Betty Trevor Part 15

What are your chief faults? I ought to know, oughtn't I, so as to be able to set to work the right way?"

She was so deliciously naive and outspoken, that once again Miles' rare laugh rang out, and once again Betty marvelled, and felt a thrill of envy.

By the time that the Albert Hall was reached, the two young people had progressed so far towards intimacy that Miles had forgotten his shyness, and confided to his new mentor some of the trials and grievances which beset him in his work, the which he had never before confided in a human being. The attraction of one s.e.x to another is a natural and beautiful thing. G.o.d designed it as one of the great forces in His universe, and an almost omnipotent power it is, either for good or evil. Do the girls who jest and frivol with the young men with whom they are brought in contact, realise their responsibility in all they say and do? Do they ever reflect that the beauty and charm which they possess are weapons with which G.o.d has endowed them,--weapons which may have more power in the battle of life than a two-edged sword? Laugh and be merry--enjoy the sunshine of your youth; it is a sin to see a young thing sad; but never, never, as you value your womanhood, speak a slighting or irreverent word against G.o.d's great laws of righteousness, nor allow such a word to pa.s.s unreproved in your presence. Remember in the midst of your merry-making to preserve your dignity as women, knowing that by so doing you will not lose, but trebly strengthen your hold on any man worthy of the name. Say to yourself, dear girls--"With G.o.d's help I will be a good angel to this man, who has to meet trials and temptations from which I am exempt. So far as in me lies I will make him respect all women, and help, not hinder him in his work." It isn't necessary to be prim and proper--don't think that! The Misses Prunes and Prisms, who are always preaching, weary rather than help, but when the bright, sweet-natured girl, who loves a joke, and can be the whole-hearted companion of a summer day, speaks a word of reproof, or draws back from a proposed enterprise, her action carries with it a treble weight of influence.

When the whole party were seated in the box--Miss Beveridge and Betty in the front row, Cynthia and governess number two in the second, and the two "men" at the back--Miles had little attention to spare for the music, so absorbed was he in gazing at Cynthia's delicately-cut profile, and in weaving about her the halo of a young man's first romance. There was no romance in the two girls; they were absorbed in admiration of the wonderful building itself, in enjoyment of the music, and in anxiety to do their duty to dear Mrs Vanburgh's "Govies," as they irreverently termed Miss Beveridge and her companion. Even when on pleasure bent, the former could not be called "responsive." When asked, "Do you like music?" she replied curtly, "No! I teach it!" which reduced the questioner to stupid silence, though her thoughts were active enough.

"Oh, indeed! That's one for me, as I am a pupil still! It's the stupidity of pupils which has made her dislike music, but then--why does she come to a concert? Why couldn't she have had the decency to refuse, and let someone else have the ticket? Oh, I do dislike you--you cold,-- cutting, disagreeable, ungrateful, snappy old thing!"

Betty sat back in her chair and let her eyes rest on Miss Beveridge's profile, as that lady in her turn stared fixedly at the orchestra. She was wearing quite "a decent little toque," and had taken pains with the arrangement of her hair. Betty was at the stage when she imagined that it was impossible that life could retain any interest after the age of thirty, but it dawned upon her now that, at some far-off, prehistoric period, Miss Beveridge had been handsome--even very handsome, which made her present condition all the more pitiable. Suppose, just suppose for a moment, that one became old and lonely, and poor and plain and snappy, oneself! It was too horrible a prospect to be believed; much more satisfactory to take refuge in the usual rose-coloured dreams!

The Royal Box was close at hand--empty, unfortunately, of interesting occupants. How would it feel to be a princess, and loll back in one's chair, conscious of being the cynosure of every eye? Betty lolled, and tried to project herself into the position, pleasingly conscious of a new blouse, quite immaculate suede gloves, and Cynthia's buckle showing its dull blues and reds at the front of her belt. She turned her head slowly from side to side, and cultivated a charming smile.--"Princess Elizabeth appeared in the Royal Box, looking as fascinating as ever in a costume of her favourite grey.--"

The musical programme was interesting and varied, but during the second half of the concert the cheerfulness of the scene was sadly marred by the ever-increasing fog which crept in from without, filling the vast interior with a gloom against which the many lights seemed powerless to contend. Dr Trevor began to feel a little nervous about the safety of his party, and suggested making a move before the end of the concert, but Miss Beveridge insisted that she and her friend needed no escort home.

"It would have to be a very bad fog to frighten us. We are accustomed to going about town in all weathers," she declared, and this was so obviously the case that it seemed affectation to protest. The doctor therefore explained that as he was in charge of Cynthia he wished to allay her mother's natural anxiety as soon as possible, and the young people bade farewell to their guests of the afternoon and hurried downstairs.

Early though it was, hundreds of people seemed to have been inspired by the same fears, for the stairway was thronged and the pa.s.sages downstairs were becoming momentarily blocked. Dr Trevor tucked Cynthia's hand through his arm.

"Look after your sister, Miles," he cried, turning a quick glance over his shoulder. "I'm afraid it's very thick. Keep close behind me if you can. In any case make the best of your way home."

A moment later they pa.s.sed through the doorway into a world of black gloom, in which phantom shapes at one moment pressed against one, and at the next vanished utterly from sight.

Betty gave a little cry of dismay, for, London-bred as she was, never before had she been out of doors in such an impenetrable fog. She put out her hand towards the spot where Miles had stood a moment before, but her fingers gripped nothing more substantial than air. She gave a quick leap forward, and clutching at a shadowy coat-sleeve shook it violently, calling out in accents half-frightened, half-angry--

"Miles, how horrid of you! You must not stalk on ahead like that! I shall be lost, and then what will become of me? For pity's sake keep hold of my arm!"

She had walked a few paces forward as she spoke, but now she stopped short, in response to a determined movement of the arm to which she clung. Betty glanced upwards in surprise; she could not see the face so near to her arm, but the blood chilled in her veins as a strange voice answered slowly--

"But--I'm sorry, but I do not happen to be Miles!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

LOST IN THE FOG.

The feeling of despair, of helplessness, of desolation, which overcame Betty at that moment, remained with her as a poignant memory to the end of her life. She was lost, as hopelessly lost as if she had been in the midst of a solitary waste, though close at hand, perhaps only a few yards away, were her own father and brother, the latter no doubt desperately searching for her. Dr Trevor would make the best of his way home with Cynthia, knowing his son to be as good a guide as himself.

Poor old Miles! He would have a bad time of it when he arrived home alone;--yet he had not been to blame, for she herself had refused to take his arm before leaving the Hall. "It looked so silly!" She had intended to take it the moment they were in the street, but even that one moment had been too long. As she heard the stranger's voice she turned in a panic of fear, and tried to drag her hand from his arm, but he held her tightly, saying, with an odd mixture of weariness and impatience--

"Don't be foolish! You can do no good by running away. You can never find your friends again in this blackness. Tell me where you want to go, and I'll try to help you."

Betty trembled helplessly.

"But I must--I must try! It's a long way off--across the Park. Father is here, and my brother, and some friends. I'll go back to the Hall-- they may go there to look for me."

"Look round!" said the strange voice, and Betty turned her head and stared in amazement, for the great building had vanished as completely as had Miles himself, and nothing was to be seen but a wall of darkness.

On every side she heard the movement of invisible forms, but their very unreality added to the sense of desolation which possessed her. It was terrible even to think of venturing alone through the ghost-like ranks.

Instinctively she clung more closely to her companion's arm, and, as if recognising her feelings, his voice took a gentler, more rea.s.suring tone.

"Don't be afraid. I had a sister of my own once. You can trust me to see you safely home. I am afraid it is no earthly use trying to find your friends among all the thousands who are leaving the Hall. Better tell me where you live, so that we can get there as soon as the rest of your party, and save them needless alarm. Across the Park, you said?

The gates will be closed, of course, and in any case that would be the last route to take. Tell me your exact address."

"Brompton Square--we turn off at Stanhope Terrace, just past the Lancaster Gate Station. It is one of those squares lying between the Park and Edgware Road."

"I know, I know. Its a long walk, but perhaps it will get lighter as we go on. These dense fogs are often very local. Keep tight hold of my arm, please. If we are once separated, it might not be easy to meet again."

"No, indeed! I could not have believed it was so easy to get lost. My brother was beside me one instant, the next--it was your coat-sleeve! I hope I did not shake it too violently! I was so nervous and frightened I did not think what I was doing."

She laughed as she spoke, her youthful spirits beginning to a.s.sert themselves again, as her confidence was a.s.sured. The face of her companion was unknown, but the tone of that quite, "Don't be afraid, I had a sister of my own," had put an end to her fears. Here was an adventure indeed--a full-fledged adventure! In antic.i.p.ation she felt the joys of relating her experiences to a breathless audience in the schoolroom, and thrilled with importance. The stranger did not echo her laugh, however, but merely murmured a few words of conventional disclaimer and relapsed into silence. Betty could hear him sigh now and then as they made their way onward--slowly feeling the way from point to point through the eerie, all-enveloping gloom. Sometimes a brief question to a link-boy would a.s.sure them that they were still on the right road; sometimes they wandered off the pavement and were suddenly aware of the champing of horses dangerously near at hand; sometimes for a minute or two they stood still, waiting to find a clue to their position; but through all the strange man preserved an unbroken silence, until Betty's nerve gave way again, and she cried in plaintive, child- like fashion--

"Oh, please would you mind talking a little bit! I'm frightened. It's like a dreadful nightmare, feeling one's way through this darkness--and when you are so silent, I feel as if you were a ghost like all the rest, instead of a real live man."

"I wish I were!" returned the stranger bitterly. Then recovering himself with an effort, "I beg your pardon," he said. "I am afraid I have been very remiss. To tell the truth, I was lost in my own thoughts when you came to me a few minutes ago, and I am afraid I had gone back to them, and forgotten that I had a companion!"

Forgotten! Forgotten her very existence! A young man rescues a beauteous maid--really and truly she had looked unusually well in all her smart Christmas farings--from a position of deadly peril, and straightway forgets her very existence! This part of the story, at least, must be omitted from the home recital. Betty pursed her lips in offended dignity, but in the end curiosity got the better of her annoyance, and she said tentatively--

"They must have been very nice thoughts!"

"Nice!"

The foolish girl's word was repeated in a tone of bitterest satire.

"Interesting, then?"

"In so far as the last of anything is interesting, be the beginning what it may!"

"The last!" It was Betty's turn to play the part of echo, as she stared in amazement at the shadowy form by her side. "How could they be your last thoughts? You seem quite well and strong. It isn't possible to go on living and not to think."

"No, it is not, and therefore when thoughts become unbearable--"

He stopped short, and Betty felt a thrill of foreboding. The strange silence, followed by the hopeless bitterness in the stranger's voice, seemed to bespeak some trouble of overwhelming magnitude, and, viewed in that light, his last words admitted of only one conclusion. Life had become unbearable, and therefore he had decided to end it. Hitherto Betty had carelessly cla.s.sed all suicides as mad; but this man was not mad; he was, on the contrary, remarkably sane and quiet in manner! He was only so hopelessly, helplessly miserable that it did not seem possible to endure another day's existence. Betty thrilled with a strange new feeling of awe and responsibility. The hidden strength of her nature, which had come to her as the result of being brought up to womanhood in a household dedicated to G.o.d and His Christ, broke through the veneer of youthful folly, and came triumphantly to the surface.

Her nervous fear dropped from her like a mantle, and she was possessed by a burning longing to comfort and save. In the midst of the fog and darkness G.o.d had sent to her a great opportunity. She rose to it with a dignity which seemed to set the restless, self-centred Betty of an hour ago years behind. Her fingers tightened on the stranger's arm; she spoke in firm, quiet tones.

"I can guess what you mean! Forgive me for teasing you with my silly questions when you are in such trouble. Do you think you could tell me what it is? It seems a strange thing to ask, but I am no real person to-night. I am just a shadow that has come out of the fog. I have not even a face or a name. You might speak to me as safely as to the air itself, and it might be a relief to put it into words. It is so sometimes when one is in trouble."

There was a moment's silence, then--

"Thank you," he said in a softened voice. "It's kind of you to think of it. You might have condemned me at once, as not fit to speak to a girl like you. You are only a girl, aren't you? Your voice sounds very young."

"Yes, only eighteen--nearly eighteen. But my father is a doctor, so I am always being brought near to sad things, and sometimes I feel quite old. I think I could understand if you told me your trouble."

"Suppose it was not so much sorrow as sin? What then? What can you at eighteen--'nearly eighteen'--know of that? You could not understand if I did speak."

"Oh yes, I could. I sin myself--often!" cried Betty, with a swift remembrance of all those little things done or left undone which made the failure of her home life. "A girl living at home, with a father and a mother to look after her, has no temptation to any big thing, but it's just as bad, if she is idle and selfish and ungrateful, and I am all three together many times over. I'd be too proud to say that to you if I saw your face and knew your name; but, as I said before, we are only shadows in a dream to-night. It doesn't matter what we say. Tell me your trouble, and let me try to understand. It isn't because I am curious--it isn't really! Do you believe that?"

"Yes," he said instantly, "I do! Poor child, you want to help; but I am past that. I have ruined my own life and the life of the man who has been my best friend. I have had my chance--a better chance than is given to most men--and I have made an utter failure of it. If I--went on, it would mean starting again from the very beginning, with the stigma of failure to hinder me at every turn--a hopeless fight."