Anthony Lyveden Part 13

She had not recognized him, then, that night with his livery on. Fool!

He might have known that she would not--could not hobn.o.b with a lackey.

Instead of combating her statement, he made some knock-kneed reply....

For setting wheels within wheels, you cannot match Fortune. After all, she has made trochilics her hobby through all the ages. Look at her handiwork here. Jill knows Jack for a flunkey and seeks to dissemble her knowledge, for fear of bruising his heart. As for Jack, when Jill stumbles upon his secret, he curses his luck: now that he believes it inviolate, he is in despair.

Tea was served to them in a quiet parlour. It being their first meal together, their friendship should have grown fat. Instead, it lost weight steadily. They were ill at ease--both of them. To make things worse, Anthony began to feel that he was an impostor.

He walked with her to the village and sent his telegram. Later they dined together. They dared not go far away, and the landlord of a neighbouring inn was persuaded to serve eggs and bacon. This he did with an ill grace, and, that there might be no mistake about his annoyance, charged for it in the bill. Anthony paid the amount as if it were nothing, and Valerie French writhed....

Afterwards they strolled in the garden and sat upon the veranda. The hours which should have been so wonderful went by lack-l.u.s.tre. Between the two a phantom barrier had been set up.

As ten o'clock was striking, Valerie was fetched.

When the summons came, they were in the garden, and she left Anthony without a word. Desperately sorry for her, miserably fearful for himself, he followed as far as the steps of the veranda....

Twenty-five minutes pa.s.sed, perhaps half an hour. Then there was movement in the chamber. A door was opened. The lights, which had been low, were turned up.

A moment later Valerie appeared at the window, putting on her gloves.

As she came to the steps, Anthony rose out of the shadows.

"May I see you back to the village?" he said.

She just inclined her head.

They pa.s.sed in silence out of the starlit garden on to a pale grey road. The hedgerows on either side loomed up out of the darkness, blacker than night. A lane led down to the village, leaving the road on the left. It was the shortest path. As Lyveden started to turn, Valerie laid a hand on his arm.

"Not that way," she said unsteadily. "It was our last walk together--Joe's and mine."

Then she burst into tears.

In a flash the barrier that had stood between them was done away.

Anthony put his arm about her instinctively. She caught at his shabby lapel and clung to it, sobbing piteously. They must have stood so for five minutes or more.

When she was better, they walked on slowly, Anthony talking as naturally as if she had been his sister. All his constraint was gone.

"Don't I know how you feel? Oh, my dear, I'm so grieved for you. I know, I know.... Everything you do, every way you turn, calls up some piteous memory. But it'll pa.s.s, dear, very soon.... Time's very merciful...."

They came to the sleeping village and the door of the house where she was to pa.s.s the night.

"Sleep well," said Anthony, and put her hand to his lips.

Valerie dared not speak. For a second she hesitated, inarticulate.

Then she leaned over and set her cheek against his.

The next instant she was gone.

Patch turned the corner of danger just before c.o.c.k crow.

With his heart singing, Lyveden went for a walk. He chose the old way--the way he had trod so often with Patch by his side and Valerie in his heart. My lady had filled his cup. The knowledge that Patch would live had set it br.i.m.m.i.n.g. He saw the dawn up and felt jubilant. He found new beauties of Nature at every step. His sympathy with my lady was a thing detached. It could not cloud his happiness. Eaton Square was forgotten. There were only she and he and Patch in all the world....

He came to _The Leather Bottel_, borrowed a razor of an old groom, and presently took a bath under a pump. Later he sat long over a joyous breakfast.

When he came back to the Home, there was Valerie. She just ran to meet him.

"I'm so glad, I'm so glad," she said. Then her lip quivered, and she turned away.

Anthony's heart smote him for his late selfishness. For as good cause to congratulate her, he would have given anything.

They went up to Town together by the same train.

The feverish haste with which she climbed into "a third" was almost comical.

Arrived at the terminus, Lyveden handed her out. Since it was Sunday morning, the station was quiet. Indeed, except for a crowd of "theatricals"----

Anthony remembered the roses which Lord Pomfret had told him to purchase with an unpleasant shock.

As if a switch had been turned, all the uncertainty of his future rose up in a cold black wave. The hopelessness of their friendship stood out brutally. The thought that he was an impostor came pelting back, to set his ears burning and--the barrier that had stood between them crashed again into place.

Mechanically he saw her into a cab and told the driver to go to a house in Mayfair. Then he took off his hat.

"I hope," he said lamely, "I hope you'll get home all right."

Valerie looked at him curiously. Then she put out her hand.

"I shall never forget your kindness," she said gently.

When Anthony, some fifty minutes later, opened the front door to admit Lord Pomfret into his father's house, he saw that his hour was come.

For a moment the youth glared at him with the eyes of a snake. Then--

"Oh, you're back, are you?" he snarled.

He entered the house, and Anthony closed the door.

"I'm very sorry, my lord, about the roses." He held out the two pound notes. "I entirely forgot them."

Lord Pomfret s.n.a.t.c.hed the notes out of his hand.

Anthony turned to go.

"Here!" Anthony stopped in his stride, hesitated, and then turned back.

"What d'you mean, 'you forgot'? It's a lie. This is the second time you've let me down, you wash-out. And if you think----"

"My lord, I tell you----"