MARIE woke on the Friday morning with the vague feeling thatsomething unpleasant was going to happen.
She lay for a moment looking round the room with sleepy eyes, thensuddenly she remembered--they were going back to London!
She sat up in bed, her dark hair falling about her shoulders, andstared at her half-packed luggage.
This was the end of her honeymoon! Nearly a month since she hadbeen married--a month of bitterness and disappointments, with onlyone bright memory attaching to it--her friendship with Feathers.
And now she was leaving even that behind! She was conscious of alittle shrinking fear as she thought of it.
Who would help her through the long days when he was not at hand?She fell back helplessly on her old futile hope.
"I shall be used to it soon! I must get used to living like thissoon, surely!"
There would be Aunt Madge, too; It was comforting to think of her,but Marie did not realize that when she married Chris she had burnther boats behind her, and would never again find happiness orcontentment in the simple things that had pleased her before.
Her heart was heavy as she went downstairs; it was a particularlybeautiful morning, and her eyes were misty with tears as she lookedat the blue sea and the sunlight and realized that to-morrow shewould open her eyes on bricks and mortar and smoky London.
Yet it had been her own wish to return. She could have stayed onhad she chosen.
"Good morning," said Feathers beside her.
She turned quickly, her eyes brightening.
"Am I down before you? It's generally the other way about?"
"Yes, I overslept myself. Where's Chris?"
"I don't think he's up yet."
There was a little silence.
"Are you going by the morning train?" Feathers asked presently.
"No, after lunch, I think; we shall be home about five."
She looked up at him wistfully. "Have you got a headache?" sheasked in concern. "You look as if you have."
He laughed.
"No. I don't indulge in such luxuries, but I didn't sleepparticularly well last night."
"A guilty conscience?" Marie said, teasingly.
"Probably." He stepped out into the sunny garden. "Shall we go fora stroll, as it's your last morning?"
She followed at once.
"That sounded so horrid," she said, with a half sigh. "My lastmorning! It sounds as if I were going to be executed or something."
"The last of happy days here, I should have said," Featherscorrected himself gravely. "I hope it will also be the first ofmany and much happier days to come."
"Thank you." Suddenly she laughed. "Why, it's Friday! I always seemto choose unlucky days to go to places or do important things. Iwas married on Friday, and I came home from Paris after father diedon Friday."
"Well, it's as good a day as any other."
She shook her head.
"Not for me," she said, unthinkingly, then laughed to cover theadmission of her words.
"I'm superstitious, you see."
"Absurd!"
"I know it is, and I never used to be."
"I don't believe you are now." he declared.
"What are you looking at?" Marie had stood suddenly still, and waslooking down on the sands.
The tide was out, and a man and woman were walking along togetherclose to the water's edge.
"It's Chris and Mrs. Heriot," Feathers said quietly. "Shall we goand meet them?"
He turned towards the steps leading down to the shore, but Mariedid not move. She was very pale, and the look in her eyes cut himto the heart when he looked at her.
"I don't think I will--I'd rather go back--they haven't seen us,"she answered.
She would have turned back the way they had come, but Feathersresolutely barred the way.
"Mrs. Lawless, don't you think it would be much wiser to come alongand meet them?" he asked deliberately.
She raised her troubled eyes to his.
"I don't want to . . . why need I? Oh, do you think I must?"
He tried to laugh, as if it were a subject of no importance.
"Why not? They have probably seen us."
He could see refusal in her face; then all at once she gave in.
"Very well." But her steps dragged as she followed him down to thesands, and her face had not regained its color.
Feathers was racking his brains for means whereby to disperse thesuspicion which he knew was in her mind. He was cursing Chris withall his heart, even while he was level-headed enough to guess thatin all probability his friend's meeting with Mrs. Heriot wasentirely one of chance. When they were near enough he called out tothem cheerily:
"Now, then, you two, it's breakfast time, so hurry! Mrs. Lawlessand I have been right along to the headland."
It was not the truth, but Marie hardly noticed what he said; shewas trying desperately to recover her composure and face Mrs.Heriot with a smile.
They walked back to the hotel, the two men behind.
"I am so sorry we are leaving, now it has really come to thepoint," Marie said. She kept her hands clenched in the pockets ofthe little woolly coat she wore; she wondered if the elder womancould hear the hardness of her voice.
"I'm ever so sorry, too," Mrs. Heriot said gushingly. "It's theworst of an hotel, isn't it? As soon as one gets to like peoplethey leave."
"One can always meet them again," Marie said deliberately. She waswondering desperately if Chris had already made some sucharrangement with this woman.
Mrs. Heriot smiled enigmatically.
"It so seldom happens, though," she said. "Life is so like thatbook, 'Ships that pass in the night,' don't you think?"
"I haven't read it," Marie said bluntly.
She hated Mrs. Heriot, hated everything about her--her voice, hersmile, even her clothes--she hated them all; she went straight into breakfast without waiting for Chris, and when he joined her shewas quite well aware that his eyes were turned to her again andagain anxiously.
Directly breakfast was over she turned to go upstairs, but heFollowed.
"Where are you going, Marie Celeste?" He tried hard to speaknaturally, but he had never felt more uncomfortable in his life; heknew what Marie must be thinking, and he realized that the onlyexplanation he could offer of his early walk with Mrs. Heriot was avery thin one indeed.
She answered without stopping or looking round.
"I am going to finish packing."
"I'll come with you."
She did not answer, and he followed her up to her room.
"Why don't you go and have a swim?" she asked then. "It's a pity towaste the last morning indoors."
"I will go if you will come with me," he said at once.
She shook her head.
"No, thank you; I haven't got the nerve."
"You'll be perfectly safe with me; I'll look after you."
She shook her head again.
"No, thank you."
She began walking about the room, folding up the few things she hadnot already packed and ramming them anyhow into the open trunk.
Chris watched her for a moment with morose eyes; then all at oncehe blurted out:
"Hang it all! I know what you're thinking, so why don't you sayit?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"You do know. Marie, stop walking about and come here."
"I can't; there's a lot to do, and I'm busy."
Chris strode across to her, tore the little frock she was foldingfrom her hands and threw it down on the bed.
"I hate being treated like this!" he said passionately. "I won'thave it! If you think I arranged to meet that infernal woman, whythe devil can't you say so and have done with it?"
"I don't care if you arranged to meet her or not."
He laughed. "You do! I could see in your face at once that you wereangry about it. Come, Marie Celeste, own up!"
He laid his hand on her arm carelessly, but she flung him off; histouch seemed to rouse all her pent-up passio
n and bitterness; hereyes blazed as she turned and faced him.
"How many more times am I to tell you that I don't care what you door who you spend your time with? You can go out with Mrs. Heriotall day and every day for all I care. I should stay down herelonger, if I were you; there's no need for you to come home."
She was trembling in every limb; she leaned against the end of thebed to steady herself.
Chris had flushed up to his eyes; he had a hot temper once it wasaroused, as Marie knew, and something in the way in which shelooked at him had roused it now.
He answered as angrily as she that he should choose his ownfriends, and spend his time as he liked; if she thought he wasgoing to be tied to her apron strings for the rest of his life shewas mistaken; he had been used to having his own way, and he wasgoing to continue to have it. Having relieved himself of a few moreviolent remarks, he calmed down a little, strode over to the windowand flung it wide.
"Dash it all," he went on presently, more quietly. "It's no worsethan you walking about the whole time with Feathers. I might justas well cut up rough and forbid you to speak to him, but I'm notsuch a fool; I hope I can trust you." He liked the sound of thatlast phrase; he thought it exceedingly tactful; he looked round athis wife with a faint smile.
He thought he knew her so well--thought he had sounded every depthand shallow of her nature. All their lives they had had theselittle breezes, which had blown over almost at once and beenforgotten.
He was horrified, therefore, to see Marie standing with her faceburied in her hands, her whole slim body shaking with sobs.
Chris stood staring at her helplessly. Marie so seldom cried, itgave him a bad shock to see her so upset--he must have said a greatdeal more than he had intended. He flushed with angry shame.
"Marie--for heaven's sake!" He went to her and put his arms roundher, clumsily, but still with something comforting in their clasp.
"Don't cry, for God's sake!" he begged agitatedly. "What did I say?Whatever it was, I didn't mean it--you know that!" He pressed herhead down against his shoulder, keeping his hand on her soft hair.
"Sorry, Marie Celeste!" he said humbly. "I was a brute; it shallnever happen again."
She pushed him gently from her, walking away to try and recoverherself.
"It's all right," she said presently with an effort, her voicebroken by little sobbing breaths. "It's all right. Please go awayand leave me alone."
She was bitterly ashamed to have broken down before him--he who sohated tears and a scene.
She dried her eyes fiercely and tried to laugh.
"I don't often--cry, you know," she defended herself.
"I know you don't." Chris ran agitated fingers through his hair."It was my fault. I hope you'll forgive me." He followed her andput an arm round her shoulders.
"Forgive me and forget it, Marie Celeste, will you?"
"It's all forgotten."
He laughed ruefully.
"You say that, but you don't mean it. And really it wasn't my faultthis morning. I went out early and met Mrs. Heriot on the sands--Ithought she never got up early. I swear to you that it was no faultof mine. I don't care for the woman. I've told you so, haven't I?"
"Yes." She could not explain that it was not ordinary jealousy ofMrs. Heriot that was breaking her heart, but jealousy of the factthat this woman could prove an amusing companion to him, whereasshe herself was such a failure. The tears came again in spite ofher efforts, and she pressed her hands hard over her eyes in a vaineffort to restrain them. "Oh, if you would only go away!" shefaltered wildly.
Chris turned away with an impatient sigh; he felt at fault becauseof his inability to comfort her; he went downstairs and hunted upFeathers.
"Come on out for a walk," he said gruffly.
Feathers looked up from his paper, saw the frown on his friend'sface and rose.
"Right-oh! Where is Mrs. Lawless?"
"Packing."
"It seems a pity for her not to get all the air she can, as it'sher last morning."
"I asked her to come out, and she refused."
They went out together.
Chris walked along, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders huncheddejectedly. Feathers was perfectly well aware that something waswrong, but asked no questions, and presently Chris broke outwrathfully.
"What the devil a man wants to get mixed up with women for I'mhanged if I know."
Feathers was looking out at the sea, and his face changed a littleas he asked carelessly:
"Well, who has been getting mixed up with them?"
"No one in particular that I know of! I simply made a remark."
"Oh, I see."
There was a faint sneer in Feathers' voice, and his eyes lookedgrim; he knew that if he waited Chris would presently explodeagain, and he was right.
"Marriage," said Chris, with the air of one who has suddenlylighted upon a great and original discovery, "is a damned awfulgamble, and that's a fact."
Feathers stopped to knock the ashes from his pipe against a woodenpost.
"It's not compulsory, anyway," he said quietly. "After all, menmarry to please themselves."
"Or to please someone else," said Chris with a growl.
There was a little silence.
"Or for money," said Feathers deliberately.
Chris stopped to kick a pebble off the promenade to the sandsbelow, and he answered his friend gloomily:
"Nobody but a fool would marry a woman for her money."
Feathers stared. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed itagain with a little snap.
After all, what use was it to raise an argument? He did not want toquarrel with Chris, and yet he knew that he had never had a betterreason for so doing.
"When are you coming back to town?" Chris asked after a moment.
"Don't know; haven't made up my mind yet." Feathers looked at Chrisquizzically. "Suppose you'll rather drop out of things now, eh?" heasked.
Chris stared.
"Drop out? Good Lord, no!" he flushed angrily. "What do you mean--because I happen to have got married?"
"It generally makes a difference." Feathers said lightly.
"Not in my case. Marie's a sensible girl--dash it! I've known herall my life."
"Yes, that's the trouble."
"What the deuce do you mean?"
"I mean that you're rather apt to lose sight of the fact that she'sno longer a kind of sister to you, but a wife," Feathers saidquietly. "Also, I suppose that when you were kids together shespoilt you like the devil, and it looks as if she means to go onspoiling you."
Chris laughed in amusement.
"Spoils me--Marie spoils me! That's good!" He really thought itwas. Like most men whose chief ambition it is to see that they gettheir own way no matter at what inconvenience to others, he wasquite unconscious of the fact; he really thought he was rather anunselfish man; he certainly considered that perhaps with theexception of the little scene this morning when he had lost histemper he had treated Marie rather well.
"You don't understand women, my dear chap," he said cheerily.
Feathers looked at him squarely.
"Do you?" he asked.
Chris looked rather nonplussed.
"Well, perhaps I don't," he admitted. "And perhaps I don't want to.I prefer a man's company any day to a woman's, you know that--except Marie's, of course," he added hastily.
There was a little silence.
"What do you think of my wife, anyway?" he asked, with a ratherforlorn attempt at jocularity.
"What do I think of her?" Feathers echoed. "Well--she's allright," he added lamely. He stopped, and bared his head to the coolsea breeze. "Hadn't we better turn back?" he asked.
They strolled back to the hotel together; a perspiring porter wasstaggering across the lounge with Marie's luggage. Chris'portmanteau and suit-case stood already by the door.
"We're not going till after lunch," Chris said, "They turn you outof your rooms in a hurry, don't they? I wonder where Marie is?"<
br />
"She's sitting over there in the window." Feathers answered.
He had seen Marie as soon as they entered the lounge--seensomething in her face, too, that pierced his heart like a knife ashe turned deliberately and walked away from her.
He had been prepared to dislike Christopher's wife, because he hadthought she would rob him of his friend, but in the last threeweeks something seemed to have played pitch and toss with all hispreconceived ideas of marriage and women.
He went out into the garden, and stayed there until he knew thatlunch must be almost finished, then he strolled in.
Chris and his wife were in the lounge, dressed for traveling. Mariewas looking anxiously towards the door as he came slowly forwardand her wistful face lightened as she saw him.
"Where have you been?" Chris demanded. "We're just off, you oldrotter."
"I didn't know it was so late." He looked at Marie. "I hope you'llhave a pleasant journey back," he said. The words sounded absurdlyformal and unlike him, and the girl's face flushed in faintperplexity.
"Thank you, I hope we shall."
There was a taxi at the door, piled with luggage; Mrs. Heriot wasclose by, dressed in a very smart tweed costume, and with her golfclubs slung over her shoulder.
She looked at Chris commiseratingly.
"You poor dear, going back to smoky old London! Don't you wish youwere coming out on the downs with me?"
Chris laughed, and held out his hand.
"Good-by, Mrs. Heriot. Good-by and--what do people say?--until ournext merry meeting!"
She shook hands with Marie.
"Good-by, you dear thing, and I'm so glad you're so much better."
Feathers was standing by the door of the taxi, his rather shabbyslouch hat tilted over his eyes, his hands thrust into his pockets.
Marie turned to him.
"Good-by, Mr. Dakers."
"Good-by, Mrs. Lawless." He shook her hand in his big paw, squeezedit and let it go, standing back to make room for Chris.
Several of the hotel visitors who had been rather friendly withChris came clustering for a last word.
"See you in town, old chap--cherio! Don't forget to look me up!You've got my address."
The taxi-driver interposed.
"You ain't got too much time for the train, sir."
"Right-oh! Good-by." The taxicab wheeled about and out into theroad. A sudden mist blurred Marie's eyes as she turned in her seatfor a last look. She had been unhappy here, and yet--somethingwithin her shrank from the thought of leaving it all behind. Shehad grown to dread the future. In her nervous, apprehensive stateshe had no hope that this fresh step would be for the better, andshe shrank from further pain and disappointment.
When the cab had vanished down the road Mrs. Heriot turned toFeathers.
"You haven't had any lunch," she said.
"No, no, I'm not hungry," he said absently.
He walked away from the door and into the hotel. The lounge wascrowded with people, laughing and chattering together, and as hepassed the inquiry desk he heard one of the clerks say:
"We shan't have a room vacant for three weeks. I don't rememberwhen we were so full."
Was the hotel full! Feathers turned and looked round the crowdedlounge as he went slowly up the stairs to his room; strange that itseemed more empty and deserted to him than ever before.
* * * * *
As the train drew slowly out of the station, Chris looked across athis wife with a rather nervous smile.
"Well, that's the end of our honeymoon," he said grimly.
"Yes"--Marie had quite recovered from her breakdown of the morningand she answered quietly enough--"we've had a good time, haven'twe?"
"Have we? Opinions differ, I suppose."
She took no notice.
"I've never stayed in an hotel before," she went on, "so I supposethat's why I enjoyed everything so much. It will seem very quietwith Aunt Madge, won't it?"
"We need not stay with her."
"I think we must for a week or two, till something can bearranged."
Chris threw down a magazine he had picked up.
"What sort of arrangement would you like?" he asked. "I want you toplease yourself in every way without considering me." He paused.
"I've got some rooms at Knightsbridge, you know," he went oncasually. "I'm not at all sure that it wouldn't be a good idea tokeep them on for a while."
Marie caught her breath with a little stifled sound.
"Keep them on?" she echoed.
"Yes--they're only bachelor rooms, but I've had some pretty goodtimes there, and they might be handy until we can find somethingbetter."
"Yes."
"So I don't want you to feel tied at all," he went on. "I want youto do as you like, you know--have your own friends, and go about!There isn't any need to worry about money--there's plenty."
"Yes," she said again stupidly; then, "I suppose father left agreat deal?"
"He did, yes. I didn't bother you about the will--it wasn'tnecessary; but, of course, everything has been properly drawn up."
"Yes." She was not interested; what did mere money matter? It couldnot buy for her the only thing she wanted in the world.
They seemed to have left the sunshine behind them with the sea, foras they neared London the sky grew overcast and large raindropssplashed down and against the windows.
Marie looked at Chris; the last time she had traveled this way waswhen she was summoned from Paris at her father's death.
So much had happened since then, and yet Chris looked exactly thesame, no older, no sadder, though she felt that she herself wasboth.
"I hope Mr. Dakers will come and see us soon," she saidimpulsively.
Chris laughed
"I don't suppose he will--he likes a free-and-easy life; he'd hateit if Aunt Madge expected him to get into dress togs everyevening."
"Would he?" She felt despondent; she supposed that she could notexpect anyone to wish to come and visit her.
She thought of her friend, Dorothy Webber, with envy. If only shehad been like Dorothy, full of go and a great sportswoman, Chriswould at least have been pleased to be with her for the sake ofmutual tastes and agreeable companionship.
It was raining fast when they got to London; a crowd of people hadcome up on their train, and it was difficult to get a taxi.
Chris began to get irritable.
"Didn't you tell Aunt Madge what time we should arrive?" he asked."She might have sent the car."
"I didn't know what time--you hadn't decided when I wrote," Marieanswered anxiously. "I am sure she would have sent the car if shehad known."
Chris looked inclined to be sulky.
"I shall buy one of my own, and be independent." he said with afrown.
But they secured a taxi in the end, and Chris slammed the door andsat down beside his wife with a sigh of relief.
"I loathe traveling," he said.
She looked at him in surprise.
"I thought you liked it; you used to do a great deal before--beforewe were married."
He laughed.
"Oh, well, a bachelor's travels are rather different to taking awife and half a dozen trunks along. It's the luggage that's such abother." He sat up with sudden energy. "Marie Celeste, what are yougoing to tell Aunt Madge?"
"What do you mean?" But she knew quite well.
He avoided her eyes.
"You know what I mean. I don't want to talk about it, but it's justas well for us both to tell the same story, or at least not tocontradict one another."
"I see. Well--I wasn't going to tell her anything. Why should I?It's nothing to do with Aunt Madge."
He colored a little.
"Very well, if that is your wish; and--Marie Celeste?"
"Yes."
"I hope you've forgotten about this morning. I lost my temper; Iought not to have spoken to you as I did."
"It's all quite forgotten," she assured him steadily.
His face cleared.
"That's good; I don't want the old lady to think things are wrongalready."
Marie almost laughed. Wrong already! He spoke as if the scene inher room that morning had been the first storm to mar a honeymoonof otherwise complete happiness.
Chris let down the window with a run and looked out.
"Here we are!" he said cheerily. "And there she is at the window."
He waved his hand to Miss Chester, and turned to see about theluggage. Marie went on into the house.
"My darling child!" She was clasped in Miss Chester's arms andfervently kissed. "How glad I am to see you again! And have you hada happy time?"
"Of course we have!" Marie bent to kiss her again to end furtherquestioning, and they went into the drawing-room together.
Marie looked round her with sad eyes. It seemed such an eternitysince she was here--such an eternity since that Sunday afternoonwhen Chris had asked her to go for a walk with him and the walk hadended in that never-to-be-forgotten moment outside WestminsterAbbey.
Then she had looked forward to radiant days of happiness, but shefelt now that ever since she had been going backwards, retreatingfrom the golden hopes that for a little while had dazzled her eyes.
Miss Chester was pouring out tea and talking all the time.
"I have had your rooms all redecorated, Marie, because--though ofcourse I know you will get a house of your own before long--I liketo think that you will often come here, you and Chris."
"Yes, dear, thank you."
Marie tried to speak enthusiastically, but it was a poor littlefailure, and Miss Chester looked up quickly, struck by some newtone in the girl's voice.
But she made no comment until later on when she and Chris werealone for a moment, and then she said anxiously:
"Chris, I don't think you ever told me how very ill Marie was afterthat accident in the sea?"
"How ill?" he echoed. "She wasn't very ill; she had to stay in herroom for a few days of course, but she wasn't really ill. AuntMadge. What do you mean?"
"My dear boy! When she is such a shadow! Why, there is nothing ofher, and her poor little face is all eyes! She looks to me as ifshe is recovering from a terrible illness."
Chris smiled rather uneasily.
"You're over-anxious," he said. "The doctor assured me that she wasall right, and I think she is. Has she complained about not feelingwell to you?"
"Oh, no, nothing, but I haven't seen her for a month, and perhaps Inotice the change more than you do. Chris---" He had turned to go,but stopped when she spoke his name.
"Yes, Aunt Madge."
"Come here, Chris."
He came back reluctantly, and Miss Chester rose from her chair,and, laying her hands on his shoulders, looked earnestly into hiseyes.
"There isn't anything wrong, Chris? You're both quite happy?"
"Of course!" But he, too, bent and kissed her as Marie Celeste haddone to avoid further questioning.
CHAPTER X
"The hour which might have been, yet might not be. Which man's and woman's heart conceived and bore. Yet whereof life was barren, on what shore Bides it the breaking of Time's weary sea?"
A Bachelor Husband Page 10