CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
DAN AND DARSIE.
No sooner did the news of Lavender's illness, and Darsie's consequentabsence from home, reach the Percival household than three separateletters were dispatched, insisting that at least a part of the remainingholidays should be spent at the Manor.
Pray why, the girls demanded, should Hannah Vernon be allowed to engrossDarsie, when she enjoyed her society practically the whole year round?It was unjust, mean, contemptible. They were so dull and sad thisChristmas-time. Wouldn't Darsie come?
Pray why, inquired Ralph ingenuously, did Darsie not come when she hadthe chance? She knew that he would be glad to see her. It was quitehorribly dull. The parents were absurdly humped--
Mrs Percival's words were few but disturbing: "I want to consult withyou about Ralph. You have more influence over him than any one else.Do come, dear child, if you possibly can."
In face of the last letter it was impossible to say no. Darsie was notsure that she wanted to say no; on the other hand, she was aggravatinglyuncertain if she wanted to say yes. At college and at home alike theatmosphere was at once austere and bracing; it would be agreeable tolive for a time in the lap of luxury--to be regarded as a miracle ofcleverness and beauty; which treatment was invariably bestowed upon herduring her visits to The Manor. She would enjoy staying with thePercivals, but she would be sad to miss the cosy hours when Dan and hisfriend, Percy Lister, joined the little party in the old study, and theyall talked together round the fire. What talks they had; what themesthey discussed! What animated discussions sprang from a casual word,and were pursued with a go and a spirit which seem to exist only on suchinformal occasions. Sometimes they laughed and quipped, and beheldeverything from the comic point of view; anon, a sudden spirit ofearnestness would pass from one to the other, and as the fading lighthid their faces from view, tongues were set free, so that they talked ofthe things which mattered, the towering realities which lay at the heartof life! During these discussions Dan invariably seated himself in thedarkest corner, and Darsie, looking across, had again and again theimpression of deep eyes staring--staring! Vie Vernon considered thePercivals "grasping creatures," and didn't care who knew it; Hannah wasplacidly unconcerned; Dan made no remark; Percy Lister was leavinghimself, and considered that things "fitted in well." Altogether, incomparison with the enthusiasm of the invitation, the opposition wasblightingly resigned. Darsie tossed her head, packed her boxes, andprepared to depart a whole three days sooner than she had originallyintended.
On the afternoon before her departure a party was made up for the rink,but at the last moment Darsie excused herself, and declared a wish tostay at home. There were several pieces of sewing and mending whichwere necessary, there was a letter to be written to Margaret France, anda farewell ode to cheer poor Lavender. A gas fire in her bedroomallowed her to perform these tasks in solitude, but as soon as they weresatisfactorily accomplished she made her way downstairs to the study,prepared to enjoy an hour over an interesting book.
The gas was unlit, the usual large fire blazed in the grate; an arm-chair was drawn up to the side, and within it sat Dan, head leaning onhand, in an attitude which spoke of weariness and dejection.
He raised his eyes and looked at her, and Darsie shut the door and cameforward eagerly.
"Dan! Back again so soon? Is anything wrong?"
"No!"
"But you look strange. You--you didn't hurt yourself at the rink?"
"No."
"Quite, quite sure?"
"Quite."
Darsie subsided on to her favourite seat--the hearthrug--with a littlesigh of relief.
"That's all right. You're very monosyllabic, Dan. Shall I disturb youif I sit here for a time?"
"No."
"A hundred thanks! You are _too_ gracious. I can be quiet if you like.I like staring into the fire and dreaming myself."
Dan did not answer. Darsie peered at him, moving her little head fromside to side so as to get the clearest view. He looked very large--agreat shapeless mass of dark in the old red chair.
She liked the bigness of him, felt the old satisfaction at sight of thestrong, rugged face, the old craving for confidence and approval.Strange how different one felt in company with different people. _Tete-a-tete_ with Ralph Percival, Darsie felt a giant of strength andresource--assured, self-confident, a bulwark against which others mightlean. With Dan, well, with Dan she was just a slip of a girl, consciousof nothing so much as her own weaknesses, mental and physical; herdifficult gropings, compared with his clear vision; her tiny hands andwrists, compared with his big sinewy paw; her slim form, compared to thebulk of the square-cut shoulders. Never--Darsie realised it with asmile--never did she feel so humble and diffident as when in Dan'ssociety; yet, strangely enough, the sensation was far from disagreeable.
"Dan!"
"Darsie!"
"Is anything the matter? Between you and me! You don't happen to besnarkey, do you, about anything I've done?"
"Why should you think I am `snarkey'?"
"Because--you _are_! You're not a bit sociable and friendly--even_your_ sort of sociability. I'm a guest in your mother's house if I'mnothing else and it's your duty to be civil."
"Haven't I always been civil to you, Darsie?"
Darsie drew a quick breath of impatience and, seizing upon the poker,beat at the unoffending coal as the best method of letting off steam.
"You are so painfully literal. I can _feel_ what other people arethinking, however much they try to disguise it."
"How do _I_ feel, for example?"
Darsie turned her head and stared curiously into Dan's face. The handon which it leaned shielded it somewhat from view, but, even so, therewas something in the intent gaze which filled her with a strange newdiscomfort. She turned back to her poking once more.
"I think--there's something that I don't understand--I think--there'ssomething you disapprove! I'm a very good girl, and I work very hard,and I'm fond of my friends, and I expect them to be fond of me inreturn. I don't _like_ you to disapprove, Dan!"
"I can't help it, Darsie. I've hated that friendship from thebeginning, and I hate it more with every month that passes."
"Oh! _that_ old story." Darsie's voice took a tone of impatience; forit was annoying to find that Dan was harking back on the well-knownsubject of dispute. "Well, I'm sorry to distress you, but I amconceited enough to believe that I have taken no harm from my friendshipwith Ralph Percival, and that he has reaped some little good from mine.While that state of thing continues, I shall certainly refuse to givehim up--even to please you!"
There was silence for several moments, then Dan said slowly--
"If I agreed with your conclusions, I should not try to persuade you,Darsie; but I do not, and my opportunities of judging are better thanyours."
"You are unfair, Dan. It is a pity to allow yourself to be soprejudiced that you can't give a fair judgment. I should have imaginedthat even you would be forced to admit that Ralph had done better thisterm."
Dan did not speak. He turned his head and looked Darsie full in theeyes, and there was in his look a puzzled, questioning air, which shefound it difficult to understand. When he spoke again, it was not toreply in any direct way to her accusation, but to ask a question on hisown account.
"Darsie, do you mind telling me--is your position entirelydisinterested? Do you look upon the fellow merely as a man to behelped, or do you care for him for his own personal sake?"
Darsie deliberated. The firelight played on her downcast face, on thelong white throat rising from the low collar of her white blouse, on thelittle hands clenched round the steel poker. Before her mind's eyearose the memory of handsome, melancholy eyes; imagination conjured backthe sound of impassioned appeals. Her expression softened, her voicetook a deeper note.
"He needs me, Dan!"
That was her answer. Dan nodded in silence, accepting it as sufficient.He rose from his chair, and paced up and do
wn the room, hands thrustdeep into his trouser pockets, head held back with the characteristicforward tilt of the chin. Darsie, watching him, thought involuntarilyof a caged animal striving restlessly against the bars. Her heart gavea little throb of relief when he spoke again in his own natural voice.
"All right, Darsie. Good luck to your efforts! I appreciate yourintentions, and am only sorry that I can't agree. According to mybelief no one can help a man who refuses to help himself. We've got tofight our own battles, and to bear our own burdens! If some one stepsforward and offers to undertake for us, we may imagine for a time thatwe are set free, but it's a mistake! Sooner or later the time comeswhen we're bound to fight it out alone, and it doesn't get easier forbeing deferred. Everything that is worth learning in life we have toworry out for ourselves!"
Darsie drew a long, trembling sigh. How puzzling life was, when the twopeople on whose judgment you most relied delivered themselves ofdirectly opposing verdicts! Mrs Reeves believed that her help was all-important to Ralph's progress; Dan insisted that her efforts were invain.
Was he right? Was he wrong? Could she honestly assure herself thatRalph was stronger, more self-reliant, more able to stand alone withoutthe stimulus of constant support and encouragement? InstinctivelyDarsie's hand went up to touch the little golden brooch which fastenedthe lace collar of her blouse. If the anchor were withdrawn, wouldRalph drift once more towards the rocks? The answer was difficult. Shepondered it aloud, speaking in low, anxious tones, with lengthenedpauses between the words.
"We're both right, Dan. We've both got hold of _bits_ of the truth! Inthe end we must win through for ourselves, but surely, in preparationfor the battle, we can give each other _some_ help. Some natures seemmade to stand, and others to lean. A prop is not of much account, butit may serve to keep a plant straight while it is gathering strength.The big oaks need no props; they are so strong that they can'tunderstand; they have no pity for weakness."
Dan stopped short in his pacings.
"That meant for me, Darsie?"
"Humph! Just as you please! Oaks are nice things--big, and strong, andrestful, but just a little bit inclined to grow--_gnarled_!"
Dan vouchsafed no reply, and Darsie sat, hands clasped round knees,staring into the fire for five long, silent minutes. She was hopingthat Dan would never grow "gnarled" towards herself, longing for him tospeak and promise that he would not, but he still remained silent, andpresently the door burst open, the rinking party appeared on thethreshold, and the opportunity for quiet conclave was over.