The Keeper of the Door Part 64

"I've never seen more than one," said Nick, "so it would appear to be a more artful dodger than you took it for. I don't see friend dragon-fly anywhere about."

She shuddered suddenly and convulsively. "No, and I hope he isn't here.

Do you know what he made me think of? Max; so strong, so merciless, and so horribly clever."

"I'm clever too," said Nick modestly.

"Oh, but in a different way," protested Olga.

Again his quick eyes flashed over her. "I think you are rather hard on Max myself," he said unexpectedly.

"I?" said Olga.

"Yes, you, my dear. You've no right to regard him in that unwholesome light. He doesn't deserve it. He is quite a decent sort; a little too managing perhaps, but that's just his way. You might go further and fare much worse."

He paused, but Olga said no word. She only palpitated against his arm.

He continued after a moment with the quick decision characteristic of him. "I'm not going to pursue the subject, but just this once--in justice to the man--I must have my say. You asked me once if I liked him, and I was not in a position to tell you. I will tell you now. I like him thoroughly. He's a man after my own heart, straight and clean and staunch. If you ever want someone to trust--trust him! He'd stand by you to perdition."

"Oh, do you think that of him, Nick?" she said, as one incredulous.

"Yes, dear, I do," said Nick. "Well, that's all I have to say. Suppose we begin to crawl back!"

But Olga waited a moment, watching with fascinated eyes the speck of scarlet that still trembled in the sunshine. It fluttered from sight at last, and with a sigh she turned.

"I wonder if it got away!" she murmured again, as if to herself. "I do wonder!"

But to Max, in spite of Nick's spirited eulogy, she made no further reference.

Nick dined at his brother's house at Weir that evening, alone with Max Wyndham. The boys had gone back to school, and the house was almost painfully quiet. Even Nick seemed to feel a certain depression in the atmosphere, for his cheerful chatter was decidedly fitful, and when he and Max were seated opposite to one another smoking it ceased altogether.

Out of a long silence came Max's voice. "When did you say you were starting for the East?"

"Three weeks next Friday," said Nick.

Max grunted, and the silence was renewed.

It was Nick's voice, cracked and careless, that next broke the spell. He seemed to speak on the edge of a laugh. "It's just six years ago since the woman I wanted went to India. Curious, isn't it?"

"What's curious?" said Max.

Nick explained, still with a suspicion of humour in his words: "Well, the funny part of it was that she hoped and believed she was going to get away from me. However, I viewed the matter otherwise, and--I followed her."

"Did you though?" said Max. "And how did the lady take it? Was she pleased?"

"My dear chap, she didn't know." The laugh was more apparent now. Nick removed his cigar to indulge it. "I was most careful not to get in her way, you understand. I was simply there--if wanted."

"And events proved you justified, I suppose?" Max sounded interested after a cynical and quite impersonal fashion.

"They did," said Nick. His own elastic grin appeared for an instant and was gone. "Events can generally be trimmed to suit your purpose," he said, "if you are sufficiently in earnest."

"That has not been my experience," observed Max briefly.

"Perhaps you haven't tried," said Nick.

Silence descended once more, and Nick was rude enough to fall asleep.

An hour later he awoke with extreme alertness in response to a remark from Max as to the lateness of the hour.

"Yes, by Jove," he said. "I must be getting back. By the way, Wyndham, did I mention to you that Sharapura is the name of the place we are going to? It's quite an interesting corner of the Empire, and declared by medical experts to be a top-hole neighbourhood for studying malaria."

"Is that a recommendation?" asked Max grimly.

Nick's smile was geniality itself. "It is," he answered; "a very strong recommendation." He thrust out a friendly hand. "Good-night, my son, and good luck to you!"

Max's grip was hard and sustained. He looked into the grinning, humorous face, and almost in spite of himself his own mouth took a humorous twist.

"So that's what you came to say, is it?" he said. "Well, good-night, you old rotter, and--thanks!"

Nick mounted his horse and rode back in the moonlight, singing a tuneless but very sentimental love lyric to the stars.

Part II

CHAPTER I

COURTSHIP

"It must be great fun gettin' married," said the chief bridesmaid pensively to the best man. "Why don't you go and get married, Noel?"

"I'm going to," said Noel.

"Oh, are you?" with suddenly-awakened interest. "Soon?"

Noel screwed up his Irish eyes and laughed. "In twelve years or thereabouts."

"Oh!" A pair of wide blue eyes regarded him attentively. "Twelve years is a very long time," observed the chief bridesmaid gravely.

"It is, isn't it?" said Noel, with a large sigh.

"P'raps you'll be dead then," suggested the chief bridesmaid.

"What a jolly idea! P'raps I shall. In that case, the marriage will not take place."