CHAPTER XXXVI
ROGER'S REFUSAL
The next morning at breakfast only one letter lay beside Nan's plate.As she recognised Maryon Rooke's small, squarish handwriting, with itscurious contrasts of heavy downstrokes and very light terminals, thecolour deepened in her cheeks. Her slight confusion passed unnoticed,however, as everyone else was absorbed in his or her individual shareof the morning's mail.
For a moment Nan hesitated, conscious of an intense disinclination toopen the letter. It gave her a queer feeling of panic, recalling withpoignant vividness the day when she and Maryon had last been together.At length, somewhat dreading what it might contain, she opened it andbegan to read.
"I've had a blazing letter from young Sandy McBain, which has increasedmy respect for him enormously," wrote Maryon. "I've come to theconclusion that I deserve all the names he called me. Nan, how do youmanage to make everyone so amazingly devoted to you? I think it mustbe that ridiculously short upper lip of yours, or your 'blue-violet'eyes, or some other of your absurd and charming characteristics.
"I shall probably go abroad for a bit--to recover my self-respect. I'mnot feeling particularly proud of myself just now, and it always spoilsmy enjoyment of things if I can't be genuinely pleased with my ego.Don't cut me when next we meet, if fortune is ever kind enough to me tolet us meet again. Because, for once in my life, I'm really sorry formy sins.
"I believe that somewhere in the ramshackle thing I call my soul, I'mglad Sandy took you away from me. Though there are occasional momentswhen I feel murderous towards him.
"Yours
"MARYON."
Nan laid down the closely-written sheet with a half-smile,half-sigh--could one ever regard Maryon Rooke without a smile overtakenby a sigh? The letter somewhat cheered her, washing away what remainedof bitterness in her thoughts towards him. It was very characteristicof the man, with its intense egotism--almost every sentence beginningwith an "I"--and its lightly cynical note. Yet beneath the surfaceflippancy Nan could read a genuine remorse and self-reproach. And insome strange way it comforted her a little to know that Maryon wassorry. After all, there is something good even in the worst of us.
"Had a nice letter, Nan?" asked Barry, looking up from his owncorrespondence. "You're wearing a smile of sorts."
"Yes. It was--rather a nice letter. Good and bad mixed, I think," sheanswered.
"Then you're lucky," observed Kitty. There was a rather frightenedlook in her eyes. "We'll go into your study after breakfast, Barry. Iwant to consult you about one of my letters. It's--it's undiluted bad,I think."
Barry's blue eyes smiled reassuringly across at her. "All right, oldthing. Two heads are generally better than one if you're up against asnag."
Half an hour later she beckoned him into the study.
"What's the trouble?" He slipped an arm round her shoulders. "Don'tlook like that, Kitten. We're sure to be able to put things rightsomehow."
She smiled at him rather ruefully.
"It's you who'll have to do the putting right, Barry--and it'll be ahateful business, too," she replied.
"Thanks," murmured Barry. "Well, what's in the letter that's botheringyou?"
"It's from Peter," burst out Kitty. "He's going straight off toAfrica--to-morrow! Celia, of course, will be buried out in India--heruncle has cabled him that he'll arrange everything. And Peter has hadthe chance of a returned berth in a boat that sails to-morrow, so heproposes to get his kit together and start at once."
"I should have thought he'd have started at once--in this direction,"remarked Barry drily.
"He would have done, I expect, only he's so bitter over Nan's attemptto run away with Maryon Rooke that he's determined to bury himself inthe wilds. If he only knew what she'd gone through before she did sucha thing, he'd understand and forgive her. But that's just like a man!When the woman he cares for acts in a way that's entirely inconsistentwith all he knows of her, he never thinks of trying to work backwardsto find out the _cause_. The effect's enough for him! Oh!"--with asigh--"I do think Peter and Nan are most difficult people to manage.If it were only that--just a lovers' squabble--one might fix things up.But now, just when every obstacle in the world is removed and theycould be happily married, Nan must needs decide that it's her duty tomarry Roger!"
"Her duty?"
"Yes." And Kitty plunged forthwith into a detailed account of all thathad happened.
"Good old Nan! She's a well-plucked 'un," was Barry's comment when shehad finished.
"Of course it's splendid of her," said Kitty. "Nan was always anidealist in her notions--but in practice it would just mean purgatory.And I won't _let_ her smash up the whole of her own life, and Peter'sfor an ideal!"
"How do you propose to prevent it, m'dear?"
"I propose that _you_ should prevent it."
"I? How?"
Kitty laid an urgent hand on his arm.
"You must go over to Trenby and see Roger."
"See Roger? My dear girl, he won't be able to see visitors for daysyet."
"Oh, yes, he will," replied Kitty. "Isobel Carson rang up just now toask if Nan would come over. It appears that, barring the injury to hisback, he escaped without a scratch. He didn't even _know_ he was hurttill he found he couldn't use his legs. Of course, he'll be in bed.Isobel says he seems almost his usual self, except that he won't letanyone sympathise with him over his injury. He's just savage about it."
Barry made no answer. He reflected that it was quite in keeping withall be knew of the man for him to bear in silence the shock of knowingthat henceforward he would be a helpless cripple. Just as a wildanimal, mortally hurt, seeks solitude in which to die, so Roger'sarrogant, primitive nature refused to tolerate the pity of his fellows.
"Well," queried Barry grudgingly. "If I do see him, what then?"
"You must tell him that Peter is free and make him release Nan from herengagement. In fact, he must do more than that," she continuedemphatically. "In her present mood Nan would probably decline toaccept her release. He must absolutely _refuse_ to marry her."
"And supposing he doesn't see doing that?"
Kitty's lip curled.
"In the circumstances, I should think that any man who cared for awoman and who wasn't a moral and physical coward, would see it was theone and only thing he could do."
Her husband remained silent.
"You'll go, Barry?"
"I don't care for interfering in Trenby's personal affairs. Poordevil! He's got enough to bear just now!"
Sudden tears filled Kitty's eyes. She pitied Roger from the bottom ofher heart, but she must still fight for the happiness of Nan and Peter.
"I know," she acquiesced unhappily. "But, don't you see, if he doesn'tbear just this, too, Nan will have to endure a twofold burden for therest of her life. Oh, Barry!"--choking back a sob--"Don't fail me!It's a man's job--this. No woman could do it, without making Rogerfeel it frightfully. A man so hates to discuss any physicaldisablement with a woman. It hurts his pride. He'd rather ignore it."
"But where's the use?" protested Barry. "If Peter is off to-morrow tothe back of beyond, you're still no further on. You've only madethings doubly hard for that poor devil up at the Hall withoutaccomplishing anything else."
"Peter won't go to-morrow," asserted Kitty. "I've settled that. Iwired him to come down here--I sent the wire the minute afterbreakfast. He'll be here to-night."
"Pooh! He'll take no notice of a telegram like that! A man doesn'tupset the whole of his plans to go abroad because a pal in the countrywires him 'to come down'!"
"Precisely. So I worded my wire in a way which will ensure hiscoming," replied Kitty, with returning spirit.
Barry looked, at her doubtfully.
"What did you put on it?"
"I said: '_Bad accident here. Come at once_.' I know that will bringhim. . . . And it has the further merit of being the truth!" she addedwith a rather shaky little laugh.
"That wil
l certainly bring him," agreed Barry, a brief flash ofamusement in his eyes. It was so like Kitty to dare a wire of thisdescription and chance how her explanation of it might be received bythe person most concerned. "But suppose Trenby declines point-blank torelease Nan?" he pursued. "What will you do then--with Peter on yourhands?"
"Well, at least Peter will understand what Nan is doing and why she'sdoing it. Given that he knew the whole truth, I think he'd probablyrun away with her. I know _I_ should--if I were a man! Now, will yougo and see Roger, please?"
"I suppose I shall have to. But it's a beastly job." Barry's usuallymerry eyes were clouded.
"Beastly," agreed Kitty sympathetically. "But it's got to be done."
Ten minutes later she watched her husband drive away in the directionof Trenby Hall, and composed herself to wait patiently on the march ofevents.
* * * * * *
Barry looked pitifully down at the big, helpless figure lying betweenthe sheets of the great four-poster bed. Except for an unwonted pallorand the fact that no movement of the body below the waist was visible,Roger looked very much as usual. He waved away the words of sympathywhich were hovering on Barry's lips.
"Nice of you to come so soon," he said curtly. "But, for God's sake,don't condole with me. I don't want condolences and I won't have 'em."There was a note in his voice which told of the effort which his savageself-repression cost him.
Barry understood, and for a few minutes they discussed, things ingeneral, Roger briefly describing the accident.
"Funny how things happen," he observed. "I suppose I'm about as experta driver as you'd get. There was practically nothing I couldn't dowith a car--and along come a dog and a kiddy and flaw me utterly in twominutes. I've had much nearer shaves a dozen times before and escapedscot-free."
They talked on desultorily for a time. Then suddenly Roger asked:
"When's Nan coming to see me? I told Isobel to 'phone down to Mallowthis morning."
"You're hardly up to visitors," said Barry, searching for delay. "Idon't suppose I ought to have come, really."
Roger looked at him with eyes that burned fiercely underneath hisshaggy brows.
"I'm as right as you are--except for my confounded back," he answered."I've not got a scratch on me. Only something must have struck me asthe car overturned--and a bit of my spinal anatomy's gone phut."
"You mayn't be as badly injured as you think," ventured Barry. "Someother doctor might give you a different report."
"Oh, he's quite a shining light--the man who came down here. Spine'shis job. And his examination was thorough enough. There's nothing canbe done. My legs are useless--and I'm a strong, healthy man who maylive to a ripe old age."
He turned his head on the pillow and Barry saw him drag the sheetbetween his teeth and bite on it. He crossed to the window, giving theman time to regain his self-command.
"Well, what about Nan?" Roger demanded at last harshly. "When's shecoming?"
Barry faced round to the bed again.
"I came to talk to you about Nan," he replied with reluctance. "But--"
"Talk away, then!"
"Well, it's very difficult to say what I have to tell you. You see,Trenby, this ghastly accident of yours makes a difference in--"
Roger interrupted with a snarl. His arms waved convulsively.
"Lift me up," he commanded. "I can't do it myself. Prop me up a bitagainst the pillows. . . . Oh, get on with it, man!" he cried, asBarry hesitated. "Nothing you do can either help or hurt me. Lift meup!"
Obediently Barry stooped and with a touch as strong as a man's and astender as a woman's, lifted Roger into the desired position.
"Thanks." Roger blurted out the word ungraciously. "Well, what aboutNan?" he went on, scowling. "I suppose you've come to ask me to lether off? That's the natural thing! Is that it?" he asked sharply.
"Yes," answered Barry simply. "That's it."
Rogers face went white with anger.
"Then you may tell her," he said, pounding the bed with his fist toemphasise his words, "tell her from me that I haven't the leastintention of releasing her. She's a contemptible little coward even tosuggest it. But that's a woman all over!"
"It's nothing of the sort," returned Barry, roused to indignation byRoger's brutal answer. He spoke with a quiet forcefulness there was nomistaking. "Nan knows nothing whatever about my visit here, nor thepurpose of it. On the contrary, had she known, I'm quite sure shewould have tried to prevent my coming, seeing that she has made up hermind to marry you as soon as you wish."
"Oh, she has, has she?" Roger paused grimly. A moment later he brokeout: "Then--then--what the devil right have you to interfere?"
"None," said Barry gravely. "Except the right of one man to remindanother of his manhood--if he sees him in danger of losing it."
The thrust, so quietly delivered, went home. Roger bit his under lipand was silent, his eyes glowering.
"So that's what you think of me, is it?" he said at last, sullenly.
The look in Barry's eyes softened the stern sincerity of his reply.
"What else can I think? In your place a man's first thought shouldsurely be to release the woman he loves from the infernal bondage whichmarriage with him must inevitably mean."
"On the principle that from him who hath not shall be taken away eventhat which he hath, I suppose?" gibed the bitter voice from the bed.
"No," answered Barry, with simplicity. "But just because if you love awoman you can't possibly want to hurt her."
"And if she loved you, a woman couldn't possibly want to turn you downbecause you've had the damnedest bad luck any man could have."
"But does she love you?" asked Barry. "I know--and you know--that shedoes _not_. She cares for someone else."
Roger made a sudden, violent movement.
"Who is it? She has never told me who it was. I suppose it's thatconfounded cad who painted her portrait--Maryon Rooke?"
Barry smile a little.
"No," he answered. "The man she loves is Peter Mallory."
"Mallory!"--in blank astonishment. Then, swiftly and with a gleam oftriumph in his eyes: "But he's married!"
"His wife has just died--out in India."
There was a long pause. Then:
"So _that's_ why you came?" sneered Roger. "Well, you can tell Nanthat she won't marry Peter Mallory with my consent. I'll never set herfree to be another man's wife"--his dangerous temper rising again."There's only one thing left to me in the world, and that's Nan. AndI'll have her!"
"Is that your final decision?" asked Barry. He was beginning torecognise the hopelessness of any effort to turn or influence the man.
"Yes"--with a snarl. "Tell Nan"--derisively--"that I shall expect mytruly devoted fiancee here this afternoon."
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