Captain Desmond, V.C. Part 12

"No, no. We won't make mountains out of molehills, eh, Ladybird? Kiss and be friends! like a good child, and get to bed as fast as possible.

Mackay will be here soon, and you'll be best out of the way."

He drew her down and kissed her forehead. Then, as she slipped silently away through his study, and on into the bedroom beyond, he lay back with a sigh in which relief and weariness were oddly mingled.

He was devoutly thankful when the arrival of James Mackay dispelled his disturbing train of thought.

CHAPTER VIII.

STICK TO THE FRONTIER.

"We know our motives least in their confused beginning."

--BROWNING.

Honor sat alone in the drawing-room, a basket of socks and stockings at her elbow, her thoughts working as busily as her needle. This girl had reduced the prosaic necessity of darning to a fine art; and since Evelyn's efforts in that direction bore an odd resemblance to ill-constructed lattice windows, Honor had taken pity on the maltreated garments very early in the day.

Evelyn herself was at the tennis-courts, with the Kresneys and Harry Denvil, a state of things that had become increasingly frequent of late; and a ceaseless murmur of two deep voices came to Honor's ears through the open door of the study, where Desmond was talking and reading Persian with his friend Rajinder Singh.

Honor enjoyed working to the accompaniment of that sound. It had grown pleasantly familiar during the past week, in which Desmond had been cut off from outdoor activities. When the Persian lesson was over, he would come in to her for a talk. Then there would be music, and possibly a game of chess; for Desmond was an enthusiastic player. They had spent one or two afternoons in this fashion already, since the night of the fire; and their intimacy bid fair to ripen into a very satisfying friendship.

To the end of time, writers and thinkers will continue to insist upon the impossibility of such friendships; and to the end of time, men and women will persist in playing with this form of fire. For it is precisely the possibility of fire under the surface which lends its peculiar fascination to an experiment old as the Pyramids, yet eternally fresh as the first leaf-bud of spring.

In the past five years Honor had established two genuine friendships with men of widely different temperaments; and she saw herself now--not without a certain quickening of heart and pulse--in a fair way to establishing a third.

The hum of voices ceased; there were footsteps in the hall; a few hearty words of leave-taking from the Englishman, and two minutes later he stood before her, his left sleeve hanging limp and empty; the arm and shoulder strapped tightly into place beneath the flap of his coat.

"Not gone out yet?" he said, a ring of satisfaction in his tone.

"Going to join Ladybird at the club later on?"

"No. As she had this engagement I stayed at home in case you might be glad to have some one to 'play with' after your long lesson was over."

"Just like you!" he declared, with a touch of brotherly frankness, which was peculiarly pleasing to this brother-loving girl. "I've been rather overdoing the Persian this week. You must give me some Beethoven presently. And if you really mean to 'play with' me you must also leave off looking so aggressively industrious."

His eyes rested, in speaking, on the rapid movement of her needle, and he became suddenly aware of the nature of her work.

"Look here, Honor," he exclaimed. "I draw the line at that! Ladybird ought not to allow it. We've no right to turn you into a domestic drudge."

"Ladybird--as you so delightfully call her--knows me far too well to try and stop me when she sees I mean to have my own way! Shall you mind if I go shares in your special name for her? It suits her even better than her own."

"Yes, it seems to express her, somehow--doesn't it?"

An unconscious tenderness invaded his tone, and his glance turned upon a panel photograph of his wife in her wedding-dress that stood near him on the mantelpiece. Watching it thus, he fell into a thoughtful silence, which Honor made no attempt to break. Speaking or silent his companionship was equally acceptable to her: and while she awaited his pleasure a great hole, made by the removal of one of Evelyn's "lattice windows," filled up apace.

Of a sudden he turned from the picture, and, drawing up a low chair, sat down before her, leaning a little forward, his elbow resting on his knee. The urgency and gravity of his bearing made her at once lay down her work.

"Honor," he began, "I'm bothered ... about Ladybird, ... that's the truth. I wonder if I can speak without fear of your misunderstanding me?"

"Try me! I am only too glad to help her in any way."

His intense look softened to a smile.

"You've made that clear enough already. I begin to wonder what she will do when John comes back to claim you again. You so thoroughly understand her, and thoroughly--love her."

"She is a creature born to be loved."

"_And_ to be kept happy," he added very quietly. "But the vital question is whether that is at all possible in Kohat, or in any other of our stations; for Kohat is by no means the worst. She hates the place, doesn't she? She's counting the days to get away to the Hills.

You know you can't look me straight in the face and say she is happy here."

The unexpected attack struck Honor into momentary silence. Desmond was fatally quick to perceive the shadow of hesitation, transient as a breath upon gla.s.s; and when she would have spoken he silenced her with a peremptory hand.

"Don't perjure yourself, Honor. Your eyes have told me all I wanted to know."

Distress gave her a courage that surprised herself.

"Indeed they have done nothing of the kind! You ask a direct question, and you are bound in fairness to hear my answer. The life here is still very new to Evelyn, and she has not quite found her footing yet;--that is all. I have had it from her own lips that the place matters very little to her so long as she is--with you; and you go too far in saying that she is not happy here."

But her words did not carry conviction. He was still under the influence of his wife's curious aloofness since the night of the fire.

"You're trying to let me down gently, Honor," he said, with a rather cheerless smile. "And you may as well save yourself the trouble.

Only--this is where you must _not_ misunderstand me, please,--no shadow of blame attaches to Ladybird if she isn't happy. I had no right to bring her up to this part of the world, knowing it as I did; and I've no right to keep her here. That's the position, in a nutsh.e.l.l."

"Do you mean you ought to--send her away?"

"No--_take_ her away."

Honor started visibly.

"But--surely--that's impossible?"

"I think not," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone that distressed her more keenly than any display of emotion. "It's merely a question of facing facts. If I had money enough, I could throw up the Army and take her home. But, as matters stand, I can only do the next best thing, and give up--the Frontier, by exchanging into a down-country regiment."

"_The Frontier...!_ Theo! Do you realise what you are saying?"

"Perfectly."

"Oh, but it's folly--worse than folly! To give up what you have worked for all these years--the men who worship you--your friends, the regiment----"

"They would survive the loss. I don't flatter myself I'm indispensable. Besides, this isn't a question of me or my friends. I am thinking of Ladybird."

The coolness of his tone, and the set determination of his mouth, chilled her fervour like a draught of cold air.

"Oh, if only Major Wyndham were here!" she murmured desperately.

"Thank G.o.d he is not! And if he were, it would make no difference. I shouldn't dream of discussing such a matter with him or--any of them.

When my mind is made up, I shall tell him; that is all."

He rose as though the matter were ended; but Honor had no mind to let him shut the door upon it--yet.