Rosa Mundi and Other Stories Part 7

Hope met his eyes steadily. She was evidently resolved to be weak no longer.

"It doesn't matter, does it?" she said.

He did not answer her; and again she had a feeling that he was offended.

There was a considerable pause before he spoke again. He seemed to be revolving something in his mind. Then at last, abruptly, he began to talk upon ordinary topics, and at once she felt more at her ease with him. They sat by the window after that for the best part of an hour; till, in fact, the return of her brother put an end to their _tete-a-tete_.

By those who were least intimate with the Carteret twins it was often said that in feature they were exactly alike. Those who knew them better saw no more than a very strong resemblance in form and colouring, but it went no farther. In expression they differed utterly. The boy's face lacked the level-browed honesty that was so conspicuous in the girl's.

His mouth was irresolute. His eyes were uncertain. Yet he was a good-looking boy, notwithstanding these defects. He had a pleasant laugh and winning manner, and was essentially kind-hearted, if swift to take offence.

He came in through the window, walking rather heavily, and halted just inside the room, blinking, as if the light dazzled him. Baring gave him a single glance that comprehended him from head to foot, and rose from his chair.

Again it seemed to Hope that she saw contempt upon his face; and a rush of indignation checked the quick words of welcome upon her lips.

Her brother spoke first, and his words sounded rather slurred, as if he had been running.

"Hullo!" he said. "Here you are! Don't get up! I expected to find you!"

He addressed Baring, who replied instantly, and with extreme emphasis:

"That I am sure you did not."

Ronnie started, and put his hand to his eyes as if confused.

"Beg pardon," he said, a moment later, in an odd tone of shame. "I thought it was Hyde. The light put me off. It--it's Major Baring, isn't it?"

"Yes; Baring." Baring repeated his own name deliberately; and, as by a single flash of revelation Hope understood the meaning of his contempt.

She stood as if turned to stone. She had often seen Ronnie curiously excited, even incoherently so, before that night, but she had never seen him like this. She had never imagined before for a single instant what now she abruptly knew without the shadow of a doubt.

A feeling that was like physical sickness came over her. She looked from Ronnie to Ronnie's major with a sort of piteous appeal. Baring turned gravely towards her.

"You will let me have a word alone with your brother?" he said quietly.

"I was waiting to see him, as you know."

She felt that he had given her a definite command, and she obeyed it mutely, almost mechanically. He opened the door for her, and she went out in utter silence, sick at heart.

V

MORE THAN A FRIEND

Two days later Hope received an invitation from Mrs. Latimer to join her at the Hill Station for a few weeks.

She hesitated, for her brother's sake, to accept it, but he, urged thereto by some very plain speaking from his major, persuaded her so strongly that she finally yielded.

Though she would not have owned it, Hope was, in fact, in sore need of this change. The heat had told upon her nerves and spirits. She had had no fever, but she was far from well, as her friend, Mrs. Latimer, realized as soon as she saw her.

She at once prescribed complete rest, and the week that followed was to Hope the laziest and the most peaceful that she had ever known. She was always happy in Mrs. Latimer's society, and she had no desire just then for gaiety. The absolute freedom from care acted upon her like a tonic, and she very quickly began to recover her usual buoyant health.

The colonel's wife watched her un.o.bserved. She had by her a letter, written in the plain language of a man who knew no other, and she often referred to this letter when she was alone; for there seemed to be something between the lines, notwithstanding its plainness.

As a result of this suspicion, when Hope rode back in Mrs. Latimer's _rickshaw_ from an early morning service at the little English church on the hill, on the second Sunday after her arrival, a big figure, clad in white linen, rose from a _charpoy_ in Mrs. Latimer's veranda, and stepped down bareheaded to receive her.

Hope's face, as she recognized the visitor, flushed so vividly that she was aware of it, and almost feared to meet his eyes. But he spoke at once, and thereby set her at her ease.

"That's much better," he said approvingly, as if he had only parted from her the day before. "I was afraid you were going on the sick-list, but I see you have thought better of it. Very wise of you."

She met his smile with a feeling of glad relief.

"How is Ronnie?" she said.

He laughed a little at the hasty question.

"Ronnie is quite well, and sends his love. He is going to have a five days' leave next week to come and see you. It would have been this week, but for me."

Hope looked up at him enquiringly.

"You see," he quietly explained, "I was coming myself, and--it will seem odd to you, of course--I didn't want Ronnie."

Hope was silent. There was something in his manner that baffled her.

"Selfish of me, wasn't it?" he said.

"I don't know," said Hope.

"It was, I a.s.sure you," he returned; "sheer selfishness on my part. Are we going to breakfast on the veranda? You will have to do the honours, I know. Mrs. Latimer is still in bed."

Hope sat down thoughtfully. She had never seen Major Baring in this light-hearted mood. She would have enjoyed it, but for the thought of Ronnie.

"Wasn't he disappointed?" she asked presently.

"Horribly," said Baring. "He turned quite green when he heard. I don't think I had better tell you what he said."

He was watching her quietly across the table, and she knew it. After a moment she raised her eyes.

"Yes; tell me what he said, Major Baring!" she said.

"Not yet," said Baring. "I am waiting to hear you tell me that you are even more bitterly disappointed than he was."

"I don't see how I can tell you that," said Hope, turning her attention to the coffee-urn.

"No? Why not?"

"Because it wouldn't be very friendly," she answered gravely.