The Moving Finger Part 43

He took up his hat.

"No!" he remarked. "One sees easily enough that there are things in your past, Rachael. Sometimes the memory may burn. You see, I am living through those days now. The fire has hold of me, and not all the knowledge I have won, not all the dim coming secrets, from before the face of which some day I will tear aside the veil, not all the experiences through which I and I alone have pa.s.sed, can help me to-day. So perhaps," he added, turning toward the door, "I am a little reckless."

Rachael let him depart without uttering a word. She turned in her chair to watch him cross the square. He was drawing on his light kid gloves. His silk hat was a mirror of elegance. His gold-headed stick was thrust at exactly the right angle under his arm. He swaggered a little--a new accomplishment, and he had the air of one who is well aware that he graces the ground he treads upon.

The woman looked away from him, and with a slow, painful movement her head drooped a little until it reached her hands. A slight shiver seemed to pa.s.s through her body. Then she was still, very still indeed. It seemed to her that she could see the end!

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

"YOU DO NOT BELIEVE IN ME!"

Saton deliberately turned into the Park, and sauntered along under the trees in the wake of a throng of fashionable promenaders. He exchanged greetings with many acquaintances, and here and there he stopped to say a few words. He noted, as usual, and with a recurrence of his constant discontent, the extraordinary difference in the demeanor of the women and the men of his acquaintance. The former, gracious and smiling, accepted him without reservation. Their murmured words and smiles were even more than gracious. On the other hand, there was scarcely a man whose manner did not denote a certain tolerance, not unmixed with contempt, as though, indeed, they were willing to accept the fact that he was of their acquaintance, but desired at the same time to emphasize the fact that he was outside the freemasonry of their cla.s.s--a freak, whom they acknowledged on sufferance, as they might have done a wonderful lion-tamer, or a music-hall singer, or a steeplejack. He knew very well that there was not one of them who accepted his qualifications, notwithstanding the approval of their womankind, and the knowledge stung him bitterly.

Presently he came face to face with Lois, walking with Vandermere.

His face darkened for a moment. He had expressed his desire that she should see as little of this young man as possible, and here they were, not only walking together, but laughing and talking with all the easy naturalness of old acquaintanceship.

Saton drew a little breath of anger through his teeth as he paused and waited for them. He recognised the terms of intimacy upon which they were. He recognised that between them there was something which had never existed between Lois and himself, something which made their friendship a natural and significant thing. It was the freemasonry of cla.s.s again, the magic ring against which he had torn his fingers in vain.

They saw him. The whole expression of the girl's face changed. All the animation seemed to leave her manner. For a moment she clung instinctively to her companion. Afterwards she looked at him no more.

She came to Saton at once, and held out her hand without any show of reluctance, yet wholly without spontaneity. It was as though she was obeying orders from a superior.

"Only this morning," he said, "the Comtesse was speaking of you, Lois.

She was so sorry that you had not been to see her lately."

"I will come this afternoon," Lois said quietly.

Vandermere, who had frowned heavily at the sound of her Christian name upon Saton's lips, could scarcely conceal his anger at her promise.

"I have never had the pleasure," he said, "of meeting the Comtesse.

Perhaps I might be permitted to accompany Miss Champneyes?"

"You are very kind," Saton answered. "I am sorry, but the Comtesse is beginning to feel her age, and she receives scarcely anyone. I am afraid that the days are past when she would care to make new acquaintances."

"In any case," Vandermere said, turning to his companion, "weren't we going to Hurlingham this afternoon?"

"We were," she said doubtfully, "but I think----"

She looked towards Saton. His face was inexpressive, but she seemed to read there something which prompted her words.

"I think that we must put off Hurlingham, if you do not mind," she said to Vandermere. "I ought to go and see the Comtesse."

"It is very kind of you," Saton said slowly. "She will, I am sure, be glad to see you."

Vandermere turned aside for a moment to exchange greetings with some acquaintances.

"Lois," Saton said in a low tone, "you know I have told you that I do not like to see you so much with Captain Vandermere."

"I cannot help it," she answered. "He is always at the house. He is a great friend of Mr. Rochester's. Besides," she added, raising her eyes to his, "I like being with him."

"You must consider also my likes and dislikes," Saton said. "Think how hard it is for me to see you so very little."

"Oh, you don't care!" Lois exclaimed tremulously. "You know very well that you don't care. It is all pretence, this. Why do you do it? Why do you make me so unhappy?"

"No, Lois," he answered, "it is not pretence. I do care for you, and in a very few weeks I am coming to fetch you away to make you my wife.

You will be glad, then," he went on. "You will be quite happy."

Vandermere turned back towards them. He had heard nothing of their conversation, but he saw that Lois was white, and he had hard work to speak calmly.

"Come," he said to Lois, "I think we had better go on. Good morning, Mr. Saton!"

Saton stood aside to let them pa.s.s. He knew very well that Lois would have stayed with him, had he bidden it, but he made no attempt to induce her to do so.

"Till this afternoon," he said, taking off his hat with a little flourish.

"Hang that fellow!" Vandermere muttered, as he looked at Lois, and saw the change in her. "Why do you let him talk to you, dear? You don't like him. I am sure that you do not. Why do you allow him to worry you?"

"I think," Lois answered, "that I do like him. Oh, I must like him, Maurice!"

"Yes?" he answered.

"Don't let us talk about him. He has gone away now. Come with me to the other end of the Park. Let us hurry...."

Saton walked on until he saw a certain mauve parasol raised a little over one of the seats. A moment afterwards, hat in hand, he was standing before Pauline.

"Has he come?" she asked, as he bent over her fingers.

Saton's face clouded.

"Yes!" he answered. "He came last night. To tell you the truth, he has just gone away in a temper. I do not know whether he will return to the house or not."

"Why?" she asked quickly.

Saton laughed to cover his annoyance.

"He does not approve of the luxury of my surroundings," he answered.

"He declined to write at my desk, or to sit in my room."

"I don't wonder at it," she answered. "You know how he worships simplicity."

"Simplicity!" Saton exclaimed. "You should see the place where he writes himself. There is no carpet upon the floor, a block of wood for a writing-table, a penny bottle of ink, and a gnawed and bitten penholder only an inch or two long."

Pauline nodded.

"I can understand it," she said. "I can understand, too, how your rooms would affect him. You should have thought of that. If he has gone away altogether, how will you be able to finish your work?"