Afterwards Part 22

"Yes. That's just what I do mean." Cheniston spoke defiantly--or so it seemed to the man who listened.

Again the silence fell, and again the only sound to be heard was the soft flutter of the brown wings as the moth circled vainly round the candle flame which would inevitably prove fatal to him by and by.

"I see." Anstice's face was very pale now. "At least you do me the honour of looking upon me in the light of a possible rival."

"I do--and I'll go further," said Cheniston suddenly. "I have an uncomfortable notion that if you tried you could cut me out. Oh--I'm not sure"--he regretted the admission as soon as it was made--"after all, Miss Wayne and I are excellent friends, and upon my soul I sometimes dare to think I have a chance. But she has a great regard for you, I know, and if you really set out to win her----"

"I'm afraid you overrate my capabilities," said Anstice rather cynically. "Miss Wayne has certainly never given me the slightest reason to suppose she would be ready to listen to me, did I overstep the bounds of friendship."

"Of course not!" Cheniston smiled grimly. "Miss Wayne is not the sort of girl to give any man encouragement. But as a man of honour, Anstice"--again his voice cut like steel--"don't you think I have the prior right to the first innings, so to speak?"

"You mean I am to stand aside, efface myself, and let you chip in before me?" His colloquial speech accorded badly with his formal tone. "I quite see your point of view; and no doubt you think yourself justified in your demand; but still----"

"I do think I'm justified, yes," broke in Cheniston coolly. "After all, if one man has a precious stone, a diamond, let us say, and another man manages to lose it, well in the unlikely event of the two of them discovering another stone, which of them has the best right to the new one?"

"That's a pretty ingenious simile," said Anstice slowly. "But it's a false premise all the same. The diamond would naturally have no voice in the matter of its ownership. But the woman in the case might reasonably be expected to have the power of choice."

"But that's just what I'm anxious to avoid." So much in earnest was the speaker that he did not realize the fatuity of his words till they were out of his mouth. Then he uttered an impatient exclamation.

"Oh, hang it all, don't let's stand here arguing. You see the point, that's enough. I honestly feel that since it was through you that I lost Hilda Ryder"--even though he was prepared to woo another woman his voice softened over the name--"it will be doubly hard if you are to come between me and the only other girl I've ever put in Miss Ryder's place."

"I see the point, as I said before," returned Anstice deliberately. "But what I don't see is the justice of it. You've admitted I was not to blame in doing what I did that day; yet in the same breath in which you acquit me of the crime you expect me to pay the penalty!"

For a second this logical argument took Cheniston aback. Then, for his heart was set on winning Iris Wayne, he condescended to plead.

"Yes. I admit all that--and I can see I haven't a leg to stand on.

But--morally--or in a spiritual sense so to speak, don't you think yourself that I have just the shadow of a right to ask you to stand aside?"

"Yes." His a.s.sent was unflinching, though his lips were white. "You have that right, and that's why I'm listening to you to-night. But--don't you think we are both taking a wrong view of the matter? What faintest grounds have we for supposing Miss Wayne will listen to either of us?"

"Oh, that's not an insurmountable obstacle." Cheniston saw the victory was won, and in an instant he was awake to the expediency of clinching the matter finally. "We don't know, of course, that she will listen either to me or to you. But for my part I am ready to take my chance.

And"--at the last moment the inherent honesty of the man came to the surface through all the unscrupulous bargain he was driving--"my chance is a hundred times better if you withdraw from the contest."

"I see." With an effort Anstice crushed down the tide of revolt which swept over his heart. "As you say, I owe you something for that evil turn I did you, unwittingly, in India. And if you fix this as the price of my debt I suppose, as an honourable man, there is nothing for me to do but to pay that price."

Bruce Cheniston looked away quickly. Somehow he did not care to meet the other man's eyes at that moment.

"One thing only I would like to ask of you." Anstice's manner was not that of a man asking a favour. "If Miss Wayne remains impervious to your entreaties"--Cheniston coloured angrily, suspecting sarcasm--"will you be good enough to let me know?"

"Certainly." Cheniston was suddenly anxious to leave the house, to quit the presence of this man who spoke so quietly even while his black eyes flamed in his haggard face. "I will try my luck at once--within the next week or two. See here, Miss Wayne's birthday dance comes off shortly.

If, after that, I have not won her consent, I will quit the field. Is that fair?"

"Quite fair." Suddenly Anstice laughed harshly. "And you think I can then step forward and try my luck. Why, you fool, can't you see that for both of us this is the psychological moment--that the man who hangs back now is lost? I am to wait in the background while you go forward and seize the golden minute? Well"--his voice had a bitter ring--"I've agreed, and you've got your way; but for G.o.d's sake go before I repent of the bargain."

Cheniston, startled by his manner, moved backward suddenly; and a chair went over with a crash which set the nerves of both men jarring.

"When you've quite done smashing my furniture"--Anstice's jocularity was savage--"perhaps you'll be good enough to clear out. I won't pretend I'm anxious for more of your company to-night!"

Cheniston picked up the chair, and placed it against the table with quite meticulous care.

"I'll go." He suddenly felt as though the man who stood opposite, the flame from the candles flickering over his face with an odd effect of light and shadow, had after all come off the best in this horrible interview. "I--I suppose it's no use saying any more, Anstice. You know, after all"--in spite of his words he felt an irresistible inclination to justify himself--"you do owe me something----"

"Well? Have I denied it?" Now his tone was coldly dangerous. "I have promised to pay a debt which after all was incurred quite blamelessly; but if you expect me to enter into further details of the transaction, you are out in your reckoning."

"I see." Suddenly the resentment which Cheniston had felt for this man since their first meeting flamed into active hatred. "Well, I have your word, and that's enough. As you say, this is a business transaction, and the less said the better. Good night."

He turned abruptly away and plunged through the shadowy room towards the door. As he reached it, Anstice spoke again.

"Cheniston." There was a note in his voice which no other man of Anstice's acquaintance had ever heard. "In proposing this bargain, this payment of a debt, I think you show yourself a hard and a pitiless creditor. But if, in these circ.u.mstances, you fail to win Miss Wayne, I shall think you are a fool--a d.a.m.ned fool--as well. That's all. Good night."

Without, another word Cheniston opened the door and went out, letting it fall to behind him with a bang. And Anstice, left alone, extinguished both candles impatiently, as though he could not bear even their feeble light; and going to the open window stood gazing out over the starlit garden with eyes which saw nothing of the green peacefulness without.

And on the table, the big brown moth, scorched to death by his adored flame in the very moment of his most pa.s.sionate delight, fluttered his burnt wings feebly and lay still.

CHAPTER X

Having given Cheniston his word, Anstice set himself to carry out his share of the bargain with a thoroughness which did not preclude a very bitter regret that he had made this fatal promise.

As he had been of late in the habit of spending a good deal of time in the society of Iris Wayne, it was only natural that his absence should cause comment at Greengates; but while Lady Laura openly labelled Anstice as capricious and inclined to rate his own value too highly, Sir Richard more charitably supposed that the poor fellow was overworked; and Iris, after a day or two spent in futile conjecture as to the sudden cessation of his visits, accepted the fact of Anstice's defection with a composure which was a little hurt.

She had thought they were such friends. Once or twice she had even fancied he was beginning to like her--even to herself Iris would not admit the possibility of any return of liking on her side; and on the occasion of their meeting in the wayside cottage, when he had bandaged her wrist, he had spoken to her in a more confidential, more really intimate manner than he had ever before displayed.

In the weeks that followed that sudden leap into intimacy, they had been such good comrades, had enjoyed so many half-playful, half-serious conversations, had played so many thrilling tennis matches, that it was small wonder she had begun to look upon him as one of her most genuine friends; and his sudden absence hurt her pride, and made her wonder whether, after all, his friendliness had been merely a pretence.

Once or twice he met her in the village, but he only saluted her and hurried on his way; while the invitations which the ever-hospitable Sir Richard insisted on sending him were refused with excuses so shallow that even the good-natured host of Greengates refrained from comment.

The contrast between this ungracious behaviour and Bruce Cheniston's open delight in her society was strongly marked; and the friendliness of the younger man brought balm to Iris' sore heart, sore with the first rebuff of her budding womanhood. When Anstice failed her, refused her invitations, and appeared indifferent to her smiles, it was undoubtedly soothing to feel that in Cheniston she had a friend who asked nothing better than to be in her company at all hours, to do her bidding, and to pay her that half-laughing, half-earnest homage which was so delicate and sincere a tribute to her charms.

Anstice had spoken truly when he said the psychological moment was at hand. Until the day when his visits to Greengates ceased abruptly Iris had been inclined, ever so unconsciously, to look upon Anstice with a slightly deeper, more genuine regard than that which she gave to the other man; and had Anstice been able to seize the moment, to follow up the impression he had made upon her, it is possible she, would have listened to him with favour, and the tiny seed of affection which undoubtedly lay in her heart would have burst into a lovely and precious blossom which would have beautified and made fragrant the rest of their lives.

But Anstice might not seize the moment; and although Bruce Cheniston had hitherto taken the second place in Iris' esteem, when once she realized that Anstice had apparently no intention of renewing their late friendship she gently put the thought of him out of her heart and turned for relief to the man who had not failed her.

So matters stood on the morning of Iris' birthday, a glorious day in mid-July, when the gardens of Greengates were all ablaze with roses and sweet-peas, with tall white lilies whose golden hearts flung sweetest incense on the soft air, with great ma.s.ses of Canterbury bells and giant phlox making gorgeous splashes of colour, mauve and red and white and palest pink, against their background of velvet lawns and dark-green cedar trees.

This was the day on which Bruce Cheniston had decided to put his fortune to the test; and as he looked out of his window at Cherry Orchard and noted the misty blue haze which foretold a day of real summer heat, he told himself that on such a day as this there could be no need to fear a reverse in his present luck.

He whistled as he dressed, and when the breakfast-bell rang he went downstairs feeling at peace with himself and all the world.

"'Morning, Chloe. What a day!" He stooped and kissed his sister as he pa.s.sed behind her chair, and she looked faintly amused at the unusual salutation.

"Yes. A beautiful day." Her deep voice expressed little pleasure in the morning's beauty. "Are you going anywhere particular that the fine weather fills you with such joy?"

"No--only over to Greengates." He was so accustomed to making this reply that it came out almost automatically and certainly caused Chloe no surprise.