Anthony Lyveden Part 37

At the first glance, the latter's dress was highly reminiscent of the warfare so lately dead. The shade and stuff of the stout breeches, the heavy ankle boots, the grey shirt-cuff emerging from the sleeve of the coa.r.s.e cardigan, were old familiar friends. The fact that Lyveden had laid aside his collar heightened the comparison. Only his gaiters struck a discordant note. These were of good box-cloth and b.u.t.toned from knee to ankle. Tight-fitting about the calf, but not shaped to the leg, they fell well over the tops of the heavy boots, resting, indeed, upon the insteps. They suited Anthony, for whom they might have been made, admirably. They were, moreover, a wholly redeeming feature, and turned his garb from that of a thousand corporals into the homely attire of a gentleman farmer. So soon as you saw them, you forgot the War. The style of them was most effective. It beat the spear into a pruning hook. With this to leaven them, the rough habiliments were most becoming. In a word, they supplied the very setting which manhood should have; and since Anthony, sitting there at his meat, was the personification of virility, they served, as all true settings should, by self-effacement to magnify their treasure. The ex-officer might have stepped out of Virgil's _Eclogues_.

He had finished his meal, cleared away the remains, set the table for breakfast, and was in the act of filling his pipe, when the Sealyham growled. Anthony, whose ears were becoming sharper every day, listened intently. The next moment came a sharp tapping upon the door. In an instant Patch was across the room, barking furiously....

Laying down his pipe and tobacco, Anthony followed the terrier and, picking him up in his arms, threw open the door.

"So you didn't bar it, after all," said a mocking voice. "Well, my conscience is clear. I warned you. And since you are at home and the door is open, will you extend your hospitality to a benighted Eve?"

Anthony stepped to one side.

"I'm all alone," he said hesitatingly.

"So am I," said Andre, entering. "Oh, what a lovely fire! I'm just perished," she added, crossing to spread her hands to the blaze. "It's not a night to be motoring."

Anthony shut the door and put the terrier down. The latter ran to the lady and sniffed the hem of her garments. After a careful scrutiny he turned away....

"It's not a night," said Anthony, "to be walking the countryside in evening dress. Have you had a breakdown?"

"Not that I know of," replied Miss Strongi'th'arm. "Don't be so modest. I happened to be pa.s.sing and I happened to see your light, so I thought I'd come and see how Adam was getting on. Is it against the rules?"

"I'm all alone," said Lyveden steadily.

"Is that an order to quit?"

"I'm only thinking of you," said Anthony. "I know I've dropped out of things lately, and the world goes pretty fast, but I'd hate people to talk about you." He felt himself flushing, and went on jerkily: "I mean, I don't honestly know what's done nowadays and what isn't. If you're quite easy ... you see, I'm older than you," he added desperately.

There was a little silence. Then--

"Don't stop," said Andre, with a mischievous smile. "I've never been lectured by a monk before. Besides, I collect points of view."

"Is mine extraordinary?"

"An exceptionally rare specimen. I shall always treasure it." She produced a cigarette case. "May I smoke a cigarette? Or is that also against the rules?"

Without a word Anthony struck a match....

"Thanks," said the lady. She unb.u.t.toned her coat. "It's nice and warm in here," she added comfortably. "Oh, please don't look so reproachful! I just can't bear it. I'm not doing anything wrong, and it makes me feel awful. Of course, if you don't want me..."

"You know it isn't that," he protested. "I only thought possibly--I mean..." He broke off helplessly and touched the back of a chair.

"Wouldn't you like to sit down?"

"Shall you sit down if I do?" Anthony shook his head. "Then I shan't either. I'd much rather stand." And, with that, my lady set her back against the side of the fireplace and crossed her shapely ankles.

It must be confessed that she made an arresting picture. Mean as the light was, it woke the luminous beauty of her auburn hair; a sprinkling of freckles gave to her exquisite complexion a jolly look; the bright brown eyes and the merry mouth were those of a Bacchante. Above her plain black frock her throat and chest showed dazzling white; below, the black silk stockings shone with a l.u.s.tre which was not that of silk alone; over all, the voluminous mink coat framed her from head to toe with a rich luxury.

"And how," said Andre, "is Gramarye? Have you finished the bridge?"

Anthony stared at her.

"How did you know?" he said.

Miss Strongi'th'arm shrugged her fair shoulders.

"What does it matter?" she said. "Let's talk about something else--if you can. Have you thought over what I said? No. I can see you haven't. Well, well.... Have you laughed since we met?"

"I--I don't think I have."

"Ah.... Why not?"

"There's been nothing to laugh at. The work's big--serious."

"Wasn't the War serious?"

Anthony crossed to the hearth and kicked a log into flame.

"I suppose so," he said reluctantly.

"Yet you laughed every day."

"Yes, but----"

"But what?"

"The War was different. You can't compare the two. Then you laughed because it was better than crying. Now there's no reason for it.

There's no time on your hands. The work's too urgent--too solemn.

It's like restoring a cathedral. You don't feel you want to laugh."

He swung round and faced her. "There's a religion in the atmosphere; Gramarye's a sort of temple; when you're in the woods, instinctively you lower your voice; there's something sacred about the place; there's----"

Miss Strongi'th'arm dropped her cigarette and caught her _vis-a-vis_ by the shoulders.

"Don't!" she cried. "Don't! It's all wrong! The place isn't sacred.

It's absurd. You're infatuated. Gramarye's getting into your blood.

Soon you won't be able to think of anything else. And gradually it'll eat up your life--your splendid, glorious life. I know what I'm talking about. D'you hear? I say I _know_! I've seen one man go under, and now you're going--_you!_" The flame died out of her voice leaving it tender and pa.s.sionate. "And you're too wonderful a thing, lad; you're too perfect a specimen; you're too strong and gentle ...

too honest.... Ah"--her hands slipped from his shoulders and her eyes dropped--"you needn't look so reproachful. I know I'm a rotter. I dropped my crop on purpose the other day, because I wanted to talk to you; and I lied to my mother and said I was dining out to-night, and then came here, because..." Anthony put out an appealing hand. The girl laughed bitterly. "All right. I won't say it." She started feverishly to fasten her coat. "It's about time I was going, isn't it?

About time...."

In silence Anthony pa.s.sed with her to the door.

There was simply nothing to say.

Together they walked to her car, a well-found coupe standing dark and silent upon the wasted track, facing the London road. Andre opened its door, thrust in a groping hand.... For a moment her fingers hunted.

Then two shafts of light leaped from the head-lamps. A second later the near side-lamp showed Anthony how pale was her face....

The lights in the car went up, and Andre picked up her gloves.

Standing with her back to Lyveden, she pulled them on fiercely, but her hands were shaking, and the fastening of the straps was a difficult business.

Patch, who had come with them and was facing the opposite way, put his head on one side and stared up the line of the track. Then he trotted off into the darkness....

The straps fastened, Andre turned about.