_ PART I CHAPTER XIII. HER FATE
"How extraordinary men are!" Violet stretched her arms high above her head and let them fall. Her eyes were turned contemplatively towards the sinking sun. "This man for instance who might have been--who should have been--my father. He loved her, you know; he must have loved her, or he wouldn't have remained single all these years. And she worshipped him. Yet on the very eve of marriage--he jilted her. Extraordinary!"
"How do you know she worshipped him?" Olga spoke with slight constraint; it seemed to her that the matter was too sacred for casual discussion.
"How do I know? My dear, it is written in black and white on the back of his photograph. 'The only being I have it in me to love--sovereign lord of my heart!' Fancy writing that of any man! I couldn't, could you?"
"I don't know," said Olga soberly.
Violet laughed. "You're such a queer child! One day you come flying to me for protection, and almost the day after, you--"
"Please, Violet!" Olga broke in sharply. "You know I don't like it!"
"Oh, very well, my dear, very well! The subject is closed. We will return to the renowned Sir Kersley. He was watching me all luncheon-time. Did you notice?"
Olga had noticed. "Are you very like your mother?" she asked.
"I am better-looking than she ever was," said Violet, without vanity. "You see, my father, Judge Campion (he was nearly sixty when he married her, by the way), was considered the handsomest man in India at the time. She was a Californian, and very Southern in temperament, I believe. I often rather wish I could have seen her, though she would probably have hated me for not being the child of the man she loved. She died almost before I was born however. I daresay it's as well. I'm sure we shouldn't have got on."
"Violet! How can you say those things?"
"I always say whatever occurs to me," said Violet. "It's so much simpler. Mrs. Briggs was all the mother I ever knew or wanted. Of course as soon as Bruce settled down, I was taken to live with them. But I never liked either of them. They always resented the Judge's second marriage."
"Why didn't he take care of you himself?" asked Olga.
"My dear, he was dead. He died before she did. He was assassinated by a native before they had been married three months. I've always thought it was rather poor-spirited of her to die too; for of course she never cared for him. She must have married him only to pique Kersley. By the way, Major Hunt-Goring met them in his subaltern days. He said everyone fell in love with her. I supposed that included himself, and he smiled and said, 'Calf-love, senorita!' Allegro, I wonder if I really like that man."
"I'm sure you don't," said Olga quickly. "You couldn't."
"But I must amuse myself with someone," reasoned Violet pathetically. "Besides, he gives me such lovely cigarettes. Have one, Allegretto. Do!"
"No!" said Olga almost fiercely.
"I will, Miss Campion." Coolly Max came forward from the open window behind them. "You promised me one, you know."
"Did I?" She tossed him her cigarette-case carelessly. "They are not made for masculine palates. However, as you are so anxious--"
"Thank you," he said.
He opened the case. Violet was lying back with eyes half-closed. Olga's eyes were keenly watching. He glanced up and met them.
Abruptly he held up a warning finger. For one instant his eyes commanded her, compelled her. Then deliberately he extracted two cigarettes, slipped one into his pocket, stuck the other between his lips. She watched him in silence.
He returned the case to its owner with the slight, cynical smile she knew so well, and began to smoke.
"What time is Sir Kersley Whitton going?" asked Violet.
"Soon. His train starts at seven."
Olga rose suddenly. "Well, I am going to the evening service," she announced, with a touch of aggressiveness. "Are you coming, Violet?"
"No, dear," said Violet.
"Nor you either," said Max, blowing a cloud of smoke upwards.
She looked at him. "Why not?"
"Doctor's orders," he said imperturbably.
Violet laughed a little. Olga's face flamed.
"That is absurd! I am going!"
"Where's Nick?" said Max unexpectedly.
"Somewhere in the garden with Sir Kersley. I believe they went to see the vine."
"Then go to him," said Max; "tell him I have forbidden you to go to church to-night, and see what he says."
"I won't," said Olga.
She passed him without a second glance, and went indoors.
Violet laughed again. Max turned towards her. "Excuse me a moment!" he said, and therewith followed Olga into the house.
He overtook her at the foot of the stairs and stopped her without ceremony.
"Olga, what do you want to go to church for?"
She turned upon him in sudden, quivering anger. "Max, leave me alone! How dare you?"
His hand was on her arm. He kept it there. He looked steadily into her eyes.
"I dare because I must," he said. "You have had a tiring day, and you will end it with a racking headache if you are not careful."
"What does it matter?" she flashed back.
He did not answer her. "What are you so angry about?" he said. "Tell me!"
She was silent.
"Olga," he said, "it isn't quite fair of you to treat me like this."
"I shall treat you how I like," she said.
"No, no, you won't!" he said.
His voice was quiet, yet somehow it controlled her. Her wild rebellion began to die down. For a few seconds she stood in palpitating silence. Then, almost under her breath: "Max," she said, "why did you take that other cigarette?"
She saw him frown. "Why do you want to know?"
Her hands clenched unconsciously. "You are always watching Violet--always spying upon her. Why?"
"I can't tell you," he said briefly and sternly.
"You can," she said slowly, "if you will."
"I won't, then," said Max.
She flinched a little, but persisted. "Don't you think I have a right to know? It was I who brought her here. She is--in a sense--under my protection."
"What are you afraid of?" Max demanded curtly.
She shivered. "I don't know. I believe you are trying to get some power over her."
"You don't trust me?" he said, in the same curt tone.
"I don't know," she said again.
"You do know," he said.
She was silent. There seemed nothing left to say.
He released her arm slowly. "I am sorry I can't be quite open with you," he said. "But I will pledge you my word of honour that whatever I do is in your friend's interest. Will that make things any easier?"
Her eyes fell before his. "I--was a fool to ask you," she said.
He did not contradict the statement. "You are going to have a rest now," he said, "before the headache begins."
It had begun already, but she did not tell him so. "I would rather go to church," she said.
Max looked stubborn.
"I always do go," she protested into his silence. "It will do me good to go."
"All right," he said, with his one-sided smile. "Then I must go too, that's all."
"What for?" she asked quickly.
"To bring you home again when you begin to be ill."
"I'm not going to be ill!" she declared indignantly.
"No," he said. "And you're not going to church either. I'm sorry to thwart your pious intentions, but in your father's absence--"
"Oh, don't begin that!" she broke in irritably.
"Well, don't you be silly!" said Max good-humouredly. "You know you don't really want to go. It's only because you are cross with me."
"It isn't!" she said.
"All right. It isn't. Now go and lie down like a good child! I shall come and prescribe for you if you don't."
Was it mockery that glinted in his eyes as he thus smilingly quelled her resistance? She asked herself the question as she slowly mounted the stairs. It was a look she had come to know singularly well of late, a look that she resented instinctively because it made her feel so small and puny. It was a look that told her more decidedly than any words that he would have his way with her, resist him as she might.
She heard the church-bells ringing as she went to her room, but the impulse to obey their summons had wholly left her. She lay down wearily upon her bed. She wished there were not so many problems in life. She had an uneasy sensation as of being caught in the endless meshes of an invisible net that compassed her whichever way she turned.
She did not sleep, but the rest did her good. Undeniably it had been a tiring day. It was growing dark when a tentative scratch at the door told her of Nick's presence there.
She called him eagerly in. "Has Sir Kersley gone? I hope he didn't think me rude. Max made such a fuss about my resting. So I thought--"
"Quite right, my chicken!" Nick came softly to her side. "Max explained your absence. How's the head?"
"Oh, it's all right now. Nick, how soon will Dad and Muriel get your letters?"
"The day after to-morrow," said Nick.
She took his hand and squeezed it. "And we shall hear--when?"
"On Thursday night--with luck," said Nick.
She carried the hand impulsively to her lips. "Nick, you are a darling!"
He laughed. "Same to you! But we won't count on it too much or we may find ourselves crying for the moon, which is the silliest amusement I know. How do you like Sir Kersley Whitton?"
"Oh, very much. You heard about--about Violet's mother having been engaged to him, I suppose?"
"He told me himself," said Nick.
"What did he tell you, Nick?"
Nick hesitated momentarily. "He spoke in confidence," he said then.
"You won't tell me?" she asked quickly.
"Sorry; I can't," said Nick.
Olga sat up. A sudden idea had begun to illumine her brain. "Nick tell me this--anyhow! Did Violet's mother do--something dreadful?"
"Look here, Olga _mia!_" said Nick severely. "I know you can't help being a woman, but you're not to look at your neighbour's cards. It's against the rules."
She laughed a little. "Forgive me, Nick! I suppose supper is ready. I'll come down."
They went down together, to find Violet thrumming her mandolin in the twilight for the benefit of Max who was stretched at full length on the drawing-room sofa. The three boys were scudding about the garden like puppies.
As Olga and Nick entered, Violet looked up from her instrument. "I'm wondering if Sir Kersley would like to adopt me as well as Max. Do you think he would?"
"Exceedingly doubtful," said Max, rising.
"Why?"
"You would take up too much of his valuable time," he rejoined. "A man has to think of that, you know."
"Only horrid sordid men like you!" she retorted.
He uttered his dry laugh. "A professional man must think of his career."
She tossed her head. "Is that your creed--that there is no time for a woman in a professional man's life?"
Max laughed again. "She mustn't be too beautiful, anyhow."
She sprang suddenly to her feet. The mandolin jarred and jangled upon the ground. "Are you listening, Allegro?" she said, and through her deep voice there ran a sinister note that seemed to mingle, oddly vibrant, with the echoing strings of the instrument. "A professional man can admit only a plain woman into his life. The other kind is too distracting, since he must think of his career."
Nick cut in upon the words with the suddenness of a sabre-thrust. "Oh, we all say that till we meet the right woman, and then, be she lovely or hideous, the career bobs under like a float and ceases to count."
Max grunted. "Does it? Well, you ought to know."
"Let's go and have supper," said Olga, and turned from the room.
Violet stooped to pick up her mandolin. Nick lingered to summon the boys. Max entered the dining-room in Olga's wake.
"Give me five minutes in the surgery presently," he said as he did so.
She glanced round at him sharply. "Why?"
He raised his brows. "Because I ask you to." He halted at the sideboard to cut some bread. "Going to refuse?" he asked.
"No," said Olga.
"Thanks!"
He went on with his cutting with the utmost serenity, and almost immediately they were joined by the rest of the party.
It was a somewhat rowdy meal. Violet appeared to be in one of her wildest moods. Her eyes shone like stars, and her merriment rippled forth continuously like a running stream. The boys were uproarious, and Nick was as one of them. In the midst of the fun and laughter, Olga sat rather silent. Max, drily humorous, took his customary somewhat supercilious share in the general conversation, but he made no attempt to draw her into it. She almost wished he would do so, for she felt as if he purposely held aloof from her.
Rising from the table at length, she was aware of an urgent impulse to shirk the interview for which he had made request. Valiantly she held it in check, but it did not have a very soothing effect upon her nerves.
The whole party rose together, and she slipped away to the kitchen to discuss domestic matters with the cook. She knew that Max saw her go, knew with sure intuition that he would seize the opportunity of her return to secure those few minutes alone with her that he had desired.
She was not mistaken. He was waiting for her by the baize door that led to the surgery when she emerged. With a brief, imperious gesture he invited her to pass through. The door closed behind them, and they were alone together.
"Come along into the consulting-room," said Max.
She turned thither without question. The room was in darkness. Max went forward and lighted the gas. Then, without pause, he wheeled and faced her.
"Are you angry with me still?"
Olga stood still by the table. "You haven't brought me in here to--quarrel, have you?" she said, a hint of desperation in her voice.
He smiled very slightly. "I have not. Sit down, won't you? You're looking very fagged."
He pulled forward an arm-chair, and she sat down with a nervous feeling that she was about to face a difficult situation. He relaxed into his favourite position, lounging against the table, his hands deep in his pockets.
"I want a word with you about Hunt-Goring," he said.
She looked up startled. "What about him?"
"He was here to-day, wasn't he?" proceeded Max.
"Yes. He came to see Violet."
Max grunted. "I suppose you know his little game?"
Olga's eyes widened. "No, I don't. What is it?"
He looked at her for a moment or two in silence. "Do you really imagine that you succeed in effacing yourself when you hide behind the beautiful Miss Campion?" he asked then.
The quick colour rose in her face. "What an absurd question!" she said.
"Why absurd?"
"As if anyone could possibly prefer me to Violet!"
"I know at least two who do," said Max.
"Who?" She flung the question almost angrily, as though she uttered it against her will.
Very deliberately he answered her. "Hunt-Goring and myself."
She started. Her face was burning now. Desperately she strove to cover her confusion, or at least to divert his attention from it. "I am quite sure Major Hunt-Goring doesn't! He--he wouldn't be so silly!"
"We are neither of us that," remarked Max with a twist of the lips that was hardly a smile. "I suppose you don't feel inclined to tell me exactly what the fellow's hold over you is."
"You said you didn't want to know!" she flashed back.
Max's green eyes were regarding her very intently. She resented their scrutiny hotly, but she could not bring herself to challenge it.
"Quite so, fair lady, I did," he responded imperturbably. "But as this affair has developed into something of the nature of a duel between the gallant major and myself it might be as well, for your sake as much as mine, that I should know what sort of ground I am standing on."
"A duel!" echoed Olga.
He smiled a little. "Hunt-Goring has no intention of letting you stay engaged to me if he can by any means prevent it."
"Oh, Max!" She met his look for an instant. "But--but--what can it really matter to him--one way or the other?"
"I conclude he wants you for himself," said Max.
She turned suddenly white. "He doesn't! He couldn't! Max!" She turned to him almost imploringly. "He doesn't really want me! It's not possible!"
"I should say he wants you very much indeed," said Max. "But you needn't be scared on that account. He isn't going to have you."
That reassured her somewhat. She essayed a shaky laugh. "You'll think me a shocking coward," she said. "But--do you know, I'm horribly frightened at him."
"Are you frightened at me too?" Max enquired unexpectedly.
She shook her head without looking at him.
"Quite sure?" he persisted.
She raised her eyes with a feeling that he must be convinced of this at all costs. "Of course I'm not," she said.
He leaned down towards her on one elbow, his hands still deep in his pockets. "Will you be engaged to me in earnest then?" he said. "Will you marry me?"
She stared at him. "Max!"
The humorous corner of his mouth went up. "Don't let me take your breath away! I say, what's the matter? You're as white as a ghost. Do you want some _sal volatile_?"
She forced a rather piteous smile. "No--no! I'm quite all right. But, Max--"
He pulled one hand free and laid it upon her clasped ones. "You can't stand me at any price, eh?"
She shook her head again. "Are you suggesting that I should--marry you, just to get away from Major Hunt-Goring?"
"I suppose you would rather marry me than him," said Max.
She laughed faintly. Her eyes were upon his hand--that hand which she had so ruthlessly stabbed not so very long before. The red scar yet remained. For the first time she felt genuinely sorry for having inflicted it.
"But there is no question of my marrying him, is there?" she said at last. "He has never even hinted at such a thing."
"That's true," said Max grimly. "You see, he has begun to realize by this time that you are not precisely fond of him."
She shivered involuntarily. "I hate him, Max!"
"He thrives on that," observed Max drily.
"Oh, not really!" she protested. "He couldn't want to marry me against my will."
"My good child," said Max, "if you had had the bad taste to flirt with him, he would have tired of you long ago. As it is--" he paused.
She looked up. "As it is?"
He uttered a curt laugh, and sat up, thrusting his hand back into his pocket. "Well--he won't be happy till he gets you."
Olga sprang to her feet. "But, Max, he couldn't marry me against my will! That sort of thing isn't done nowadays."
Max looked at her, his shrewd eyes very cynical. "Quite true!" he said.
"Then--then--" She stood hesitating, looking at him doubtfully--"what is there to be afraid of?" she asked at length.
"Oh, don't ask me!" said Max.
She felt the blood rush back to her face, and turned sharply from him.
"You--you don't help me much," she said.
He got to his feet abruptly. "You won't accept my help," he returned. "You've got yourself into a nasty hole, and you can't climb out alone, and you won't let me pull you out."
Olga was silent.
He stood a moment, then turned to the doctor's writing-table and sat down. "It's no good talking round and round," he said. "You'll have to tell Nick or your father. I can't do anything further. It's not in my power."
He opened a blotter with an air of finality, found a sheet of paper, and began to write.
Olga turned at the sound of his pen, and watched him dumbly. He had apparently dismissed her and her small affairs from his mind. His hand travelled with swift decision over the paper. He was evidently immersed in his own private concerns. He wrote rapidly and without a pause.
Very suddenly, without turning, he spoke again. "How did you like Kersley?"
The question astonished her. She had almost forgotten their visitor of a few hours before. But she managed to answer with enthusiasm.
"I liked him immensely."
"He is the greatest friend I possess," Max said, still writing. "He made me."
"I thought you seemed very intimate," observed Olga.
He laughed. "We are. I pulled him through a pretty stiff illness once. The mischief was that he wanted to die. I made him live." A note of grim triumph sounded in his voice, but he still continued to write.
"Was he grateful?" Olga asked.
"No. He fought like a mule. But I had my own way. It was tough work. I crocked up myself afterwards. And then it was his turn." Max jerked up his head. "After that," he said, "we became pals. He was only my patron before; since, we have been--something more than brothers."
He paused. Olga said nothing. She was wondering a little why he had chosen to make this confidence.
Suddenly he turned in his chair and enlightened her. "If you want to know what sort of animal I am," he said, his eyes going direct to hers, "if you want to know if I am worthy of a woman's confidence--in short, if I'm a white man or--the other thing, ask Kersley Whitton. For he is the only person in the world who knows."
The words were blunt, perhaps all the more so for the unwonted touch of fiery feeling which Olga was quick to detect in their utterance. They moved her strangely. It was almost as if he had flung open his soul to her, challenging her to enter and satisfy herself. And something very deep within her awoke and made swift response almost before she knew.
"But I don't need to ask him, Max," she said. "I know that for myself."
"Really?" said Max.
He stretched out his hand to her, without rising. His manner had changed completely. It was no longer passionate, but intensely quiet.
She came to him slowly, feeling compelled. She laid her hand in his.
His eyes were still upon hers. "I can't marry you against your will, can I?" he said. "It's not done nowadays."
She smiled a little. "I'm not afraid of that."
"Shall we go on being engaged, then," he said, "and see how we like it? We won't tell anyone yet--if you'd rather not."
She hesitated. "But--if I go to India with Nick?"
He frowned momentarily. "Well. I shouldn't ask you to marry me first."
Olga's face cleared somewhat. This was reassuring. It might very well lead to nothing after all.
"But," said Max impressively, "you wouldn't get engaged to any other fellow without letting me know."
She laughed at that. "I certainly shan't marry anyone out there."
Max looked grim. "You will give me the first refusal in any case?"
"But I needn't promise anything?" she said quickly.
"No, you needn't make any promise. Just bear me in mind, that's all; though I don't suppose for a moment that you could forget me if you tried," said Max with the utmost calmness.
"Why do you say that?" said Olga rather breathlessly.
It suddenly seemed to her that she had gone a little further than she had intended. She made an instinctive effort to get back while the way remained open.
But she was too late. She felt his hand tighten. For a moment she caught that gleam in his eyes which always disconcerted her.
And then it was gone, even as his hand released hers. He turned back to the writing-table with his supercilious smile.
"Because, fair lady," he said, "you have met your fate. If Hunt-Goring pesters you any further, of course you will let me know. Hadn't you better go now? The little god in the shrine will be jealous. And I have work to do."
And Olga went, somewhat precipitately, her heart throbbing in such a clamour of confused emotions that she hardly knew what had happened or even if she had any real cause for distress. _