Second String Part 49

"Yes. You thought this--this sort of thing would really be the best."

"I was thinking of Miss Wellgood. Of course, for poor Harry--Wellgood's a dangerous enemy!" He paused a moment. "And the thing's so bad. He wasn't square with either of them, and they're both in love with him, I suppose!"

"This woman here in love with him? Really? Not only for the match?"

"I think so."

"I'm sorry for her then. She'd much better not be! Oh, I daresay he'll marry her. How much will that mean with Harry Belfield?"

Feeling in less danger of breaking her record, she loosed her hold of Andy's hand. He rose.

"I must be off. I've a lot to do to-morrow. Gilly'll have to look after the office. I've got to see Mr. Belfield among other things; and Harry wants me to see Vivien Wellgood--and, well, try to say something for him."

"Just like him! He breaks the pitcher and leaves you to sweep up the pieces!"

"Well, he can't see her himself, can he?"

"He'd make love to her again if he did. You may be sure of that!"

The door opened, and Sally Dutton came in in her dressing-gown, with her pretty hair all about her shoulders.

"She's asleep--sound asleep. So I--may I stay a few minutes with you, Doris? I--I've got the blues awfully badly." She came to the Nun and knelt down beside her. Suddenly she broke into a torrent of sobs. Andy heard her say through them, "Oh, it reminds me--!"

Doris looked at him and nodded. "I shall see you soon in London, Andy?"

He pressed her hand and left the two girls together.

Gilly Foot was smoking a reflective pipe outside the door; he had possessed himself of the key and sent the sleepy "Boots" to bed. Andy obtained leave of absence for the morrow.

"Rather a disturbed evening, eh, Andy?" said Gilly, smoking thoughtfully. "Lucky it didn't happen till we'd done supper! Fact is one doesn't like to say it of an old friend--but Harry Belfield's no good."

Andy had a whimsical idea that at such a sentiment the stones of Meriton High Street would cry out. The pet and the pride of the town, the man of all accomplishments, the man who was to have that wonderful career--here he was being cavalierly and curtly dismissed as "no good."

"Come, we must give him another chance," Andy urged.

Gilly knocked out his pipe with an air of decision.

"Rotten--rotten at the core, old boy, that's it," he said, as with a nod of good-night he entered the precincts of the Lion.

Andy Hayes was sore to the heart. He had thought that a catastrophe such as this, a "row," would be the best thing--the best for Vivien Wellgood.

He was even surer of it now--even now, when to think of the pain she suffered sent a pang through his heart. But what a light that increased certainty of his threw on Harry Belfield! And, as he said to himself, trudging home from the Lion, Harry had always been a part of his life--in early days a very big part--and one of the most cherished.

Harry's hand had been the source whence benefits flowed; Harry's example had been an inspiration. Whatever Harry had done now, or might do in the future--that future now suddenly become so much less a.s.sured, so much harder to foresee--the great debt remained. Andy did not grudge "sweeping up the pieces." Alas, that he could not mend the broken pitcher! Sore as his heart was for the blow that had fallen on Vivien--on her so frail that the lightest touch of adversity seemed cruel--yet his sorest pain was that the blow came from Harry Belfield's hand. That filled him with a shame almost personal. He had so identified himself with his friend and hero, he had so shared in and profited by the good in him--his kindness, his generosity, his championship--that he could not rid himself of a feeling of sharing also in the evil. In the sullying of Harry's honour he saw his own stained--even as by Harry's high achievements he would have felt his own friendship glorified.

"Without Harry I should never have been where or what I am." That was the thought in his mind, and it was a sure verity. Harry had opened the doors, he had walked through. Whatever Harry had done or would do with his own life, he had done much for his friend's, and done it gaily and gladly. Doris Flower might chide and despair; Gilly Foot's contemptuous verdict might dismiss Harry to his fate. That could not be Andy's mood nor Andy's att.i.tude. Grat.i.tude forbade despair; it must be his part still to work, to aid, to shelter; always, above all, to forgive, and to try--at least to try--to comprehend.

Love or friendship can set no higher or harder task than in demanding the comprehension of a temperament utterly diverse, alien, and incompatible. That was the task Andy's heart laid on his brain. "You must not give up," was its command. Others might take their pleasure in Harry's gifts, might enjoy his brilliance, or reap benefit from his ready kindness--and then, when trouble came, pa.s.s by on the other side.

There was every excuse for them; in the common traffic of life no more is asked or expected; men, even brilliant men, must behave themselves at their peril. Andy did not stand so. It was his to try to a.s.sess Harry's weakness, and to see if anywhere there could be found a remedy, a b.u.t.tress for the weak wall in that charming edifice. Such a pity if it fell down, with all its beauties, just because of that one weak wall!

But, alas, poor Andy was ill-fitted for this exacting task of love's. He might tell himself where his duty lay; he might argue that he could and did understand how a man might have a weak spot, and yet be a good man--one capable of useful and high things. But his instinct, the native colour of his mind, was all against these arguments. The shame that such a man should do such things was stronger. The weak spot seemed to spread in ever-widening circles; the evil seemed more and more to invade and infect the system; the weak wall doomed the whole edifice. Reason, argue, and pray for his friend as he might, in his inmost mind a voice declared that this day had witnessed the beginning of the end of the Harry Belfield whom he had loved.

"Harry Belfield's no good!" "How are the mighty fallen and the weapons of war perished!"

Chapter XXI.

THE EMPTY PLACE.

Belfield rubbed his hands against one another with a rueful smile. "Yes, yes, he's a hard fellow. He's hard on us; hard in taking a course that makes scandal inevitable. Meriton High Street will be breast-high in gossip about the midnight expulsion in a few hours. And hard in this--I suppose I'm not ent.i.tled to call it persecution--this punishment with which he threatens Harry. Still, if a man had treated my daughter in that way, and that daughter Vivien--" He spread out his hands, and added, "But then he's always been as hard as nails to the poor girl herself. You think there's that other motive? If you're right there, I put my foot in it once." He was thinking of certain hints he had given Wellgood at dinner one evening.

"There's no doubt about it, I think, sir, but it doesn't help us much.

It may show that Wellgood's motives aren't purely paternal, but it doesn't make matters better for Harry."

"It's terribly awkward--with us at one end of the town and Nutley at the other. Most things blow over, but"--he screwed up his face wryly--"meeting's awkward! And there's the politics! Wellgood's chairman of his a.s.sociation. Oh, Harry, Harry, you have made a mess of it! I think I'll go and talk it over with Meriton--make a clean breast of it and see what he says. He might be able to keep Wellgood quiet. You don't look as if you thought there was much chance of it."

"I don't know whether Harry would come back and face it, even if Wellgood were managed. A tough morsel for his pride to swallow! And if he did, could he bring her--at all events so long as Miss Wellgood's at Nutley? Yet if they marry--and I suppose they will--"

"I think we may take it that he'll marry her. The boy's ungoverned and untrustworthy, but he's not shabby, Andy." A note of pleading for his son crept into his voice.

"It's the right thing for him to do, but it'll make it still more difficult to go on as if nothing had happened. However I hope you will see Lord Meriton and get his opinion."

"I should like you to talk to Wellgood and find out what his terms really are. I can't ask favours of him, but I want to know exactly where we stand. And Vivien--no, I must write to her myself, poor dear girl.

Not a pleasant letter to write." He paused a moment and asked, with an air of being rather ashamed of the question, "Is the sinner himself very desperate?"

"Last night he was, I think; at any rate terribly angry with himself, and--I'm afraid I must add--with his bad luck. When I saw him off this morning he was in one of his defiant moods, saying he could get on without Meriton's approval, and wishing the whole place at the devil."

"Yes, yes, that's Harry! Because he's made a fool--and worse--of himself, you and I and Meriton are to go to the devil! Well, I suppose it's not peculiar to poor Harry. And you saw him off? I can't thank you for all your kindness, Andy."

"Well, sir, if a man can feel that way, I'd almost rather have done the thing myself! I've got to ask her to see me on his behalf."

Belfield shook his head. "Not much to be said there. And I've got to tell my wife. Not much there either."

"I'm afraid Mrs. Belfield will be terribly distressed."

"Yes, yes; but mothers wear special spectacles, you know. She'll think it very deplorable, but it's quite likely that she'll find out it's somebody else's fault. Wellgood's, probably, because she never much liked him. If it helps her, let her think so."

"It was partly his fault. Why didn't he own up about Miss Vintry?"

"Not much excuse, even if you'd been the trespa.s.ser. With Harry engaged to Vivien, no excuse at all. How could it be in any legitimate way Harry's business what Wellgood wanted of Isobel Vintry? Still it may be that the argument'll be good enough for his mother."

"Well, sir, I'll see Wellgood to-day, and let you know the result. And Miss Wellgood too, if she'll see me. I positively must go to London to-morrow."

"Yes, yes. You go back to work, Andy. You've your own life. And that pretty girl, Miss Flower--does she go back too?"

"She goes this afternoon. And Billy Foot with them, I think."

"Yes, so he does. I forgot. Give her my love. I'd come and give her a nosegay at the station, only I don't feel like facing people to-day." He sighed wearily. "A man's pride is easily hit through his children. And I suppose we've cracked Harry up to the skies! Nemesis, Andy, Nemesis!

There, good-bye. You're a thorough good fellow."