Regiment Of Women Part 65

"Alwynne? Never! She's as sound and sweet as an apple. But--and it means a good deal at her age--she's in abnormal hands. Clare Hartill is abnormal, spiritually perverse--and she's fastened on the child. They adore each other. It's terribly bad for Alwynne. As it is, it will take her months to shake off Clare's influence, even with you to help her.

That is, if you succeed in detaching her. I'm useless, of course.

Loving--just loving--is no good. You can only influence if you are strong enough to wound. I merely irritate. I'm weak. But you could do as you like, I believe. Take her away from that selfish woman, Roger! It's blighting her."

"You think," he said, "that she would be content with me--with marriage as a career? Of course, Miss Hartill's right about her talents."

"Alwynne? I don't think--I know. All her gifts are so much surface show; she's a very simple child underneath. Content? Can't you see her, Roger--with children? Her own babies?"

Roger beamed.

"It's rather a jolly prospect. Well, I must take my chance."

"Of course, you must wait; it's too soon yet. Even later, if Clare really wants her--wants her enough to suppress her own perverse impulses--I'm afraid you've little chance. But it's possible that she will not want her as much as that."

"I don't follow."

"I mean that Clare, with that impish nature of hers, may hurt Alwynne."

"I should think she has already, often enough."

"Yes--but Alwynne has never realised it, never realised that it was deliberate. She is always so sure that it was her fault somehow. If once she found out that Clare was hurting her for--for the fun of it, you know--for the pleasure of watching her suffer--as I'm sure she does--it might end everything. Alwynne hates cruelty. That poor child's death shook her. A little more, and she will be disillusioned."

"But loyal still?"

"Probably. But the glamour would be gone. She would be extremely unhappy. There your chance would come. Though I don't think Clare will give it you--for I believe Alwynne does mean more to her than most things. But she's an unaccountable person: there is the chance."

"I see," Roger rose and straightened himself. "Practically I'm not to depend on my own--attractions--at all." He laughed a little. "I am to watch the whims of this--this unpleasant school-marm, and be grateful to her for forcing Alwynne to prefer my deep sea to her devil. The situation is hardly dignified."

Elsbeth laughed too.

"Love is always undignified, Roger. What does it matter if you want her?" But she watched him anxiously as he walked to the window, and stood staring out.

There was a silence. At last he turned--

"Elsbeth, dear, it's a beautiful scheme, and a woman could carry it through, I daresay--but it's no good to me. It's too--too tortuous, too feminine. I don't mean anything rude. It's merely that I'm not--subtle enough, or patient. At least, I haven't got that cat-and-mouse kind of patience. I can wait, you know. That's different. I can wait all right.

But I can't intrigue."

Elsbeth flushed.

"There is no intrigue. It's a question of understanding Alwynne and of using the opportunity when it comes."

"To trick and surprise and over-persuade her into caring for me! It's no good, Elsbeth. It isn't possession I want--it's Alwynne. Can't you see?

We should neither of us be happy. She would always distrust me and remember that I'd taken an advantage. I should end by hating her, I believe. Can't you see?"

Elsbeth was shaken by her own thoughts.

"I see," she said finally. "And I see that you don't love her--or you'd take her on any terms."

"Would you?"

"Yes."

"Well, I wouldn't. And I do love her. But I want Alwynne on my terms. Do I sound an awful prig? Cousin Elsbeth, hear my way! I'm going to have it out with Alwynne."

"At once?"

"At once. As soon as I see her--no beating about the bush."

"Roger--she may be utterly out of the mood."

"Hang moods! I beg your pardon, Elsbeth. But I'm going to tell her--certain things. If she doesn't like it I'm going back to Dene.

She'll know where to find me when she changes her mind. Elsbeth, don't look so hopeless."

"You don't understand Alwynne."

"I don't want to understand her--I want to marry her. I must stick to my own way. Can't you conceive that all this consideration, all this deference to moods and dissection of motives, this horribly feminine atmosphere that she seems to have lived in, of subtleties, and reservations, and simulations--may be bad for her? It seems to me that she's always being thought about. You, with your anxious affection--that unholy woman with her lancet and probe--you neither of you leave her alone for a second. She's always being touched. Well, I'm going to leave her alone. It gives her a chance."

"I've never spoiled her." Elsbeth was off at a tangent.

"I'm sure of it. I can remember Father holding you up to Mother once. He said you were the most judicious woman with children that he knew."

"Did he?" said Elsbeth.

"Mother was awfully annoyed." Roger chuckled. "I'd been bawling for my fourth doughnut--and got it."

"I've never spoiled Alwynne," repeated Elsbeth tonelessly.

"No one could," remarked Roger with conviction.

Elsbeth looked up and laughed at him.

"So you are human!" she said. "I was beginning to doubt it."

"When I get on the subject of Alwynne's adorableness----" he laughed back at her, "we're obviously cousins, aren't we? But, really, I've been trying to be detached, and critical, and a.n.a.lytical, and all the things you feel are important. I wanted to see what you meant, Cousin Elsbeth; and I do see that we both want the same thing. But as to the means--I believe I must go my own way."

She eyed him doubtfully. But he looked very big and solid in the little room, comfortingly sure of himself.

"You think me a frantic old clucking hen, don't you? And are just a little sorry for the duckling."

"I think you're a perfect dear," said Roger.

"You'll come to-morrow? Alwynne will be back, I hope."

"What time is she likely to turn up?"

"About four, if she comes. She would lunch with Clare, I expect."

He nodded whimsically.

"Very well. To-morrow, at four precisely, there will be a row royal.