_ PART II CHAPTER III. DESPAIR
"If I had known that this was going to happen, I would never have troubled to cultivate their acquaintance," said Lady Grace fretfully. "I knew of course that that artful little minx was running after the man, but that he could ever be foolish enough to let himself be caught in such an obvious trap was a possibility that I never seriously contemplated."
"It doesn't matter to me," said Rose.
She had said it many times before with the same rather forced smile. It was not a subject that she greatly cared to discuss. The news of Dinah's conquest had come like a thunderbolt. In common with her mother, she had never seriously thought that Sir Eustace could be so foolish. But since the utterly unexpected had come to pass, it seemed to her futile to talk about it. Dinah had secured the finest prize within reach for the moment, and there was no disputing the fact.
"The wedding is to take place so soon too," lamented Lady Grace. "That, I have no doubt, is the doing of that scheming mother of hers. What shall we do about going to it, Rose? Do you want to go, dear?"
"Not in the least, but I am going all the same." Rose was still smiling, and her eyes were fixed. "I think, you know, Mother," she said, "that we might do worse than ask Sir Eustace and his party to stay here for the event."
"My dear Rose!" Lady Grace gazed at her in amazement.
Rose continued to stare into space. "It would be much more convenient for them," she said. "And really we have no reason for allowing people to imagine that we are other than pleased over the arrangement. We shall not be going to town before Easter, so it seems to me that it would be only neighbourly to invite Sir Eustace to stay at the Court for the wedding. Great Mallowes is not a particularly nice place to put up in, and this would be far handier for him."
Lady Grace slowly veiled her astonishment. "Of course, dear; if you think so, it might be managed. We will talk to your father about it, and if he approves I will write to Sir Eustace--or get him to do so. I do not myself consider that Sir Eustace has behaved at all nicely. He was most cavalier about the Hunt Ball. But if you wish to overlook it--well, I shall not put any difficulty in the way."
"I think it would be a good thing to do," said Rose somewhat enigmatically.
The letter that reached Sir Eustace two days later was penned by the Colonel's hand, and contained a brief but cordial invitation to him and his following to stay at Perrythorpe Court for the wedding.
He read it with a careless smile and tossed it over to Scott. "Here is magnanimity," he commented. "Shall we accept the coals of fire?"
Scott read with all gravity and laid it down. "If you want my opinion, I should say 'No,'" he said.
"Why would you say No?" There was a lazy challenge in the question, a provocative gleam in Sir Eustace's blue eyes.
Scott smiled a little. "For one thing I shouldn't enjoy the coals of fire. For another, I shouldn't care to be at too close quarters with the beautiful Miss de Vigne again, if I had your very highly susceptible temperament. And for a third, I believe Isabel would prefer to stay at Great Mallowes."
"You're mighty clever, my son, aren't you?" said Eustace with a supercilious twist of the lips. "But--as it chances--not one of those excellent reasons appeals to me."
"Very well then," said Scott, with the utmost patience. "It is up to you to accept."
"Why should Isabel prefer Great Mallowes?" demanded Sir Eustace. "She knows the de Vignes. It is far better for her to see people, and there is more comfort in a private house than in a hotel."
"Quite so," said Scott. "I am sure she will fall in with your wishes in this respect, whatever they are. Will you write to Colonel de Vigne, or shall I?"
"You can--and accept," returned Sir Eustace imperially.
Scott took a sheet of paper without further words.
His brother leaned back in his chair, his black brows slightly drawn, and contemplated him as he did it.
"By the way, Scott," he said, after a moment, "Dinah's staying here need not make any difference to you in any way. She can't expect to have you at her beck and call as she had in Switzerland. You must make that clear to her."
"Very well, old chap." Scott spoke without raising his head. "You're going to meet her at the station, I suppose?"
"Almost immediately, yes." Eustace got up with a movement of suppressed impatience. "We shall have tea in Isabel's room. You needn't turn up. I'll tell them to send yours in here."
"Oh, don't trouble! I'm going to turn up," very calmly Scott made rejoinder. He had already begun to write; his hand moved steadily across the sheet.
Sir Eustace's frown deepened. "You won't catch the post with those letters if you do."
Scott looked up at last, and his eyes were as steady as his hand had been. "That's my business, old chap," he said quietly. "Don't you worry yourself about that!"
There was a hint of ferocity about Sir Eustace as he met that steadfast look. He stood motionless for a moment or two, then flung round on his heel. Scott returned to his work with the composure characteristic of him, and almost immediately the banging of the door told of his brother's departure.
Then for a second his hand paused; he passed the other across his eyes with the old gesture of weariness, and a short, hard sigh came from him ere he bent again to his task.
Sir Eustace strode across the hall with the frown still drawing his brows. An open car was waiting at the door, but ere he went to it he turned aside and knocked peremptorily at another door.
He opened without waiting for a reply and entered a long, low-ceiled room through which the rays of the afternoon sun were pouring. Isabel, lying on a couch between fire and window, turned her head towards him.
"Haven't you started yet? Surely it is getting very late," she said in her low, rather monotonous voice.
He came to her. "I prefer starting a bit late," he said. "You will have tea ready when we return?"
"Certainly," she said.
He stood looking down at her intently. "Are you all right today?" he asked abruptly.
A faint colour rose in her cheeks. "I am--as usual," she said.
"What does that mean?" Curtly he put the question. "Why don't you go out more? Why don't you get old Lister to make you up a tonic?"
She smiled a little, but there was slight uneasiness behind her smile. Her eyes had the remote look of one who watches the far horizon. "My dear Eustace," she said, "_cui bono_?"
He stooped suddenly over her. "It is because you won't make the effort," he said, speaking with grim emphasis. "You're letting yourself go again, I know; I've been watching you for the past week. And by heaven, Isabel, you shan't do it! Scott may be fool enough to let you, but I'm not. You've only been home a week, and you've been steadily losing ground ever since you got back. What is it? What's the matter with you? Tell me what is the matter!"
So insistent was his tone, so almost menacing his attitude, that Isabel shrank from him with a gesture too swift to repress. The old pathetic furtive look was in her eyes as she made reply.
"I am very sorry. I don't see how I can help it. I--I am getting old, you know. That is the chief reason."
"You're talking nonsense, my dear girl." Impatiently Eustace broke in. "You are just coming into your prime. I won't have you ruin your life like this. Do you hear me? I won't. If you don't rouse yourself I will find a means to rouse you. You are simply drifting now--simply drifting."
"But into my desired haven," whispered Isabel, with a piteous quiver of the lips.
He straightened himself with a gesture of exasperation. "You are wasting yourself over a myth, an illusion. On my soul, Isabel, what a wicked waste it is! Have you forgotten the days when you and I roamed over the world together? Have you forgotten Egypt and all we did there? Life was worth having then."
"Ah! I thought so." She met his look with eyes that did not seem to see him. "We were children then, Eustace," she said, "children playing on the sands. But the great tide caught us. You breasted the waves, but I was broken and thrown aside. I could never play on the sands again. I can only lie and wait for the tide to come again and float me away."
He clenched his hands. "Do you think I would let you go--like that?" he said.
"It is the only kindness you can do me," she answered in her low voice of pleading.
He swung round to go. "I curse the day," he said very bitterly, "that you ever met Basil Everard! I curse his memory!"
She flinched at the words as if they had been a blow. Her face turned suddenly grey. She clasped her hands very tightly together, saying no word.
He went to the door and paused, his back towards her. "I came in," he said then, "to tell you that the de Vignes have offered to put us up at their place for the wedding. And I have accepted."
He waited for some rejoinder but she made none. It was as if she had not heard. Her eyes had the impotent, stricken look of one who has searched dim distances for some beloved object--and searched in vain.
He did not glance round. His temper was on edge. With a fierce movement he pulled open the door and departed. And behind him like a veil there fell the silence of a great despair. _