CHAPTER XIX
WOLFENDEN'S LOVE-MAKING
"Lord Wolfenden?"
He laughed at her surprise, and took off his cap. He was breathless, forhe had been scrambling up the steep side of the hill on which she wasstanding, looking steadfastly out to sea. Down in the valley from whichhe had come a small boy with a bag of golf clubs on his back wasstanding, making imaginary swings at the ball which lay before him.
"I saw you from below," he explained. "I couldn't help coming up. Youdon't mind?"
"No; I am glad to see you," she said simply. "You startled me, that isall. I did not hear you coming, and I had forgotten almost where I was.I was thinking."
He stood by her side, his cap still in his hand, facing the strong seawind. Again he was conscious of that sense of extreme pleasure which hadalways marked his chance meetings with her. This time he felt perhapsthat there was some definite reason for it. There was something in herexpression, when she had turned so swiftly round, which seemed to tellhim that her first words were not altogether meaningless. She waslooking a little pale, and he fancied also a little sad. There was aninexpressible wistfulness about her soft, dark eyes; the light andcharming gaiety of her manner, so un-English and so attractive to him,had given place to quite another mood. Whatever her thoughts might havebeen when he had first seen her there, her tall, slim figure outlinedso clearly against the abrupt sky line, they were at all events scarcelypleasant ones. He felt that his sudden appearance had not been unwelcometo her, and he was unreasonably pleased.
"You are still all alone," he remarked. "Has Mr. Sabin not arrived?"
She shook her head.
"I am all alone, and I am fearfully and miserably dull. This place doesnot attract me at all: not at this time of the year. I have not heardfrom my uncle. He may be here at any moment."
There was no time like the present. He was suddenly bold. It was anopportunity which might never be vouchsafed to him again.
"May I come with you--a little way along the cliffs?" he asked.
She looked at him and hesitated. More than ever he was aware of somesubtle change in her. It was as though her mental attitude towards himhad adapted itself in some way to this new seriousness of demeanour. Itwas written in her features--his eyes read it eagerly. A certainaloofness, almost hauteur, about the lines of her mouth, creeping outeven in her most careless tones, and plainly manifest in the carriage ofher head, was absent. She seemed immeasurably nearer to him. She wassofter and more womanly. Even her voice in its new and more delicatenotes betrayed the change. Perhaps it was only a mood, yet he would takeadvantage of it.
"What about your golf?" she said, motioning down into the valley wherehis antagonist was waiting.
"Oh, I can easily arrange that," he declared cheerfully. "Fortunately Iwas playing the professional and he will not mind leaving off."
He waved to his caddie, and scribbled a few lines on the back of a card.
"Give that to McPherson," he said. "You can clean my clubs and put themin my locker. I shall not be playing again this morning."
The boy disappeared down the hill. They stood for a moment side by side.
"I have spoilt your game," she said. "I am sorry."
He laughed.
"I think you know," he said boldly, "that I would rather spend fiveminutes with you than a day at golf."
She moved on with a smile at the corners of her lips.
"What a downright person you are!" she said. "But honestly to-day I amnot in the mood to be alone. I am possessed with an uneasy spirit ofsadness. I am afraid of my thoughts."
"I am only sorry," he said, "that you should have any that are not happyones. Don't you think perhaps that you are a little lonely? You seem tohave so few friends."
"It is not that," she answered. "I have many and very dear friends, andit is only for a little time that I am separated from them. It is simplythat I am not used to solitude, and I am becoming a creature of moodsand presentiments. It is very foolish that I give way to them; butto-day I am miserable. You must stretch out that strong hand of yours,my friend, and pull me up."
"I will do my best," he said. "I am afraid I cannot claim that there isanything in the shape of affinity between us; for to-day I amparticularly happy."
She met his eyes briefly, and looked away seawards with the ghost of asorrowful smile upon her lips. Her words sounded like a warning.
"Do not be sure," she said. "It may not last."
"It will last," he said, "so long as you choose. For to-day you are themistress of my moods!"
"Then I am very sorry for you," she said earnestly.
He laughed it off, but her words brought a certain depression withthem. He went on to speak of something else.
"I have been thinking about you this morning," he said. "If your uncleis going to play golf here, it will be very dull for you. Would you carefor my mother to come and see you? She would be delighted, I am sure,for it is dull for her too, and she is fond of young people. If you----"
He stopped short She was shaking her head slowly. The old despondencywas back in her face. Her eyes were full of trouble. She laid herdelicately gloved fingers upon his arm.
"My friend," she said, "it is very kind of you to think of it--but it isimpossible. I cannot tell you why as I would wish. But at present I donot desire any acquaintances. I must not, in fact, think of it. It wouldgive me great pleasure to know your mother. Only I must not. Believe methat it is impossible."
Wolfenden was a little hurt--a good deal mystified. It was a very oddthing. He was not in the least a snob, but he knew that the visit of theCountess of Deringham, whose name was still great in the social world,was not a thing to be refused without grave reasons by a girl in theposition of Mr. Sabin's niece. The old question came back to him with anirresistible emphasis. Who were these people? He looked at herfurtively. He was an observant man in the small details of a woman'stoilette, and he knew that he had never met a girl better turned outthan his present companion. The cut of her tailor-made gown wasperfection, her gloves and boots could scarcely have come from anywherebut Paris. She carried herself too with a perfect ease and indefinabledistinction which could only have come to her by descent. She was aperfect type of the woman of breeding--unrestrained, yet aristocratic tothe tips of her finger-nails.
He sighed as he looked away from her.
"You are a very mysterious young woman," he said, with a forced air ofgaiety.
"I am afraid that I am," she admitted regretfully. "I can assure youthat I am very tired of it. But--it will not last for very much longer."
"You are really going away, then?" he asked quickly.
"Yes. We shall not be in England much longer."
"You are going for good?" he asked. "I mean, to remain away?"
"When we go," she said, "it is very doubtful if ever I shall set my footon English soil again."
He drew a quick breath. It was his one chance, then. Her last words mustbe his excuse for such precipitation. They had scrambled down through anopening in the cliffs, and there was no one else in sight. Some instinctseemed to tell her what was coming. She tried to talk, but she couldnot. His hand had closed upon hers, and she had not the strength to drawit away. It was so very English this sudden wooing. No one had everdared to touch her fingers before without first begging permission.
"Don't you know--Helene--that I love you? I want you to live inEngland--to be my wife. Don't say that I haven't a chance. I know that Iought not to have spoken yet, but you are going away so soon, and I amso afraid that I might not see you again alone. Don't stop me, please. Iam not asking you now for your love. I know that it is too soon--to hopefor that--altogether! I only want you to know, and to be allowed tohope."
"You must not. It is impossible."
The words were very low, and they came from her quivering with intensepain. He released her fingers. She leaned upon a huge boulder near and,resting her face upon her hand, gazed dreamily out to sea.
"I am very sorry," she said.
"My uncle was right after all. It was notwise for us to meet. I ought to have no friends. It was not wise--itwas very, very foolish."
Being a man, his first thoughts had been for himself. But at her wordshe forgot everything except that she too was unhappy.
"Do you mean," he said slowly, "that you cannot care for me, or thatthere are difficulties which seem to you to make it impossible?"
She looked up at him, and he scarcely knew her transfigured face, withthe tears glistening upon her eyelashes.
"Do not tempt me to say what might make both of us more unhappy," shebegged. "Be content to know that I cannot marry you."
"You have promised somebody else?"
"I shall probably marry," she said deliberately, "somebody else."
He ground his heel into the soft sands, and his eyes flashed.
"You are being coerced!" he cried.
She lifted her head proudly.
"There is no person breathing," she said quietly, "who would dare toattempt such a thing!"
Then he looked out with her towards the sea, and they watched the long,rippling waves break upon the brown sands, the faint and unexpectedgleam of wintry sunshine lying upon the bosom of the sea, and thescreaming seagulls, whose white wings shone like alabaster against thedarker clouds. For him these things were no longer beautiful, nor did hesee the sunlight, which with a sudden fitfulness had warmed the air. Itwas all very cold and grey. It was not possible for him to read theriddle yet--she had not said that she could not care for him. There wasthat hope!
"There is no one," he said slowly, "who could coerce you? You will notmarry me, but you will probably marry somebody else. Is it, then, thatyou care for this other man, and not for me?"
She shook her head.
"Of the two," she said, with a faint attempt at her old manner, "Iprefer you. Yet I shall marry him."
Wolfenden became aware of an unexpected sensation. He was getting angry.
"I have a right," he said, resting his hand upon her shoulder, andgaining courage from her evident weakness, "to know more. I have givenyou my love. At least you owe me in return your confidence. Let me haveit. You shall see that even if I may not be your lover, I can at leastbe your faithful friend."
She touched his hand tenderly. It was scarcely kind of her--certainlynot wise. She had taken off her glove, and the touch of her soft,delicate fingers thrilled him. The blood rushed through his veins likemad music. The longing to take her into his arms was almostuncontrollable. Her dark eyes looked upon him very kindly.
"My friend," she said, "I know that you would be faithful. You must notbe angry with me. Nay, it is your pity I want. Some day you will knowall. Then you will understand. Perhaps even you will be sorry for me, ifI am not forgotten. I only wish that I could tell you more; only I maynot. It makes me sad to deny you, but I must."
"I mean to know," he said doggedly--"I mean to know everything. You aresacrificing yourself. To talk of marrying a man whom you do not love isabsurd. Who are you? If you do not tell me, I shall go to your guardian.I shall go to Mr. Sabin."
"Mr. Sabin is always at your service," said a suave voice almost at hiselbow. "Never more so than at the present."
Wolfenden turned round with a start. It was indeed Mr. Sabin who stoodthere--Mr. Sabin, in unaccustomed guise, clad in a tweed suit andleaning upon an ordinary walking-stick.
"Come," he said good-humouredly, "don't look at me as though I weresomething uncanny. If you had not been so very absorbed you would haveheard me call to you from the cliffs. I wanted to save myself the climb,but you were deaf, both of you. Am I the first man whose footsteps uponthe sands have fallen lightly? Now, what is it you want to ask me, LordWolfenden?"
Wolfenden was in no way disturbed at the man's coming. On the contrary,he was glad of it. He answered boldly and without hesitation.
"I want to marry your niece, Mr. Sabin," he said.
"Very natural indeed," Mr. Sabin remarked easily. "If I were a young manof your age and evident taste I have not the least doubt but that Ishould want to marry her myself. I offer you my sincere sympathy.Unfortunately it is impossible."
"I want to know," Wolfenden said, "why it is impossible? I want a reasonof some sort."
"You shall have one with pleasure," Mr. Sabin said. "My niece is alreadybetrothed."
"To a man," Wolfenden exclaimed indignantly, "whom she admits that shedoes not care for!"
"Whom she has nevertheless," Mr. Sabin said firmly, and with a suddenflash of anger in his eyes, "agreed and promised of her own free will tomarry. Look here, Lord Wolfenden, I do not desire to quarrel with you.You saved me from a very awkward accident a few nights ago, and I remainyour debtor. Be reasonable! My niece has refused your offer. I confirmher refusal. Your proposal does us both much honour, but it is utterlyout of the question. That is putting it plainly, is it not? Now, youmust choose for yourself--whether you will drop the subject and remainour valued friend, or whether you compel me to ask you to leave us atonce, and consider us henceforth as strangers."
The girl laid her hand upon his shoulder and looked at him pleadingly.
"For my sake," she said, "choose to remain our friend, and let this beforgotten."
"For your sake, I consent," he said. "But I give no promise that I willnot at some future time reopen the subject."
"You will do so," Mr. Sabin said, "exactly when you desire to close youracquaintance with us. For the rest, you have chosen wisely. Now I amgoing to take you home, Helene. Afterwards, if Lord Wolfenden will giveme a match, I shall be delighted to have a round of golf with him."
"I shall be very pleased," Wolfenden answered.
"I will see you at the Pavilion in half an hour," Mr. Sabin said. "Inthe meantime, you will please excuse us. I have a few words to say to myniece."
She held out both her hands, looking at him half kindly, half wistfully.
"Goodbye," she said. "I am so sorry!"
But he looked straight into her eyes, and he answered her bravely. Hewould not admit defeat.
"I hope that you are not," he said. "I shall never regret it."