love with somebody else? Do you think she is?"

Lilamani shook her head at him. "That is a man's question! Hard to tell.

At this kind of age, when girls have so much character--like my Tara--they have a natural instinct for hiding the thoughts of their hearts." She dropped her needlework now and lightly took his head between her hands, looking deep into his eyes. "Do you think _you_ are yet--in love with her, Roy? Honest answer."

The touch of her hands stirred him all through. The question in her eyes probed deep.

"Honest answer, Mummy--I'm blest if I know," he said slowly. "I don't think I've ever been so near it before; beyond thrills at dances ... and all that. She somehow churned me up just now and made me want her tremendously. But I truly hadn't thought of it--that way, before. And--I did feel it might ease you and Dad about ... the other thing, if I went out fixed up."