A Bachelor Husband Part 54

Chris flushed scarlet, but more with surprise than any other emotion. That she should dare so to speak to him was the biggest shock of his life.

For a moment he could find no words, then he broke out savagely: "Someone has been talking! Someone has been setting you against me.

I felt that you had changed directly I came into the room. Who is it? Tell me who it is?"

She smiled contemptuously.

"I have hardly seen anyone, except Aunt Madge's friends and your own, and if you think they have any reason to speak against you it is no fault of mine."

He broke in pa.s.sionately: "It's that young devil, Atkins. I knew he was keen on you; I--Marie---" He caught her by the arm, swinging her round to him as she would have turned away, his eyes searching her face with bitter suspicion. "I suppose you've forgotten that you are my wife?" he demanded.

She looked up.

"If I have, it isn't for you to be surprised, seeing that you have never once troubled to remember it."

"Marie--what do you mean? I thought ... I mean--it was your wish ..." He stammered and broke off; then all at once he turned away with a little harsh laugh.

"What a nice home-coming! I wish to G.o.d I'd stayed away."

"You would have done so if you'd wanted to," Marie said quietly.

She waited a moment, but Chris did not speak, and she moved towards the door. "I am tired--and I dare say you are. Good-night."

He did not answer, and she went silently away.

Chris stood with his elbow on the mantelshelf, staring down into the empty grate. His pride, if nothing more serious, had received a nasty blow.

He had come home quite happily--having had the time of his life-- had looked forward to seeing Marie Celeste--had planned all sorts of things for her amus.e.m.e.nt--and, incidentally, his own--in the future, and this was the reception he got!

He bit his lip savagely. What was the explanation of it all? She had always been so docile and devoted. It turned his blood to white heat to think of the apathy with which she had received his kisses-- kisses that had been meant, too! His face darkened--it was the first time in his life he had ever known the slightest desire to kiss any woman, but she had looked so provokingly pretty in her white frock ...

Chris swore and lit another cigarette. It would be a very long time before he troubled about her again, he promised himself.

He would have been furiously indignant had anyone told him that it was Marie's indifference that had fired his imagination, and wakened the desire to rouse in her some show of affection.

It was not exactly pleasant to remember the years that were gone, through which she had so faithfully adored him, and contrast them with the steely feeling of her lips beneath his and the resistance of her slim body in his arms.

Who was responsible for the change? He sought for it in everyone but himself. He was the most suspicious of young Atkins--he was near Marie's age, and had from the first shown a ridiculous interest in her.

It was odd that he never seriously considered Feathers. Feathers was his friend and disliked all women; any attention he had shown to Marie had been out of ordinary courtesy, nothing more.

Well, if this was the att.i.tude she meant to adopt, he would soon let her see that he was quite indifferent. He would go his own way and leave her severely alone. Hang it all, he had brought her home a bracelet, and written whenever there had been anything to write about. He would not have believed it possible for her to be so unreasonable.

He comforted himself with the reflection that in a few days she would come to her senses. All their lives there had been little ups and downs of this kind, and she had never failed in the end to say she was sorry.

She needed a firm hand--he supposed that all women did.

Having argued himself back into a more complacent state of mind, Chris turned out the light and went, up to bed.

His room was next to Marie's, and as he moved about it in his stockinged feet, once or twice he was sure that he heard the sound of stifled sobbing, though whenever he stood still to listen all was quiet again.

Once he even softly tried the handle of the communicating door, but it was locked, and he frowned as he turned away.

She had been so different that Sunday afternoon when he asked her to marry him. It gave him an unpleasant twinge to remember the shy radiance of her face. He was very sure that she would not have repulsed him then had he taken her in his arms and kissed her.

And his mind went back again to young Atkins with angry persistence. Young cub! If he had been making love to Marie Celeste, he would break his neck for him.

With singular blindness, he believed that the surest way to put things right between himself and Marie, was to ignore the fact that anything was wrong.

When they met he was always smiling and cheerful, but he never asked her to go out with him, never showed the slightest interest in what she did, or how she spent her time.

Miss Chester looked on in troubled perplexity. She loved them both, and did not know with which of them the real fault lay.

She was afraid to ask questions, so matters were just allowed to drift, and whatever battles Marie had to fight, she alone knew of them.

She spent a great deal of her time with Miss Chester; she drove with her and walked with her, and patiently wound wool for the knitting of that interminable shawl.

She had not seen Feathers since the day on the river, though she knew that he was often with Chris, and her heart was sore at the loss of her friend.

She missed him terribly, though their companionship had only lasted a little more than a week, and it hurt her inexpressibly to hear the casual way in which Chris spoke of him--Feathers had been on the ran-dan! Feathers had lost sixty pounds at poker! Feathers had had to be taken home from his club in a taxi.

Miss Chester looked up from her work.

"Chris, what is the ran-dan?" she asked.

Chris laughed, and it was Marie who explained.

"It's a slang word for dissipation. Aunt Madge."

Miss Chester said "Oh!" in a rather shocked voice, adding slowly, "I should not have thought Mr. Dakers a dissipated man."

"Nor I," said Marie.

"You don't know him as well as I do." Chris said. "And, by the way, I'm golfing with him on Sunday."

Marie looked up.

"To lunch at the Load of Hay?" she asked quietly.

Chris raised amazed eyebrows.

"How ever did you know?"

"I went there with him once. We motored out, and Mrs. Costin gave us lunch."

"You never told me."

"I forgot. We met Mrs. Heriot there."

"Yes; so Feathers said. We're going to fix up a foursome with her."