CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
JIM CARTHEW.
But our two conspirators were fated, for all practical purposes, toexchange _roles_.
The following evening Daphne and Carthew found themselves sittingtogether in the hotel garden after dinner. A great moon shone from avelvety African sky; the scented breeze rustled in the palms; and themusic of the band drifted to their ears in intermittent waves.
It was one of those nights which touch the imagination and stir theemotions--a night upon which human nature expands to its utmostlimits. A night upon which passion awakes, and long-cherished secretsare whispered into suddenly receptive ears. Also a night upon whichthe devil stalks abroad. Dido resided a few miles from this spot. Itwas probably a night like this that made the Fourth Book of the Aeneidworth writing.
If Dido failed to resist such environment, what of Daphne? She wasyoung; she was intensely susceptible to such things as moonshine andsoft music; and, disguise the fact from herself as she might, she waslonely. It is not altogether surprising that, as she surveyed thissilent comely youth who lolled beside her eyeing the glitteringMediterranean in stolid abstraction, she should unconsciously haveacquiesced in the first of the dismal prognostications of thatsplenetic but clear-sighted baronet, Sir Arthur Hilton. Jim Carthewhad occupied Daphne's thoughts a good deal of late, and to-night shefelt suddenly conscious of a desire to flirt with him.
"Cigarette, please!" she commanded.
Carthew silently handed her his case, and allowed her to select andlight her own cigarette--a prodigal waste of opportunity, as anyprofessional philanderer could have told her.
"A penny for your thoughts!" continued Daphne pertly.
Carthew, struck by a peculiar note in her voice, turned and looked ather. He was met by a provocative glance. There was a brief silence.Then he said gravely--
"I don't think you are quite cut out for that sort of thing, LadyCarr."
Daphne, feeling as if she had received a whip-lash in the face, staredat him, white with anger. Then she rose stiffly from her seat andmoved towards the hotel. Carthew did not stir.
"Don't go," he said. "We may as well have this out."
Daphne stood irresolute. Then curiosity got the better of virtuousindignation, and she sat down again.
"Will you kindly tell me," she said, "what you mean by talking in thatway?"
Carthew's honest eyes lingered on her face in a manner which she couldnot fathom. Did the man love her, or was he pitying her, or was hemerely indulging in sarcastic reflections at her expense? Whatever hismotives, he had a knack of compelling attention.
Presently he began to speak.
"I wonder," he said, as if talking to himself, "why men and women aremade as they are? Why does A love B, while B worships C, who cares forno one in the world but himself? And why does D insist on confusingthings still further by not quite knowing what he--she--wants? Iwonder! They say there is enough money spent in charity every year tosupply the needs of every poor person living, but so much ismisapplied that many have to go without. I think it is the same withhuman affection. There is so much true love going about in thisworld--enough to keep all of us well-nourished and contented. But whata lot of it goes to waste! There is so much overlapping! _Why_, Iwonder? It is a difficult business, Life, Daphne."
He had never called her Daphne before, but neither of them seemed tonotice the familiarity.
"We're a contrary crew, we mortals," he continued presently. "Here weare, you and I, sitting in the moonshine inaugurating a flirtation,though neither of us cares a snap for the other--in that way. Why, Iwonder? I think it is partly due to pride--wounded pride. You areangry with your husband----"
Daphne, who was methodically picking her cigarette to pieces, lookedup indignantly.
"I'm _not_!" she said hotly.
"Oh yes, you are," replied Carthew. "You think you arenot, but you are. You try to believe that you are merelyindifferent to him, but you are not. As for me, I am angrytoo--piqued--furious--jealous--raging--I admit it--with a girl whomI dislike intensely. The more I see of her the more selfish,affected, shallow, unwomanly I see her to be. And yet--I _love_her! Why? Why? Why? People tell me she is heartless, soulless,sordid, greedy, vulgar--everything, in fact. Sometimes I feel theyare right. Still--" he dropped his head into his hands andcontinued doggedly--"what difference does that make to _me_? I loveher!... She cared for me once, too. She told me so--and she meantit! Perhaps if I had been a little more patient with her I mighthave kept her, and--and helped her a bit. Perhaps that was what Iwas sent into the world for--to make things easier for Nina. Icould have done so much for her, too. I could have made a woman ofher. She has her soft side: I know: I have seen it. No other mancan say that. Meanwhile," he continued with a whimsical smile, "Iam trying to solace myself by allowing you to flirt with me----"
Daphne drew her breath sharply.
"And you are not very good at it," concluded Carthew unexpectedly.
"You are very candid," said Daphne frigidly.
"Yes, but I speak truth. You are not good at it. Flirtation is acrooked business, and you are straight, _mon amie_. But wounded prideis not the only thing that has drawn us here together. Something elseis responsible. We are both craving for sympathy. 'A fellow-feeling,'you know! I know all about _you_," he continued quickly, as Daphne'slips parted. "You are by way of being a neglected wife; and since Ninahas informed me that she has told you all about _me_, I suppose youregard me as a bit of a derelict too. Well, we have forgathered. Whatis going to happen next?"
Daphne was silent. She certainly did not know what was going to happennext. Her ideas on all subjects were a little jumbled at this moment.Presently Carthew continued--
"We came together," he said gently, "just when each of us required alittle companionship and sympathy; and we got it. I think our chanceencounter on the highway of life has been a very profitable one. Butit has served its turn. Our roads diverge again. We must part company,little comrade."
"Why?"
Daphne spoke this time in a tremulous whisper. A great wave ofloneliness was surging up towards her.
"Because," said Carthew's deep voice, "it is the only thing to do.Think what may happen if we travel on together too far. At present weare safe. I love some one else, and so do--and you are angry with someone else, let us say. Supposing, since the girl I love does not loveme any more--supposing I ceased to love her? It seems hopeless,incredible, I admit; but it might conceivably happen. And supposingyou gave up being angry with--some one else, and became indifferent tohim, where might we not find ourselves? Our sheet-anchor--our platonicsheet-anchor--would be gone. And sooner than send you adrift amongcross-currents, little Daphne, I prefer to forgo the only friendshipin this world that I really value. You are too delicate and toofragrant to be tarnished by common gossip, so I am going awayto-morrow. Let us say good-bye now--you beautiful thing!"
Daphne looked up at him in amazement. But there was no passion in hisface--only an infinite tenderness. To him she was simply a woman--oneof the rarest and fairest of her sex, perhaps, but still simply awoman--whom to succour, without expectation or desire of reward, wasthe merest courtesy on the part of any knight worthy of the name. Thiswas a man! Daphne bowed her head, wondering dimly and scornfully atthe insensate folly of Nina Tallentyre.
"Shall we go back to the hotel?" asked Carthew at length.
There was no reply. Turning to note the cause, he saw something brightand glistening fall upon his companion's hand--then another. Withinnate loyalty and delicacy he averted his gaze, and surveyed thedistant seascape with laborious intentness.
Meanwhile Daphne sat on, her head still bowed. Through the night air,from the hotel verandah, there came the refrain of a waltz. It wascalled _Caressante_, she thought. Carthew knew it too, and dug histeeth into his lower lip. Waltzes have an unfortunate habit ofreviving the memories of yester year.
"Don't go in," said Daphne at length. "Don't leave me--I can't bearit!" Her voice broke.
Sudd
enly Carthew turned to her.
"Daphne"--his voice was low, but he spoke with intense earnestness--"youare lonely, I know, and sad; and you are too proud to own it. Shall Itell you who is more lonely and more sad, and too proud to own it too?"
"Do you mean--" were Jim Carthew's good resolutionscrumbling?--"yourself?"
"No, no,--nothing of the kind. I mean--your husband!" Then hecontinued hurriedly--
"Daphne, if I thought I was leaving you to real loneliness andinevitable wretchedness, I--well, perhaps I shouldn't go away at all.But I--I am not needed. Little friend, you have the finest husband inall the world, waiting for you. For all his domineering ways, he isshy, and wants knowing. You have never discovered that. I don'tbelieve you know him a bit. It all comes of having begun wrong. Goback and study him. Give him a fair chance! Give yourself a fairchance! You and I have always been friends: will you promise me this?Go back, and give yourself and Jack Carr another chance."
Half an hour ago Daphne would have smiled sceptically and indulgentlyupon such a suggestion. But this lonely, loyal spirit had touched her.She felt she would like to please him.
"Very well," she said. "I promise. No, _I can't_!" The memory of someancient wrong suddenly surged up in her, swamping the generousimpulse. "_I can't!_"
"Why?"
"Jack is so hard," she said. "Look at the way he treats those in hispower. His workpeople, his----"
Carthew laughed, positively boisterously.
"Hard? Jack Carr hard? Listen," he said, "and I will tell you asecret."
* * * * *
When he had finished Daphne stood up, white and gleaming in themoonlight, and gave him her hand.
"All right," she said softly--"it's a bargain. I go home to-morrow."
BOOK THREE.
THE LIGHTING OF THE CANDLE.