Peter's Mother Part 28

"But you'll come back?"

"I have to account for my stewardship when Peter comes of age in the autumn," he said, smiling down upon her.

She was too quick of perception not to know that strength, and courage, too, were needed for the smile wherewith John strove to hide a disappointment too deep for words. He answered the look she gave him; a look which implored forgiveness, understanding, even encouragement.

"I'm not yielding a single inch of my claim upon you when the time comes, my darling; only I think, with you, that the time has not come yet. I think Peter may reasonably expect to be considered first for the present; and that you should be free to devote your whole attention to him, especially as he has such praiseworthy intentions.

We will postpone the whole question until the autumn, when he comes of age; and when I shall, consequently, be able to tackle him frankly, man to man, and not as one having authority and abusing that same," he laughed. "Meantime, we must be patient. Write often, but not so often as to excite remark; and I shall return in the autumn."

"To stay?"

"Ah!" said John, "that depends on you."

He had not meant to be satirical, but the slight inflection of his tone cut Lady Mary to the heart.

Her vivid imagination saw her conduct in its worst light: vacillating, feeble, deserting the man she loved at the moment she had led him to expect triumph; dismissing her faithful servant without his reward.

Then, in a flash, came the other side of the picture--the mother of a grown-up son--a wounded soldier dependent on her love--seeking her personal happiness as though there existed no past memories, no present duties, to hinder the fulfilling of her own belated romance.

"Oh, John," said Lady Mary, "tell me what to do? No, no; don't tell me--or I shall do it--and I mustn't."

"My darling," he said, "I only tell you to wait." He rallied himself to speak cheerfully, and to bring the life and colour back to her sad, white face.

"Just at this moment I quite realize I should be a disturbing element, and I am going to get myself out of the way as quickly as politeness permits. And you are to devote yourself to Peter, and not to be torn with self-reproach. If we act sensibly, and don't precipitate matters, n.o.body need have a grievance, and Peter and I will be the best of friends in the future, I hope. There is little use in having grown-up wits if we s.n.a.t.c.h our happiness at the expense of other people's feelings, as young folk so often do."

The twinkle in his bright eyes, and the kindly humour of his smile, restored her shaken self-confidence.

"Oh, John, no one else could ever understand--as you understand. If only Peter--"

"Peter is a boy," said John, "dreaming as a boy dreams, resolving as a boy resolves; and his dreams and his resolutions are as light as thistledown: the first breath of a new fancy, or a fresh interest, will blow them away. I put my faith in the future, in the near future.

Time works wonders."

He stooped and kissed her hands, one after the other, with a possessive tenderness that told her better than words, that he had not resigned his claims.

"Now I'll go and offer my congratulations to the hero of the day,"

said John. "I must not put off any longer; and it is quite settled that our secret is to remain our secret--for the present."

Then he stepped out on to the terrace, and Lady Mary looked after him with a little sigh and smile.

She lifted a hand-mirror from the silver table that stood at her elbow, and shook her head over it.

"It's all very well for him, and it's all very well for Peter," she said; "but Time--Time is _my_ worst enemy."

CHAPTER XIII

Sarah Hewel ran into the drawing-room before Lady Mary found courage to put her newly gained composure to the test, by joining the crowd on the terrace.

"Oh, Lady Mary, are you there?" she cried, pausing in her eager pa.s.sage to the window. "I thought you would be out-of-doors with the others!"

"Sarah, my dear!" said Lady Mary, kissing her.

"I--I saw all the people," said Sarah, in a breathless, agitated way, "I heard the news, and I wasn't sure whether I ought to come to luncheon all the same or not; so I slipped in by the side door to see whether I could find some one to ask quietly. Oh!" cried Sarah, throwing her arms impetuously round Lady Mary's neck, "tell me it isn't true?"

"My boy has come home," said Lady Mary.

Sarah turned from red to white, and from white to red again.

"But they said," she faltered--"they said he--"

"Yes, my dear," said Lady Mary, understanding; and the tears started to her own eyes. "Peter has lost an arm, but otherwise--otherwise,"

she said, in trembling tones, "my boy is safe and sound."

Sarah turned away her face and cried.

Lady Mary was touched. "Why, Sarah!" she said; and she drew the girl down beside her on the sofa and kissed her softly.

"I am sorry to be so silly," said Sarah, recovering herself. "It isn't a bit like me, is it?"

"It is like you, I think, to have a warm heart," said Lady Mary, "though you don't show it to every one; and, after all, you and Peter are old friends--playmates all your lives."

"It's been like a lump of lead on my heart all these months and years," said Sarah, "to think how I scoffed at Peter in the Christmas holidays before he went to the war, because my brothers had gone, whilst he stayed at home. Perhaps that was the reason he went. I used to lie awake at night sometimes, thinking that if Peter were killed it would be all my fault. And now his arm has gone--and Tom and Willie came back safely long ago." She cried afresh.

"It may not have been that at all," said Lady Mary, consolingly. "I don't think Peter was a boy to take much notice of what a goose of a little girl said. He felt he was a man, and ought to go--and his grandfather was a soldier--it is in the blood of the Setouns to want to fight for their country," said Lady Mary, with a smile and a little thrill of pride; for, after all, if her boy were a Crewys, he was also a Setoun. "Besides, poor child, you were so young; you didn't think; you didn't know--"

"You always make excuses for me," said Sarah, with subdued enthusiasm; "but I understand better now what it means--to send an only son away from his mother."

"The young take responsibility so lightly," said Lady Mary. "But now he has come home, my darling, why, you needn't reproach yourself any longer. It is good of you to care so much for my boy."

"It--it isn't only that. Of course, I was always fond of Peter," said Sarah; "but even if I had nothing to do with his going"--her voice sounded incredulous--"you know how one feels over our soldiers coming home--and a boy who has given his right arm for England. It makes one so choky and yet so proud--I can't say all I mean--but you know--"

"Yes, I know," said Lady Mary; and she smiled, but the tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"And what it must be to _you_," sobbed Sarah, "the day you were to have been so happy, to see him come back like _that_! No wonder you are sad. One feels one could never do enough to--to make it up to him."

"But I'm far more happy than sad," said Lady Mary; and to prove her words she leant back upon the cushions and cried.

"You're not," said Sarah, kneeling by her; "how can you be, my darling, sweet Lady Mary? But you _must_ be happy," she said; and her odd, deep tones took a note of coaxing that was hard to resist. "Think how proud every one will be of him, and how--how all the other mothers will envy you! You--you mustn't care so terribly. It--it isn't as if he had to work for his living. It won't make any real difference to his life. And he'll let you do everything for him--even write his letters--"

"Oh, Sarah, Sarah, stop!" said Lady Mary, faintly. "It--it isn't that."

"Not that!" said Sarah, changing her tone. She pounced on the admission like a cat on a mouse. "Then why do you cry?"

Lady Mary looked up confused into the severely inquiring young face.

Sarah's apple-blossom beauty, as was to have been expected, had increased a thousand-fold since her school girl days. She had grown tall to match the plumpness of her figure, which had not decreased.

Her magnificent hair showed its copper redness in every variety of curl and twist upon her white forehead, and against her whiter throat.