CHAPTER IX
LARPENT
"Shall we dig a deep, deep hole for you to lie in?" asked Eileen withserious violet eyes upraised.
"And then cover you right up to your head so as you won't catch cold?"chimed in Molly.
"Betty dig too! Betty dig too!" cried the youngest of the party withzest. "Zite up over Auntie Toy's head!"
"What an excellent idea!" said Toby with resignation.
She sat down in the golden afternoon sunshine that flooded the beach, thethree children buzzing happily about her, and rested her chin on herhands. The blue eyes that dwelt upon the misty horizon were very tired.They had the heavy look of unshed tears, and all the delicate colourwas gone from her face. Her slight figure drooped pathetically. She satvery still. All the elasticity of youth seemed to have gone out of her.Once or twice a sharp sigh caught her that was almost like a sob.
Betty's shrill voice at her side recalled her from her dreams. "Bettytired now, Auntie Toy. Betty tummin' to sit down."
She turned and took the child upon her lap with a fondling touch andtender words. Betty pillowed a downy head against her neck and almostimmediately fell asleep. Eileen and Molly laboured on at theirself-imposed task in the autumn sunshine, and Toby returned to herdreams.
Perhaps she also had begun to doze, for the day was warm and sound sleephad forsaken her of late; when the falling of a shadow aroused her veryswiftly to the consciousness of someone near at hand whose approach shehad not heard. She controlled her quick start before it could awaken thesleeping child, but her eyes as they flashed upwards had the strained,panic-stricken look of a hunted animal. She made an almost involuntarymovement of shrinking and the blood went out of her lips, but she spokeno word.
A man in a navy-blue yachting-suit stood looking down at her withblue-grey eyes that tried to be impersonal but failed at that slightgesture of hers.
"You needn't be afraid of me, heaven knows," he said.
"I'm not," said Toby promptly, and flung him her old boyish smile. "Iwasn't expecting just you at that moment, that's all. Sit down and talk,Captain--if that's what you've come for!"
Apparently it was. He lowered himself to the sand beside her. But atonce--as by irresistible habit--his eyes sought the horizon, and he satand contemplated it in utter silence.
Toby endured the situation for a few difficult seconds, then took briskcommand. "Why don't you have a smoke?" she said. "You'd find it a help."
He put his hand mechanically into his pocket and took out hiscigarette-case. His eyes came back out of space as he did so, and restedupon the fair-haired child in the girl's arms.
"So you've come back to the old job!" he said.
Toby nodded. "Yes. Jake's doing. I'm waiting to--to--to be divorced."
He made a slight movement of surprise, but his face remained inscrutable."You'll have to wait some time for that," he said.
Toby tilted her chin with a reckless gesture that was somehow belied bythe weariness of her eyes. "That wasn't what you came to talk aboutthen?" she suggested after a pause.
"No." Larpent's voice had a curious, almost deprecating quality. "I cameto bring you a message."
"A message!" She started slightly, and in a moment the defiance went outof her attitude. She turned towards him. "Who--who is it from?"
Larpent's far-seeing eyes came gravely to meet her own. "From RozelleDaubeni," he said.
"Ah!" A quick shiver went through Toby. She averted her look. "I don'twant to hear it," she said.
"I've got to deliver it," said Larpent, with a hint of doggedness. "Andyou've got to listen. But you needn't be afraid. It isn't going to makeany difference to you. The time has gone for that."
He paused, but Toby sat in silence, her face bent over Betty's fair head.When he spoke again, his eyes had gone back to the quiet sea and the farhorizon. There was a hint of pathos about him, albeit his face was grim.
"It may have surprised you to see me in Paris with her," he said. "I'mnot the sort of man that runs after--that type of woman. But I went toRozelle because she was dying, and because once--long ago--she was mywife."
A faint sound came from Toby, but still she did not speak or lift herface.
Larpent went on steadily, unemotionally. "She went wrong--ran away--whileI was at sea. She was too young to be left alone. Afterwards--too late--achild was born. She told me the night before she died that the child wasmine."
"Good God!" said Toby under her breath.
He went on, grimly monotonous. "I never knew of the child's existence. IfI had known, it might have made a difference. But it's too late now. Shewanted me to find and protect the child. I promised to do my best. Andwhen I found her, I was to tell her one thing. Rozelle prayed for herchild's forgiveness every day."
He ceased to speak, and there fell a silence, long and painful. The tidewas turning, and the soft wash of tiny breakers came up the sand. Sea andsky mingled together, opalescent in the misty sunlight. The man's eyesgazed without seeing. Toby's were full of tears.
He turned at last and looked at her, then, moved by what he saw, laid anawkward hand upon her arm.
"I'm not asking anything from you," he said. "But I'd like you to knowI'd have done more--if I'd known."
She threw him a quick look, choking back her tears. "It--it--it's ratherfunny, isn't it?" she said, with a little crack of humour in her voice."I'm--I'm very sorry. Captain Larpent."
"Sorry?" he said.
"For you," said Toby, with another piteous choke. "I've been foisted onto you so often. And you--you've hated it so."
"That's the tragic part of it," said Larpent.
She brushed away her tears and tried to smile. "I wonder you bothered totell me," she said.
His hand closed almost unconsciously upon her arm. "I had to tell you,"he said. "It's a thing you ought to know." He hesitated a moment, thenconcluded with obvious effort. "And I wanted to offer you my help."
"Thank you," whispered Toby. "You--you--that's very--generous of you."She gulped again, and recovered herself. "What do you want to do aboutit?" she said.
"Do? Well, what can I do?" He seemed momentarily disconcerted by thequestion.
Toby became brisk and business-like. "Well, you don't want to retire andlive in a cottage with me, do you? We shouldn't either of us like that,should we?"
"There's no question of that now," said Larpent quietly. "Your home iswith your husband, not with me."
Toby flinched a little. "My home isn't anywhere then," she said. "When Ileft him, it was--for good."
"Why did you leave him?" said Larpent.
Toby's lips set in a firm line, and she made no answer.
Larpent waited a few moments; then: "It's no matter for my interference,"he said. "But it seems to me you've made a mistake in one particular. Youdon't realize why he married you."
Toby made a small passionate movement of protest. "He ought not to havedone it," she said, in a low voice. "I ought not to have let him. Ithought I could play the part. I know now I can't. And--he knows it too."
"I think you'll have to play the part," Larpent said.
"No!" She spoke with vehemence. "It's quite impossible. He has been fartoo good--far too generous. But it shan't go on. He's got to set me free.If he doesn't--" she stopped abruptly.
"Well? If he doesn't?" Larpent's voice was unwontedly gentle, and therewas compassion in his look.
Toby's eyes avoided his. "I'll find--a way for myself," she said almostinarticulately.
Larpent's fingers tightened again upon the thin young arm. "It's no goodfighting Fate," he said. "Why has it become impossible? Just because heknows all about you? Do you suppose that--or anything else--is going tomake any difference at this stage? Do you imagine he would let yougo--for that?"
Toby's arm strained against him. "He'll have to," she declaredstubbornly. "He doesn't know all about me either---any more than you do.And--and--and--he's never going to know."
Her voice shook stormily. She glanced about her desperately as if i
nsearch of refuge. The child in her arms stirred and woke.
Larpent got up as if the conversation were ended. He stood for a momentirresolute, then walked across to the two little girls digging busily afew yards away.
Eileen greeted him with her usual shy courtesy. "Won't you wait a littlelonger?" she said. "We've very nearly finished."
"Nearly finished," echoed Molly. "Isn't it a booful big hole?"
"What's it for?" asked Larpent.
Toby's voice answered him. She had risen and followed him. It had an oddbreak in it--the sound of laughter that is mingled with tears. "They'redigging a hole to bury me in. Isn't it a great idea?"
He wheeled and looked at her. There was no sign of tears in the wide blueeyes that met his own. Yet he put his hand on her shoulder with thegesture of one who comforts a child.
"Before I go," he said, "I want to tell you something--something no onehas told me, but that I've found out for myself. There is only one thingon this earth worth having--only one thing that counts. It isn't rank orwealth or even happiness. It swamps the lot, just because it's the onlything in God's creation that lasts. And you've got it. In heaven's name,don't throw it away!"
He spoke with the simplicity and strength of a man who never wastes hiswords, and having spoken, he released her without farewell and turnedaway.
Toby stood quite motionless for several seconds, watching him; then, ashe did not look round, hurriedly she addressed the eldest child.
"Take care of Betty a moment, Eileen darling! I shall be back directly."And with the words she was gone, like an arrow, in pursuit.
He must have heard her feet upon the sand, but he did not turn. Perhapshis thoughts were elsewhere, for when at the quick pressure of her handon his arm he paused to look at her, she saw that his eyes were very sad.
"Well?" he said, with the glimmer of a smile. "Well,--Toinette?"
She clasped her two hands upon his arm, holding it very tightly, her faceuplifted. "Please--I want to thank you," she said breathlessly. "You havebeen--so very good."
He shook his head. "I have done--nothing," he said. "Don't thank me!"
She went on with nervous haste. "And it does make a difference to me.I--I--I'm glad I know, though it must have been--a great shock to you."
"It would have been a much worse shock if it had been anyone else," hesaid.
"Would it? How nice of you!" Her lip trembled. "Well then, I'm glad itwasn't." She began to walk on with him. "Do you mind telling me--didyou--did you--forgive her?"
"Yes," he said very quietly.
A quick shiver went through her. "Then I must too," she said. "Atleast--I must try. She--she--I loved her once, you know, before I beganto understand."
"Everyone loved her," he said.
"But life is very difficult, isn't it?" she urged rather tremulously.
"Your life has been," he said.
She nodded. "One can't help--can't help--making mistakes--even badones--sometimes."
"You've just made one," he said.
She faced him valiantly. "Ah, but you don't understand. You--you can'tthrow away--what you've never had, can you--can you?"
"What you've got," he corrected gravely. "Yes, you can."
She flung out her hands with a wide gesture. "But I haven't got it! Inever had it! He took me out of pity. He never--pretended to love me."
"No," said Larpent, with grim certitude. "He isn't pretending this time."
She stared at him, wide-eyed, motionless. "Not pretending? What do youmean? Please--what do you mean?"
He held out his hand. "Good-bye!" he said abruptly. "I mean--just that."
Her lips were parted to say more, but something in his face or actionchecked her. She put her hand into his. "Good-bye!" she said.
He held her hand for a moment, then, moved by some hint of forlornness inthe clear eyes, he bent, as he had bent at the Castle on that summerevening weeks before, and lightly touched her forehead with his lips.
"Oh, that's nice of you," said Toby quickly. "Thank you for that."
"Don't thank me for anything!" said Larpent. "Play a straight game,that's all!"
And with the words he left her finally, striding away over the sand withthat careless sailor's gait of his, gazing always far ahead of him out tothe dim horizon. Perhaps as long as he lived his look would never againdwell upon anything nearer.