Captain Desmond, V.C. Part 53

"It is not mine either," she answered, flus.h.i.+ng at the unmerited reproof. "But I am by way of handing over my charge to you. Doesn't the arrangement suit you?"

"By all means. But Mackay rightly chose you. Besides, I am not so selfish that I should want to deprive Theo of the pleasure of your ministrations."

"Deprive him? You are judging him by yourself! It is hardly a question of deprivation, surely."

Wyndham glanced at her keenly.

"Hullo!" he said, "one doesn't expect that sort of tone from you where Theo is concerned. What do you mean me to understand by it?"

"Nothing--nothing at all! Only--he happens to prefer _your_ ministrations. He almost told me so. You or he can settle it with Dr Mackay to-night. But I will take these in to him--if you wish."

"Purely as a favour to me?"

Her face lit up with a gleam of irrepressible humour.

"Purely as a favour to you!"

She took the cup and plate from him, still smiling, and pa.s.sed on into the study.

As she bent above the table, Desmond lifted his head in a vain effort to get a glimpse of her face.

"Thank you--thank you--how good of you!" he said, his constraint softened by a repressed eagerness, which gave her courage to speak her thought.

"Why am I suddenly to be discomfited by such elaborate thanks, such scathing politeness?" she asked in a tone of valiant good-humour.

"I didn't mean it to be scathing."

"Well, it is. Overmuch thanks for small services is a poor compliment to friends.h.i.+p. I thought you and I agreed on that point."

He answered nothing. He was nerving himself to the effort of decisive speech, which should set danger at arm's length and end their distracting situation once for all.

She set the small table closer to his side.

"I will look in again, in case you should want some more," she said softly, "if you will promise me not to say 'thank you!'"

"I promise," he answered with a half smile; and she turned to go. But before she had reached the door his voice arrested her.

"Honor,--one minute, please. I have something particular to say."

The note of constraint was so marked that the girl stood speechless, scarcely breathing, wondering what would come next--whether his words would break down the barrier that held them apart.

"Well?" she said at length, as he remained silent.

"I have been thinking," he began awkwardly, "over what you said yesterday--about Evelyn. You remember?"

"Yes."

"And I have been wanting to tell you that I believe you were right.

You generally are. I believe we ought to give her the chance you spoke of. Besides--I asked too much of you. This may be a slow business; and really we have no right to trade on your unselfishness to the extent I proposed. You understand me?"

For the life of him he could not ask her to go outright; his excuse appeared to him lame enough to be an insult itself. A fierce temptation a.s.sailed him to push up the detested shade and discover whether he had hurt this girl, who had done so infinitely much for him. But he grasped the side of his chair, keeping his arm rigid as steel; and awaited her answer, which seemed an eternity in coming.

Indeed, if he had struck her, Honor could scarcely have been more stunned, more indignant, than she was at that moment. But when she found her voice it was at least steady, if not devoid of emotion.

"No, Theo," she said. "For the first time in my life I _don't_ understand you. But I see clearly--what you wish; and if you feel absolutely certain that you are making the right decision for Evelyn, I have no more to say. For myself, you are asking a far harder thing to-day than you did yesterday. But that is no matter, if it is really best for you both--I don't quite know what Dr Mackay will say. I will see him about it this evening; and you will please tell Evelyn--yourself."

He knew now that he had hurt her cruelly; and with knowledge came the revelation that he was playing a coward's part in rewarding her thus for all she had done; in depriving Evelyn of her one support and s.h.i.+eld, merely because he distrusted his own self-mastery at a time of severe mental stress and bodily weakness.

His imperative need for a sight of her face conquered him at last.

Quick as thought his hand went up to the rim of the shade. But Honor was quicker still. The instinct to s.h.i.+eld him from harm swept everything else aside. In a second she had reached him and secured his hand.

"You _shall not_ do that!" she said--anger, fear, determination vibrating in her low tone.

Then, to her astonishment, she found her own hand crushed in his, with a force that brought tears into her eyes. But he remained silent; and she neither spoke nor stirred. Emotion dominated her; and her whole mind was concentrated on the effort to hold it in leash.

For one brief instant they stood thus upon the brink of a precipice--the precipice of mutual knowledge. But both were safeguarded by the strength that belongs to an upright spirit; and before three words could have been uttered Desmond had dropped her hand, almost throwing it from him, with a decisiveness that might have puzzled her, but that she had pa.s.sed beyond the region of surprise.

Still neither spoke. Desmond was breathing with the short gasps of a man who has ran a great way, or fought a hard fight; and Honor remained beside him, her eyes blinded, her throat aching with tears that must not be allowed to fall.

At last she mastered them sufficiently to risk speech.

"What _have_ I done that you should treat me--like this?"

There was more of bewilderment than of reproach in the words, and Desmond, turning his head, saw the white marks made by his own fingers upon the hand that hung at her side.

"Done?" he echoed, all constraint and coldness gone from his voice.

"You have simply proved yourself, for the hundredth time--the staunchest, most long-suffering woman on G.o.d's earth. Will you forgive me, Honor? Will you wipe out what I said--and did just now? I am not quite--myself to-day; if one dare proffer an excuse. Mackay is right, we can't do without you--Evelyn least of any. Will you believe that, and stay with us, in spite of all?"

He proffered his hand now, and she gave him the one that still tingled from his pressure. He held it quietly, closely, as the hand of a friend, and was rewarded by her frank return of his grasp.

"Of course I will stay," she said simply. "But don't let there be any talk of forgiveness between you and me, Theo. To understand is to forgive. I confess I _have_ been puzzled since--yesterday evening, but now I think we do understand one another again. Isn't that so?"

"Yes; we understand one another, Honor," he answered without a shadow of hesitation; but in his heart he thanked G.o.d that she did not understand--nor ever would, to her life's end.

Relief reawakened the practical element, which had been submerged in the emotional. She was watching him now with the eyes of a nurse rather than the eyes of a woman.

When he had spoken, his arm fell limply; and he leaned back upon the pillows with a sigh of such utter weariness that her anxiety was aroused. She remembered that his hand had seemed unnaturally hot, and deliberately taking possession of it again, laid her fingers on his wrist. The rapidity of his pulse startled her; since she could have no suspicion of all that he had fought against and held in check.

"How _is_ one to keep such a piece of quicksilver as you in a state of placid stodge!" she murmured. "I suppose I ought to have forbidden you to talk. But how could I dream that--all this would come of it? You must lie absolutely quiet and see no one for the rest of the evening.

I will send at once for Dr Mackay; and, look, your tea is all cold.

You shall have some fresh--very weak--it will do you good. But not another word, please, to me or any one till I give you leave."

"Very well; I'll do my best to remain in a state of placid stodge, if that will ease your mind," he answered so humbly that the tears started to her eyes afresh. "Won't you let me smoke, though? Just one cigarette. It would calm me down finely before Mackay comes."

Without answering she took one from his case and gave it to him. Then, striking a match, held it for him, till the wisp of paper and tobacco was well alight; while he lay back, drawing in the fragrant smoke, with a sigh in which contentment and despair were strangely mingled.

It is to be hoped that, to the end of time, woman's higher development will never eradicate her delight in ministering to the minor comforts of the man she loves.

"As soon as I have seen Paul, and sent for Dr Mackay," Honor said, "I will come back and stay with you altogether for the present."