CHAPTER IX.
WE'LL JUST FORGET.
"Les petites choses ont leur importance; c'est par elles toujours qu'on se perde."--DOSTOIEVSKY.
"So the picnic was a success?"
"Yes, quite. Mrs Rivers was so clever. She paired us off beautifully.My pair was Captain Winthrop of the Ghurkas; an awfully nice man. Hetalked to me the whole time. He knows Theo. Says he's the finestfellow in Asia! Rather nice to be married to the 'finest fellow inAsia,' isn't it?"
"Decidedly. But I don't think we needed _him_ to tell us that sort ofthing." A touch of the girl's incurable pride flashed in her eyes.
"Well, I was pleased all the same. He said he was never so surprisedin his life as when he heard Theo had married; but now he had seen me,he didn't feel surprised any more."
"That was impertinence."
"Not a bit! I thought it was rather nice."
A trifling difference of opinion; but, in point of character, itserved to set the two women miles apart.
Evelyn's remark scarcely needed a reply; and Honor fell into athoughtful silence.
She had allowed herself the rare indulgence of a day "off duty."Instead of accompanying Evelyn to the picnic, she had enjoyed ascrambling excursion with Mrs Conolly--whose friendship was fastbecoming a real possession--and her two big babies; exploringhillsides and ravines; hunting up the rarer wild flowers and ferns;and lunching off sandwiches on a granite boulder overhanginginfinity. This was her idea of enjoying life in the Himalayas; but theJune sun proved a little exhausting; and she was aware of an unusualweariness as she lay back in her canvas chair in the verandah of "TheDeodars,"--a woodland cottage, owing its pretentious name to themagnificent cedars that stood sentinel on either side of it.
Her eyes turned for comfort and refreshment to the stainless wonder ofthe snows, that were already beginning to don their eveningjewels--coral and amethyst, opal and pearl. The railed verandah, andits sweeping sprays of honeysuckle, were delicately etched upon a skyof warm amber, shading through gradations of nameless colour intoblue, where cloud-films lay like fairy islands in an enchanted sea.Faint whiffs of rose and honeysuckle hovered in the still air, likespirits of the coming twilight, entangling sense and soul in asweetness that entices rather than uplifts.
Evelyn Desmond, perched lightly on the railings, showed ethereal as alarge white butterfly, in the daintiness of her summer finery againsta background of glowing sky. She swung a lace parasol aimlessly to andfro, and her gaze was concentrated on the buckle of an irreproachableshoe.
Honor, withdrawing her eyes reluctantly from the brooding peace ofmountain and sky, wondered a little at her pensiveness; wondered alsowhere her thoughts--if mere flittings of the mind are entitled to beso called--had carried her.
As a matter of fact, she was thinking of unpaid bills; since humanlilies of the field, though they neither toil nor spin, must pay forirreproachable shoes and unlimited summer raiment.
The girl's own thoughts, as they were apt to do in leisure moments,had wandered to Kohat: to the men who were working with cheerful,matter-of-fact courage in the glare of the little desert-station; andto the one brave woman, who remained in their midst to hearten them byher own indomitable gladness of soul.
The beauty of the evening bred a longing--natural in one sosympathetic--that they also could be up on this green hill-top, underthe shade of the deodars, enjoying the exquisite repose of it all.
"Have you heard from Theo this week, Ladybird?" she asked suddenly. Itwas the first time she had used the name, for habit is strong; andEvelyn looked up quickly, the colour deepening in her cheeks.
"Don't call me Ladybird!" she commanded, with unusual decision. "Itbelongs to Theo."
Honor noted her rising colour with a smile of approval.
"I'm sorry, dear," she said gently. "I quite understand. But--have youheard lately?"
Evelyn's face cleared as readily as a child's.
"Oh, yes; I forgot to tell you. I had quite a long letter thismorning. Perhaps you would like to read it."
And drawing an envelope from her pocket she tossed it into Honor'slap.
The girl glanced down at it quickly; but allowed it to lie thereuntouched. She knew that Desmond wrote good letters, and she wouldhave dearly liked to read this one. But a certain manly strain in herforbade her to trespass on the privacy of a letter written to hiswife.
"Thank you," she said; "I think I won't read it, though. I don'tsuppose Theo would care about his letters being passed on to me. Ionly want to know if things are going on all right."
"Oh, yes; in the usual sort of way. They've had trouble with thosewretched Waziris. Two sentries murdered last week; and some horsesstolen. Oh! and Mrs Olliver has had a bad touch of fever; and there'scholera in the city, but they don't think it'll spread. What agruesome place it is! And what a mercy we're not there now. By theway," she added, working her parasol into a crack between two boards,"I met the Kresneys as I was coming home."
"The Kresneys! Here?"
Honor sat suddenly upright, all trace of weariness gone from her face.
"Yes. They're up for six weeks, and they seemed so pleased to see methat--I asked them in to dinner to-night."
"Evelyn!"
"Well--why not?" A spark of defiance glinted through the dark curvesof her lashes.
"You know Theo would hate it."
"I daresay. But he isn't here; so it can't matter to him. And he neednot know anything about it."
"My dear! That would be worse than all!"
Evelyn frowned.
"Really, Honor, for a clever person, you're rather stupid. It would besimply idiotic to tell him what is sure to annoy him, when the thing'sdone and he can't prevent it."
The girl leaned back with an impatient sigh.
"If you feel so sure it will annoy him, why on earth do you do it? Heis so good to you in every possible way."
A great longing came upon her to disclose all that he had been readyto relinquish five weeks ago.
"_I_ know that without your telling me," Evelyn retorted sharply. "ButI think I might do as I like just while I'm up here. And I meanto--whatever you say. The Kresneys came here, instead of going toMussoorie, chiefly to see me. I can't ignore them; and I won't."
"Well, for goodness' sake, don't ask them to the house again, that'sall." Then, because she could scarcely trust herself to say more onthe subject, and because she had no wish to risk a quarrel, she addedquickly: "A parcel came while we were out. Perhaps you'd like to openit before dinner."
Evelyn was on her feet at once--the Kresneys forgotten as though theywere not.
"It must be my new dress for the General's garden-party. How lovely!"
"Another dress? Your almirah's choked with them already."
"Those are only what I got at Simla last year."
"You seem to have gone in rather extensively for dresses last year,"Honor remarked, a trifle critically. Since their arrival in Murree shehad become better acquainted with the details of Evelyn's wardrobe;and the knowledge had troubled her not a little. "How about yourtrousseau?"
"Mother gave me hardly _any_ dresses. She said I wouldn't need them onthe Frontier. But I _must_ have decent clothes, even in thewilderness."
"Yes, I suppose so. Still you will find continual dresses from Simla aterrible drain on a limited allowance."
A delicate flush crept into Evelyn's cheeks, and her eyes had an oddglitter that came to them when she felt herself hard-pressed, yet didnot intend to give in.
"What do _you_ know about my allowance?"
"I happen to know the amount of it," Honor answered quietly. "I alsoknow the cost of clothes such as you have been getting in Simla,and--I am puzzled to see how the two can be made to fit. You do _pay_for your things, I suppose?" she added, with a flash of apprehension.She herself had never been allowed to indulge in bills.
Evelyn's colour ebbed at the direct question; and she took instantrefuge in anger and matrimonial dignity, as being safer than truth.
&
nbsp; "Really, Honor, you're getting rather a nuisance just lately. Scoldingand preaching never does me a scrap of good--and you know it. What Ido with my allowance isn't anybody's business but my own, and I won'tbe treated as if I were a child. After all"--with a fine mingling ofdignity and scorn--"_I'm_ the married woman. You're only agirl--staying with me; and I think I might be allowed to manage my ownaffairs, without _you_ always criticising and interfering."
By this time Honor had risen also; a line of sternness hardening herbeautiful mouth. Beneath her sustained cheerfulness lay a passionatetemper; and Evelyn's unexpected attack stung it fiercely into life.Several seconds passed before she could trust herself to speak.
"Very well, Evelyn," she said, at length, "from to-day there shall bean end of my criticism and interference. You seem to forget that youasked for my help. But as you don't need it any longer I will handover the account books to you to-morrow morning; and you had bettergive Nazar Khan some orders about dinner. There isn't very much in thehouse."
Only once before had Evelyn seen her friend roused to realindignation; and she was fairly frightened at the effect of her ownhasty words.
"Oh, Honor, don't be so angry as that!" she pleaded brokenly. "Youknow I simply can't----"
But with a decisive gesture Honor set her aside, and walking straightpast her, mounted the steep staircase to her own room.
Arrived there, she stood still as one dazed, her hands pressed againsther temples. There were times when this girl felt a little afraid ofher own vehemence; which, but for the heritage of a strong will, andher unfailing reliance on a Higher Judgment, might indeed have proveddisastrous for herself and others.
With controlled deliberation of movement, she drew a chair to thehired dressing-table, which served as davenport, and began to write.
She set down date and address and the words, "My dear Theo,"--no more.What was it she meant to say to him? That from to-day Evelyn must beleft to manage her affairs alone; that she could no longer beresponsible for her friend's doings, social or domestic; but that shewas willing to remain with her for the season, if he wished it? Howwere such things to be worded? Was it even possible to say them atall?
Her eye fell upon the envelope containing his last letter.Mechanically she drew it out and read it through again very slowly. Itwas a long letter, full of their mutual interests; of the music andthe Persian,--which she was now studying under his tuition;--ofWyndham, Denvil, Mrs Olliver, and his men; very little about himself.But it was written as simply and directly as he spoke,--the only formof letter that annihilates space; and it was signed, "Always yourfriend, Theo Desmond."
Before she reached the signature the fire had faded from her eyes. Shereturned it to the envelope, took up the sheet on which three lineswere written, and tearing it across and across, dropped it into thecane basket at her side.
"I can't do it," she murmured. "What right have I to let him callhimself my friend, if I fail him the first time things take anunpleasant turn?"
She decided, nevertheless, that Evelyn might well be allowed torealise her own helplessness a little before the reins were againtaken out of her hands. Then she went downstairs and out into thegolden evening, to cool her cheeks and quiet her pulses by half anhour of communing with the imperturbable peace of the hills.
Evelyn, standing alone in the drawing-room, bewildered and helpless asa starfish stranded by the tide, heard Honor's footsteps pass the doorand die away in the distance. An unreasoning fear seized her that shemight be going over to Mrs Conolly to stay there for good; and at thethought a sob rose in her throat. Flinging aside her parasol, whichfell rattling to the floor, she sank into the nearest chair and buriedher face in the cushion.
She knew right well that her words had been ungrateful and unjust; yetin her heart she was more vexed with Honor for having pushed her intoa corner than with herself for her defensive flash of resentment. Morethan all was she overwhelmed by a sense of utter helplessness, of notknowing where to turn or what to do next.
"Oh, if only Theo were here!" she lamented. "He would never be unkindto me, I know." Yet the ground of her woe reminded her sharply that ifher husband had knowledge of the bills lying at that moment in herdavenport, he might possibly be so unkind to her--as she phrasedit--that she did not dare tell him the truth. He had spoken to heronce on the subject of debt in no uncertain terms; and she hadresolved thenceforth to deal with her inevitable muddles in her ownway,--the simple fatal way of letting things slide, and hoping thatthey would somehow come right in the end. But there seemed no presentprospect of such a consummation; and for a while she gave herself upto a luxury of self-pity. Tides in her mind ebbed and flowed aimlesslyas seaweed. Everything was hopeless and miserable. It was uselesstrying to be good; and she supposed Honor would never help her again.
Then her thoughts stumbled on the Kresneys. It must be nearlyhalf-past six, and dinner was at a quarter past eight. But, as thingsnow stood, their coming was impossible. She must send them a note tosay Honor was not well; for who could tell how this new, angry Honormight choose to behave if they arrived in spite of all?
The need for action roused her, and she went over to her davenport.But on lifting the lid her eyes fell upon the little sheaf ofbills--and again the Kresneys faded into insignificance. She took upthe detested slips of paper; laid them out one by one on the table;and, sitting down before them, contemplated them with knitted browsand a hopeless droop of her lips.
No need to look into them in detail. She knew their contents, and thesum of them by heart. She knew that they amounted in all to more thansix hundred rupees; and that another four hundred, possibly more, wasstill owing in different directions.
Where in all the world was such a sum to be found without Theo's help?An appeal to Honor would be worse than useless. Honor was so stupidabout such things. Her one idea would be immediate confession. A hazynotion haunted Evelyn that people who were in straits borrowed moneyfrom somewhere, or some one. But her knowledge of this mysterioustransaction went no further; and even she was able to perceive thatfrom so nebulous a starting-point no definite advance could be made.She had also heard of women selling their jewels, and wondered vaguelywho were the convenient people who bought them; though thisalternative did not commend itself to her in any case.
Yet by some means the money must be found. Her earliest creditors werebeginning to assert themselves; to thank her in advance for sums whichshe saw no hope of sending them; and, worse than all, she lived indaily dread lest any of them should be inspired to apply to Theohimself. Look where she would a blank wall confronted her; and in themidst of the blankness she sat, a dainty, dejected figure, with herpitiless pile of bills.
"Krizney, Miss Sahib, _argya_."[19]
[19] Has come.
The kitmutgar's voice jerked her back to the necessities of themoment.
Well, mercifully, Honor was out. It would be a comfort to see anyone, and get away from her own thoughts. Also she could explain aboutthe dinner; and, hastily gathering up her papers, she sent out thecustomary "salaam."
"Oh, Mrs Desmond, I _do_ hope I am not disturbing you." Miss Kresneycame forward with a rather too effusive warmth of manner. "But youforgot to mention if you dine at a quarter to eight or a quarter past;and I was not certain if you meant us to dress or not."
Miss Kresney would probably have been amazed could she have seen thesetwo Englishwomen dining together.
"Why, yes," Evelyn answered simply, "we always dress in the evening,Honor and I. But--please don't think me very rude--I'm afraid I mustask you and your brother to put off coming till--some other night. Iwas just going to send you a note; because Honor is--not at all well.She has been out in the sun all day, and her head is bad. She mustkeep quiet to-night. You see, don't you, that I can't help it? Itisn't my fault."
Linda Kresney's face had fallen very blank; but she pulled herselftogether, and called up a cold little smile.
"Of course not, Mrs Desmond. How could I think it is _your_ fault,when you have always been so
veree kind to us? We often say it is apity every one is not so kind as you are. I am sorry Miss Meredith isnot well." An acid note invaded her voice. She had her own suspicionsof Honor, as being too obviously Captain Desmond's friend. "My brotherwill be terribly disappointed. No doubt we can come some day vereesoon instead."
But Evelyn was too self-absorbed to detect the obvious hint.
"Yes--I hope so," she agreed, without enthusiasm; then, seeing puzzleddissatisfaction in Linda Kresney's eyes, made haste to add: "Perhapsyou'll stay a little now, as you are not coming to-night. It's quiteearly still, and I'm all alone."
Miss Kresney sat down with unconcealed alacrity, and Evelyn followedher example, laying her hand on the tell-tale papers. The trouble ofher mind showed so clearly in her eyes and lips, that the girl, whohad begun to grow really fond of her, was emboldened to risk a vagueproffer of sympathy. She had never as yet found the opportunity herbrother so desired of making herself useful; and she was quick-wittedenough to perceive that Fate might be favouring her at last.
"I am afraid you have been worried about something, Mrs Desmond," shebegan warily. "Perhaps after all I had better not stay here, botheringyou to make talk. Unless perhaps--I can help you in any way. I shouldbe very glad to, if you will not think me officious to say so. Icannot bear to see you look so unhappee. It is not bad news fromKohat, I hope?"
Evelyn's smile was a very misty affair.
"Oh, no--it's not that," she said, and broke off short.
Miss Kresney waited for more--her face and figure one fervent note ofinterrogation. She had tact enough to realise that she could not pressverbal inquiry further.
But her air of interested expectation was not lost on Evelyn Desmond.A pressing need was urging her to unburden her mind through thecomforting channels of speech. Cut off, by her own act, from the twostrong natures on whom she leaned for sympathy and help, thereremained only this girl, who would certainly give her the one, andmight possibly give her the other, in the form of practicalinformation. It was this last thought that turned the scale in MissKresney's favour; and Evelyn spoke.
"I think it's very nice of you to mind that I am unhappy, and to wantto help me. But I don't know whether you can; because it's--it's aboutmoney."
The merest shadow of astonishment flittered across Miss Kresney'sface. But she said no word, and Evelyn went on--her nervousness givingway rapidly before the relief of speech.
"I have a whole heap of bills here, for dresses and things, that Isimply can't pay for out of my allowance. It's not because my husbanddoesn't give me enough," she added, with a pathetic flash of loyalty."He gives me all he can possibly spare. But I'm stupid andunpractical. I just order clothes when I want them, and never thinkabout the price till the bill comes in, and then it's too late! Mymother did it all before I married. I wish to goodness she had taughtme to manage for myself; but it's no use thinking of that now. Thequestion is--where can I get money to pay these bills withouttroubling my husband about them. I must find some way to do it,only--I don't the least know how. Aren't there natives out here whobuy people's jewels, or--or lend them money when they want it in ahurry? I thought--perhaps--you might know whether I could manage to doit--up here?"
The surprise in Miss Kresney's face deepened to alarm.
"Oh, but indeed, Mrs Desmond, you cannot do anything like that. Thenative money-lenders are veree bad people to deal with; and they asksuch big interest, that if you once start with them it is almostimpossible to get free again. You say you are inexperienced aboutmoney, and that would make it far worse. You cannot do anything ofthat kind--reallee."
Evelyn rose in an access of helpless impatience.
"But if I can't do that, what _can_ I do?" she cried. "I've got to do_some_thing--somehow, don't you see? Some of them are beginning tobother me already, and--it frightens me."
A long silence followed upon her simple, impassioned statement of thecase. Miss Kresney was meditating a startling possibility.
"There is only one thing that I can suggest," she ventured at length,"and that is I could lend you some money myself. I haven't a greatdeal. But if three hundred rupees would help you to settle some of thebills, I would feel only too proud if you would take it. There will beno interest to pay; and you could let me have it back in small sumsjust whenever you could manage it."
With a gasp of incredulity Evelyn sank back into her chair.
"D'you _mean_ that?"
"Of course I do."
"Oh, Miss Kresney, I don't know why you should be so kind to me! Howcan I take such a lot of money--from you?"
"Why not, if I am glad to give it?"
Indeed the sum seemed to her an inconsiderable trifle beside thecertainty of Owen's praise, of Owen's entire satisfaction.
For a clear three minutes Evelyn Desmond sat silent, irresolute; hermind a formless whirl of eagerness and uncertainty, hope and fear. Thenovelty of the transaction rather than any glimmering of thecomplications it might engender held her trembling on the brink; andMiss Kresney awaited her decision with downcast eyes, her fingersmechanically plaiting and unplaiting the silken fringe of thetable-cloth.
Sounds crept in from without and peopled the waiting stillness. EvelynDesmond had no faintest forewarning of the grave issues that hung uponher answer, yet she was unaccountably afraid. Her driven heart criedout for the support of her husband's presence; and her voice, whenwords came at last, was pitifully unsteady.
"It is so difficult not to say Yes."
"Why will you not say it, then? And it would all be comfortablysettled."
"Would it? I don't seem able to believe that. Only if I _do_ say Yes,you must promise not to tell--your brother."
"I am afraid that would not be possible. How could I arrange such athing without letting my brother know about it?"
"Then I can't take the money."
Evelyn's voice was desperate but determined. Some spark of intuitionenabled her to see that any intrusion of Kresney set the matter beyondthe pale of possible things; and nothing remained for Linda butcompromise or retreat.
She unhesitatingly chose the former. A few reassuring words would costlittle to utter; and if circumstances should demand a convenientforgetfulness, none but herself need ever be aware of the fact. Sheleaned across the table, and her tone was a triumph of open-heartedsympathy.
"Mrs Desmond, you know quite well that I cannot leave you unhappy likethis. If you are so determined that my brother must not know, I thinkI could manage without his help. Come to the Hotel to-morrow athalf-past ten, and we will send off three hundred rupees to those whoare troubling you most for payment."
Miss Kresney was as good as her word. She drew three hundred rupees innotes from her own small bank account, and herself went with Evelyn tothe post-office whence they were safely despatched to Simla.
Some three evenings later, Owen Kresney bade his sister good-nightwith a quite phenomenal display of affection.
"You're a regular little trump, Linda!" he declared. "I never gave youcredit for so much good sense. By Jove! I'd give a month's pay for asight of Desmond's face if he ever finds _this_ out! I expect hestints that poor little woman and splashes all the money on poloponies. Glad you were able to help her; and whatever you do, don't lether pay you back too soon. If you're short of cash, you've only to askme."
* * * * *
For the space of a week Honor held inflexibly aloof; and the effort itcost her seemed out of all proportion to the mildness of thepunishment inflicted. It is an old story--the inevitable price paid bylove that is strong enough to chastise. But this great paradox, thecorner-stone of man's salvation, is a stumbling-block to lessernatures. In Evelyn's eyes Honor was merely cruel, and her own week ofindependence a nightmare of helpless irritation. She made one effortat remonstrance; and its futility crushed her to earth.
During the evening of their talk the matter had been tacitly avoidedbetween them; but when, on the following morning, Honor laid books andbills upon the davenport where E
velyn sat writing, she caughtdesperately at the girl's hand.
"Honor, it isn't fair. How _can_ you be so unkind?"
Honor drew her hand decisively away.
"Please let the subject alone," she said coolly. "If you persist intalking of it, you will drive me to go and sit in my own room--that'sall."
A week later, however, when she returned from a ride to find Evelynagain at the detested davenport, her head bowed upon her arms, like aflower broken with the wind, all the inherent motherhood in her roseup and overflowed. Hastily crossing the room she knelt down beside thesmall tragic figure and kissed a pearl-white fragment of forehead; theonly spot available at the moment. "Poor darling!" she whispered. "Isit really as bad as all that?"
Caresses from Honor were so rare that for an instant Evelyn was takenaback; then she laid her head on the girl's shoulder with a sigh ofpure content.
"Oh, Honor! the world seems all broken to pieces when _you_ are unkindto me!"
Honor kissed her again.
"I won't be unkind to you any more; and we'll just forget from thisminute that it ever happened at all."
But to forget is not to undo; and during their brief estrangementEvelyn Desmond had added a link to the chain of Fate, whose strongestcoils are most often wrought by our own unskilful fingers.