CHAPTER XVIII
FRIENDS
When the thought first came to me I flung it away and trampledit under foot, I could almost have imagined I was going mad. I,jealous! What an ugly word! I jealous of that sallow-faced andblack-eyed chit, who followed Bruce Deville about like his shadow,and seemed in a certain way to have laid claim to him as her ownespecial property. And above all things there was the man. Whatwas Bruce Deville to me? What could he be to me? When the thoughtfirst crept into my mind I laughed out aloud; it was a genuinelaugh of derision at first, but when I listened to its echoes I wasfrightened. There was something hard and unnatural about it--somethingwhich did not in any way suggest mirth. I turned upon myself with acertain fierceness. I, whose secret standard of manhood had alwaysbeen so lofty, and to whom polish and culture had always seemed soabsolutely essential, to think for a moment of such a man as BruceDeville. I thrust the idea steadily and scornfully away from me, itwas ridiculous--humiliating. And, apart from the absurdity of suchthoughts in connection with such a man, the darkness which had fallenlike a sudden cloud upon our lives was surely great and engrossingenough to outweigh every other consideration. Only last night I hadmade that passionate effort to learn the truth from my father andfailed. Scarcely an hour ago I had been with him again renewing hisbandages and secretly burning the old ones--bearing my part in thatlittle tragedy, in whose shadows I seemed to walk blindfolded.
It was a dark, windy morning, but I was too restless to stay in thehouse. I threw a cape over my shoulders and walked down the drive andout into the road, breathing the fresh air with a curious sense ofrelief. After the close atmosphere of the house it was like a strong,sweet tonic. I clambered up the green bank on the other side of theway and found myself suddenly face to face with Bruce Deville.
He started when he saw me, and for a moment we looked at one anotherin silence. I realized then how completely he had changed in mythoughts during the last few days. I no longer noticed the untidinessof his dress, or the superficial roughness of his demeanor. The firmlocking of his fingers around mine in the greeting which passedbetween us was somehow grateful to me. His brown eyes seemed soft andkindly, the harsh, cynical outlines of his features were all relaxed.
In silence he turned round and walked slowly by my side.
"Where is your friend this morning?" I asked.
His face grew moody.
"She has taken some rooms at Grant's farm," he answered. "She has goneover to the station now to get her luggage."
My heart sank. It was bad news.
"She is going to stay here, then?" I asked.
He nodded gloomily.
"She says so."
"You ought to feel flattered, at any rate," I remarked, maliciously.
He flushed an angry glance at me.
"What nonsense!" he exclaimed. "I beg your pardon, I ought not to havesaid that. Neither," he continued, after a moment's pause, "ought youto have said what you did."
I had stopped short at his first exclamation. I hesitated and thenwalked slowly on again. After all it was my fault.
"Perhaps I ought not," I answered. "At the same time I am not at allsure that she might not have given up this quest of hers if only youhad not been here."
"I don't agree with you at all," he answered, firmly. "She wouldhave given it up, I believe, if she had not seen that photograph inAdelaide's cabinet. It is that which makes her to decide to remainhere."
"Has she any fresh suspicions?"
"I don't think so," he answered. "She believes that you and AdelaideFortress are in league together. She believes that you both know wherePhilip Maltabar is. She also----" he continued, very slowly.
"Well?" I interrupted.
"She also seems to have an idea that you are keeping your father awayfrom her so that she may not have an opportunity of asking him aboutPhilip Maltabar. She has written to him, as you know, and the answercame back in a lady's handwriting. She does not believe that yourfather had that letter. She believes that you intercepted and answeredit."
"She is stopping really, then, to see him?" I said.
"Chiefly, I am afraid."
Our eyes met for a moment, but we said nothing. I looked away throughthe trees to the glimmering front of the Yellow House, and asked him aquestion softly.
"She has not any further suspicion, then?"
"None, I am sure," he answered, confidently. "It is you whom shebelieves to be shielding the man. She has a strong idea that he is afriend of yours; strangely enough she seems to have taken a violentdislike to you too. I believe that the very fact of that dislikeblinds her a little."
"I agree with you as to the dislike. But why strangely?"
His firm lips parted a little. He looked at me with a smile.
"You do not appear to me," he said, slowly, "to be a person to bedisliked."
I made a mental registration of that remark. It was the nearestapproach to a compliment he had ever paid me.
"I am infinitely obliged," I said. "At the same time I think I canunderstand her dislike."
"You women are so quick at understanding one another," he remarked.
"And men are so slow," I replied. "Do you know I have an idea that ifshe were to come here now she would dislike me even more."
He looked at me without embarrassment, with a genuine desire forinformation in his face. He was evidently puzzled.
"Why?" he asked.
I laughed outright, and it did me good. He joined in it without theleast idea of what I was laughing at.
"You men are so stupid!" I exclaimed. "You either will not or cannotsee things which are as simple as A B C."
"I admit it," he answered, good humoredly. "But must you go in?"
I nodded. We had made a little circuit, and had reached the road againwithin a few yards of our gate.
"Yes, I am going to make something for my father. He is really ill,you know."
"Why don't you let your sister do it?" he said. "She looks a greatdeal more used to that sort of thing than you do."
"Thanks," I answered. "At the same time you are quite wrong. It is Iwho am the domestic one of the family."
He looked distinctly incredulous.
"You don't give one that idea at all," he said, forcibly.
"Well, you shall see," I told him. "Some day we will ask you toluncheon and cook it between us. I know whose productions you willprefer."
"So do I," he answered, fervently.
"You don't know my sister," I remarked.
"I don't want to," he answered, bluntly.
I raised my eyebrows.
"You are very rude," I told him.
"I beg your pardon. I did not mean to be. As a rule I detest womenalmost as much as they detest me. I do not think that your sisterwould interest me."
"She does a great deal of good," I said. "She is managing the wholeparish while my father is ill."
"I have no doubt she is very useful in her way," he answered,indifferently.
"She is much better tempered than I am," I added.
"I have no doubt about that," he answered, with a smile.
"But I don't think that she could have bandaged your dog's leg as wellas I did," I said.
He looked at me with a sudden new thoughtfulness.
"That was the first time I spoke to you," he remarked. "It seems along time ago."
"One measures time by events," I said.
"And that," he replied, quickly, "was a great event. I am not likelyto forget it. I shall never forget it."
I laughed.
"Not such a great event after all as the coming of the heroine ofyour romance," I said. "How interesting it must have been to meet heragain!"
"Rubbish!" he exclaimed, testily.
I shrugged my shoulders and turned towards the house.
"You are very rude," I declared. "I am going in."
He looked into my face and was reassured.
"I wish from the bottom of my heart that she had never come here," hegroaned. "God knows I
would send her away if I had the power."
"I only wish that you could," I answered, sadly. "She is like a birdof ill-omen. She looks at me out of those big black eyes as if shehated me. I believe I am getting to be afraid of her. Do you thinkthat she will really stay here more than a day or two?"
He nodded his head gloomily.
"I believe so," he answered.
"You see what responsibility the rescuer of young maidens in distressincurs," I remarked, spitefully.
"I wish," he said, looking at me steadily, "that I had let thatcarriage go to the bottom of the precipice."
"They would have been killed!" I cried.
"Exactly," he remarked, grimly.
"You are very wicked to think of such a thing," I said.
"I am only living up to my reputation, then," he answered. "That iswhat my godmamma told you about me, isn't it?"
"I shall not stay with you a moment longer," I declared, ignoring thelatter part of his sentence, and laying my hand upon the gate.
"Won't you--shake hands before you go?" he asked.
I hesitated. His request was gruff and his tone implied rather acommand than a favor. But I looked up at him, and I saw that he was inearnest.
So I held out my hand and we parted friends.
The Yellow House; Master of Men Page 18