A Bachelor Husband Part 52

Feathers broke in harshly: "For G.o.d's sake, don't compare yourself with them."

"But it's true--you know it's true," she insisted. "I don't want you to think I'm blaming Chris; I've never blamed him in all my life, and I want him to be happy, but ..." Her voice trailed hopelessly way, only to recover again with a pathetic effort.

"I'm not the sort of girl ever to make him happy. At first I hoped-- oh, I hoped so hard that things would come right, but lately--just during the last few days, I think, I seem to have seen that it can never be. I suppose I ought not to say all this to you--you're his friend, and I am glad you are."

"I am your friend, too," said Feathers, quietly.

"I know; that's why I'm telling you. It's--it's dreadful to have no one I can talk to--no one to understand and help me."

"I am afraid it's beyond me to help you," Feathers said hoa.r.s.ely.

"I can only tell you to be patient and try and stick it out.

Pluck's everything you know, Mrs. Lawless---"

As if she had not been plucky! He gritted his teeth at his temerity in daring to preach such a doctrine to her, and yet it was the best he could do. To offer her the sympathy and tenderness that was tearing his heart with longing would be to ruin their friendship once and for all.

He looked back at her with hot eyes. He could only see her face dimly through the dusk, but he heard the little despondent sigh she gave as she answered him: "Yes; I suppose you are right. I will try again--thank you."

"There's nothing to thank me for."

She laughed with soft scorn.

"How can you say that! Why, you've been kinder to me than anyone in the world."

"My selfishness probably." He was making a desperate effort to get back to plat.i.tudes, but it was difficult on such a perfect night and in the company of the one woman in the world who had ever touched his heart.

"I haven't drowned you, you see," Feathers said, as they reached the boathouse again.

"No--and it's been such a lovely day."

He went off to get the car ready. Every moment was precious now, and there were so few left. He thought jealously of the short drive back to London, and wished that its end lay on the other side of infinity.

"It's been such a lovely day!" Marie said again, as they started.

"I have enjoyed it--tremendously!"

The last word was a sigh.

"So have I."

There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but his tongue was awkward and unable to find the words. He wanted to tell her that always, whatever happened, he was her devoted friend, that his one desire in life was for her happiness, but mile after mile slipped by and the tender thoughts could get no further than his sad heart.

And then they were home ...

Feathers' face was grim as he stopped the car at Miss Chester's gate and looked down at Marie.

"I hope you are not very tired, Mrs. Lawless," he said, and smiled grimly to himself in the gray night at the contrast of the ba.n.a.l inquiry and the pa.s.sionate words that were almost choking him.

"No, I am not very tired," she said, and she gave him a little pale smile as they went up the steps together. "You will--will wait and see if Chris has come?"

"Yes."

She asked the maid who admitted them, "Has Mr. Lawless come home?"

but she knew before the girl answered, for Chris' big traveling coat hung in the hall and there was a smell of cigarette smoke in the house which had been absent during the past weeks.

She felt a little giddy, and her heart was beating wildly. How could she bear to meet him and hear his casual "Hullo, Marie Celeste?"

"Mr. Lawless came home this afternoon quite early," the maid answered. "He had dinner with Miss Chester and went out: he said he should not be in till late."

There was a little silence.

"I won't stay then, Mrs. Lawless," Feathers said quietly.

"Good-night."

"Good-night." Her fingers fluttered in his big grasp for a moment, then he turned away and the front door shut heavily behind him.

Marie went into the drawing-room to Miss Chester. She felt very tired, and her footsteps dragged.

"We've got back," she said.

"Yes." Miss Chester looked up. "I thought I heard Mr. Dakers'

voice," she added.

"So you did, but he would not stay when he heard that Chris had gone out."

Miss Chester's kindly gaze wavered a little.

"Chris seemed very disappointed not to find you at home," she said.

"He could not understand it. He said that he wired he should be home this afternoon."

"So he did, and I got the wire, but as he is always so uncertain I did not think it worth while to stay at home."

There was a little silence. The distressed color rushed to Miss Chester's thin face, and she laid down her knitting.

"Marie!" she said, aghast.

Marie smiled.

"Well, dear, he has wired before, and written before, and not come," she said. "And I did so want to go on the river."

She took off her hat and ran her fingers through her hair. Her nerves felt all on edge. She was afraid that at any moment the door would open and Chris walk in. She wondered desperately what she should say to him. It frightened her, because there was none of the ecstasy in her heart, which had once been such a joy and a torment.

"Chris was hungry, so we did not wait dinner. Have you had yours?"

Miss Chester asked.

"Yes; no, I mean. I am not hungry; we had such a big lunch."

Marie wandered restlessly down the room. A sporting paper lay on one of the tables amongst the silver trinkets and queer little Victorian boxes which had belonged to her mother. Chris had thrown it down there, she knew--and there was cigarette ash in one of the fern pots.

"He looks splendidly well." Miss Chester went on, attacking her shawl once more. "So brown! I never saw anyone with such a brown skin."