_ PART I CHAPTER XII. THE PAL
Nick's letter to his wife was written that morning while Olga lay on the study-sofa, comfortably lazy for once, and listened to the scratching of his pen.
The boys had been sent to church, Violet was again devouring a book and smoking Major Hunt-Goring's cigarettes in the hammock, and all was very quiet.
"I suppose I had better write to Jim too," Nick said, as he looked up at length from his completed epistle.
"I was just thinking I would," said Olga.
"No. Writing is strictly prohibited by your medical adviser." Nick grinned over his shoulder. "I'll send him a line myself."
"Don't let him be worried about me," said Olga. "I really don't know why I'm being so lazy. I feel quite well."
"And look--charming," supplemented Nick.
"Don't be silly, dear! You know I'm as hideous as--"
"As I am? Oh, no, not quite, believe me. I always pride myself I am unique in that respect. Now you mustn't talk," said Nick judiciously, "or you will spoil my inspiration. Who's that going across the lawn?"
He was writing rapidly as he spoke. Olga raised herself on her elbow to look.
"How on earth did you know? I never heard anyone. Oh!"
"What's the matter?" said Nick.
"It's Major Hunt-Goring!"
Nick ceased to write and peered into the garden. "It's all right. He's only violeting. An interesting pastime!" He turned unexpectedly and gave her one of his shrewd glances. "You don't seem pleased," he observed.
"Oh, Nick, he's so hateful! And--and Violet actually likes him."
"Every woman to her taste," said Nick. "Why shouldn't she?"
Olga was silent.
Nick returned to his writing. "I'll go and kick him for you if you like," he said. "Let me just finish my letter to Jim first, though, or it may never get written."
His pen resumed its energetic progress, and Olga fell into a brown study.
Half an hour later Nick turned swiftly and looked at her. Her eyes met his instantly.
"Not asleep?" he said.
"No, Nick. Only thinking."
"What about?"
"India," said Olga.
He got up and came and sat on the edge of the sofa. "Look here, kiddie," he said, "if you've thought better of it, just mention the same before I post these letters. I shall understand."
She smiled at him, her quick, sweet smile. "Nick, you're a darling! But I haven't."
"Quite sure?" said Nick.
"Quite sure," she replied with emphasis.
He looked a little quizzical. "By the way, did you ask Max--what you wanted to know?"
She knew that she coloured, but she faced him notwithstanding. "No, I didn't. I decided it wasn't important enough."
"Oh, all right," said Nick. He got up. "Now can I trust you to lie quietly here while I go and post these letters?"
"Of course you can," she said.
"I shan't be more than five minutes," he said, turning to the door.
She watched him go, and then closed her eyes, slightly frowning. She wished with all her heart that Major Hunt-Goring had not seen fit to come again, even though it was obviously her friend and not herself that he had come to see.
She was still pondering the unpleasant subject when the housemaid suddenly presented herself at the open door.
"Cook wants to know what she's to do about the raspberries, miss."
"Raspberries!" said Olga, with a start. "Oh, I'm afraid they're done for. It's no good thinking about them. I will go round to-morrow, and see if there are any left worth having. But I expect they will all be spoilt by this hot sun."
The girl looked at her, slightly mystified. "But they've been gathered, miss. Didn't you know? Cook thought you had done them yourself before you took ill."
Olga put her hand to her head. "No, I didn't. I hadn't finished. I dropped them all too."
"Well, they're in the pantry now, miss, and cook was wondering if she hadn't better start the jam first thing in the morning."
"Who brought them in?" asked Olga quickly.
The housemaid didn't know. She departed to ask.
Olga leaned back again on her cushions. She was growing a little tired of inactivity, notwithstanding the undeniable languor that had succeeded the previous day's headache.
The sound of voices in the hall outside, however, dispelled her boredom almost before she had time to recognize it. She suddenly remembered Max's pal, and started up in haste to smooth her rumpled hair. Surely Max would not be so inconsiderate as to bring him straight in to her without a moment's preparation!
This was evidently his intention, however, for she heard their footsteps drawing nearer, and she was possessed by a momentary shyness so acute that she nearly fled through the window. It really was too bad of Max!
"Come in here!" she heard him say, and with an effort she braced herself to encounter the stranger.
He entered, paused a second, and came forward. And in that second very strangely and quite completely her embarrassment vanished. She found herself shaking hands with a large, kindly man, who looked at her with deep-set, friendly eyes and asked her in a voice of marvellous softness how she was.
Her heart warmed to him on the instant, and she forgave Max forthwith.
"I am quite well," she said. "Have you walked from the station? Please sit down!"
He was years older than Max, she saw, this man whom the latter had so airily described as his pal. There was a bald patch on the back of his head, and his brows were turning grey. His face was clean-shaven, and she thought his mouth the kindest and the saddest she had ever seen.
"Yes, I walked," he said. "Max brought me across the fields. It was very pleasant. There is a good breeze to-day."'
"I am sure you must be thirsty," Olga said, mindful of the honours of the house. "Max, please go and find something to drink and bring it here!"
"No, no, my dear fellow! I can wait," protested the newcomer. But Max had already departed upon his errand. He turned back smiling to the girl. "I know you were lying on the sofa when I came in. Please lie down again!"
"I've had more than enough of it," she assured him. "I don't think lying still suits me. I only did it to please Nick. He will be in directly."
"Nick is your brother?" he asked.
Olga's smile flashed out. "Not quite. He is three parts brother to one part uncle. That is to say, he is Dad's half-brother, but nearer my age than Dad's."
He nodded in humorous comprehension. "And your father is away, Max tells me. I hope you don't mind being taken by storm like this? I am sorry to miss him, for we are old friends. We don't often meet, as I haven't a great deal of time at my disposal. I reserved to-day, however, as I rather particularly wanted to see Max."
"You will manage to come again perhaps, when Dad is at home," said Olga.
He smiled courteously. "I shall certainly try. And you are his eldest daughter?"
"His only daughter," she said. "There are three boys as well."
"Ah! And you have been left in charge?"
"Nick and I," she said; and then moved to sudden confidence, "I expect you have heard of Nick, haven't you? Nick Ratcliffe of Wara! He is an M.P. too."
"Oh, is he that Ratcliffe?" Her listener displayed immediate interest. "Yes, of course I have heard of him, Miss Ratcliffe. He is a man of renown, isn't he? It will give me much pleasure to meet him."
"You'll like him awfully!" said Olga, with shining eyes.
It was at this point that Nick himself pushed open the door with a peremptory, "Now then, Olga, what about your promise? Hullo!" He stopped short, and stood blinking rapidly at the visitor. "I thought it was Hunt-Goring you had got here," he observed. "Introduce me, please!"
Olga hesitated in momentary confusion. "Max didn't tell me your name, you know," she said to the stranger. "This is Captain Ratcliffe of Wara."
"Monkey!" said Nick briefly. "Plain Ratcliffe of no-where in particular is my description."
The big man rose with outstretched hand. "I know you well by repute, and I am very pleased to meet you. My name is Whitton--Kersley Whitton."
"Goodness!" ejaculated Olga. "Max might have told me!"
He laughed at her quietly. "Told you what? Didn't he say I was a friend of his?"
"So you've been entertaining a celebrity unawares!" laughed Nick. "I hope you have been on your best behaviour, my child."
"But Miss Ratcliffe must be accustomed to celebrities," said Sir Kersley Whitton, "since she has to entertain you and Max Wyndham every day."
"Is Max a celebrity too, then?" asked Olga quickly.
"He is going to be one," the great doctor answered, with conviction.
"You mean he will--someday--be like you?" she said.
He smiled at that. "He will be a greater man than I am," he said.
"An interesting collection!" commented Nick. "Heroes past, present, and to come! You will pardon me for putting myself first. My little halo went out long ago."
"Nick! How absurd you are!"
"My dear, it's my _role_ to be absurd. I am the clown in every tragedy I come across--the comic relief man--the buffoon in every side-show. Hence my Frontier laurels, because I kept on dancing when everyone else was dead. The world likes dancers--virtuous or otherwise." Nick broke off with his elastic grimace. "If I go on, you'll think I'm trying to be clever. Sir Kersley, come and have a drink!"
"I'm bringing drinks," said Max's voice from the hall. "I say, Ratcliffe,"--he entered with the words--"do go and dislodge that leech Goring. He's in the garden with Miss Campion. Tell him I don't want to see either him or his beastly thumb for a week. I'll call in next Sunday, if I've nothing better to do. Say I'm engaged if he asks for me now."
"I'll say you're dead if you like," said Nick cheerily. "Shall I say you're dead too, Olga?"
"Say she's engaged also," said Max.
Olga glanced up sharply, but he was not looking at her. He was occupied in pouring out a drink for his friend, which he brought to him almost immediately.
"That's how you like it measured to a drop. Sorry there's no ice to be had. It doesn't grow in these parts."
"I'd have got out the best glass if I'd known," murmured Olga regretfully.
Max threw up his head and laughed. "What a good thing I didn't tell her, eh, Kersley?" He leaned a careless hand on Sir Kersley's shoulder. "She doesn't know what a taste you have for the simple life."
Olga's eyes opened wide at the familiarity of speech and action. Sir Kersley faintly smiled.
"Since Miss Ratcliffe received me so kindly as a friend of yours," he said, "I hope she will continue to regard me in that light, and dispense with all unnecessary ceremony. Miss Ratcliffe, I drink to our better acquaintance!"
"How nice of you!" said Olga.
"I return thanks on Miss Ratcliffe's behalf," said Max. "How long has the Hunt-Goring monstrosity been here?"
Olga's face clouded. "Oh, ages! Do you think Nick will persuade him to go?"
"He can't stop to lunch if he isn't asked," said Max.
"An unwelcome visitor?" asked Sir Kersley.
"Yes, a neighbour of ours," explained Olga. "He lives about two miles away at a place called The Warren. He is retired from the Army. He shoots and hunts in the winter and loafs all the summer."
"A very horrid man," said Max with a twinkle. "He broke his thumb the other day and we haven't been quit of him since. You see, Miss Ratcliffe has a most beautiful friend staying with her with whom we all fall in love at first sight. Some of us fall out again and some of us don't. Hunt-Goring--presumably--belongs to the latter category."
"And you?" asked Sir Kersley.
"Oh, I am too busy for frivolities of that sort," said Max. "My mind is entirely occupied with drugs. Ask Miss Ratcliffe if it isn't!"
Olga looked a little scornful. It suddenly seemed to her that Max Wyndham required a snub. She was spared the trouble of administering one, however, by the reappearance of the housemaid.
She rose. "Do you want me, Ellen?"
"Oh, no, miss. It's all right," was Ellen's breezy reply. "I only just come to say as it was Dr. Wyndham as brought in them raspberries--early this morning."
Ellen disappeared as Max popped the cork of a soda-water bottle with unexpected violence. He clapped his hand over the top and carried it bubbling to the window.
"Awfully sorry," he said. "The beastly stuff is so up this weather."
Olga followed him with his glass. "Thank you for rescuing my raspberries," she said.
Max rubbed himself down with a handkerchief and took the glass from her. He was somewhat red in the face. He looked at her with a queer smile.
"Confound that girl!" he said.
"Have you discovered any specially beneficial properties In raspberries?" asked Sir Kersley in the tone of one seeking information.
"Not yet. I'm experimenting," said Max.
And Olga laughed, though she could scarcely have said why.
"There goes Nick, escorting the undesirable," observed Max, a moment later. "I begin to think there really must be a spark of genius in that little uncle of yours. Hunt-Goring looks as if he had been kicked, while the swagger of Five Foot Nothing defies description. Ah! And here comes Miss Campion! She looks as if--" He broke off short.
Olga bent forward sharply to catch a glimpse of her friend, and then as swiftly checked herself and remembered her guest. She moved sedately back into the room, only to discover that he also had risen, to look out of the window over Max's shoulder.
Instinctively she glanced at him. His deep-set eyes were fixed intently as if held by a vision. But his face was drawn in painful lines. She had a curious feeling of foreboding as she watched him. There was something fateful in his look. It passed in a moment. Almost before she knew it, he had turned back to her and was courteously conversing.
She gave him her attention with difficulty. Her ears were strained to catch the sound of Violet's approach. She was possessed by a ridiculous longing to rush out to her, to keep her from entering this man's presence, to warn her--to warn her--Of what? She had not the faintest idea.
By a great effort of will, she controlled herself, but the impulse yet remained--a striving, clamouring force, impotent but insistent.
There came the low, sweet notes of Violet's voice. She was singing a Spanish love-song.
Sir Kersley Whitton fell silent. He looked at the door. Max wheeled from the window. Olga waited tensely for the coming of her friend.
The door swung back and she entered. With her careless Southern grace she sauntered in upon them.
"Good Heavens!" she said, breaking off in the middle of her song. "Is it a party of mutes?"
Olga hastily and with evident constraint introduced the visitor, at sound of whose name Violet opened her beautiful eyes to their widest extent.
"How do you do? I had no idea a lion was expected. Why wasn't I told?"
"He is not one of the roaring kind," said Max.
Violet was looking with frank curiosity into Sir Kersley's face. "I'm sure I've met you somewhere," she said. "I wonder where."
He smiled slightly--a smile which to Olga's watching eyes was infinitely sad.
"I don't think you have," he said. "You may have seen my portrait."
"Ah, that's it!" She regarded him with a new interest. "I have! I believe I've got it somewhere."
"Do you collect the portraits of celebrities?" asked Max.
She shook her head. "Oh, no! It's among my mother's things. It must have been taken years ago. You were very handsome--in those days, weren't you?"
"Was I?" said Sir Kersley.
"Yes. That's why I kept you. There was a bit of your hair with it, but I burnt that." Violet's brows knitted suddenly. "My mother was handsome too," she said. "I wonder why you jilted her!"
Sir Kersley made a slight movement, so slight that it seemed almost involuntary. "That, my child," he said quietly, "is a very old story."
She laughed her gay, winning laugh. "Oh, of course! I expect you have jilted dozens since then. It's the way of the world, isn't it?"
He looked into the exquisite face, still faintly smiling. "It's not my way," he said.
There fell a sudden silence, and Olga sent an appealing glance towards Max. He came forward instantly and clapped a practical hand upon his friend's shoulder.
"Come and have a wash, Kersley!" he said, and with characteristic decision marched him away.
As they went, Violet broke once more into the low, sweet refrain of her Spanish love-song. _