CHAPTER 10.
Your true golfer is a man who, knowing that life is short andperfection hard to attain, neglects no opportunity of practisinghis chosen sport, allowing neither wind nor weather nor anyexternal influence to keep him from it. There is a story, with anexcellent moral lesson, of a golfer whose wife had determined toleave him for ever. "Will nothing alter your decision?" he says."Will nothing induce you to stay? Well, then, while you're packing,I think I'll go out on the lawn and rub up my putting a bit."George Bevan was of this turn of mind. He might be in love; romancemight have sealed him for her own; but that was no reason forblinding himself to the fact that his long game was bound to sufferif he neglected to keep himself up to the mark. His first act onarriving at Belpher village had been to ascertain whether there wasa links in the neighbourhood; and thither, on the morning after hisvisit to the castle and the delivery of the two notes, he repaired.
At the hour of the day which he had selected the club-house wasempty, and he had just resigned himself to a solitary game, when,with a whirr and a rattle, a grey racing-car drove up, and from itemerged the same long young man whom, a couple of days earlier, hehad seen wriggle out from underneath the same machine. It wasReggie Byng's habit also not to allow anything, even love, tointerfere with golf; and not even the prospect of hanging about thecastle grounds in the hope of catching a glimpse of Alice Faradayand exchanging timorous words with her had been enough to keep himfrom the links.
Reggie surveyed George with a friendly eye. He had a dimrecollection of having seen him before somewhere at some time orother, and Reggie had the pleasing disposition which caused him torank anybody whom he had seen somewhere at some time or other as abosom friend.
"Hullo! Hullo! Hullo!" he observed.
"Good morning," said George.
"Waiting for somebody?"
"No."
"How about it, then? Shall we stagger forth?"
"Delighted."
George found himself speculating upon Reggie. He was unable toplace him. That he was a friend of Maud he knew, and guessed thathe was also a resident of the castle. He would have liked toquestion Reggie, to probe him, to collect from him insideinformation as to the progress of events within the castle walls;but it is a peculiarity of golf, as of love, that it temporarilychanges the natures of its victims; and Reggie, a confirmed babbleroff the links, became while in action a stern, silent, intentperson, his whole being centred on the game. With the exception ofa casual remark of a technical nature when he met George on thevarious tees, and an occasional expletive when things went wrongwith his ball, he eschewed conversation. It was not till the end ofthe round that he became himself again.
"If I'd known you were such hot stuff," he declared generously, asGeorge holed his eighteenth putt from a distance of ten feet, "I'dhave got you to give me a stroke or two."
"I was on my game today," said George modestly. "Sometimes I sliceas if I were cutting bread and can't putt to hit a haystack."
"Let me know when one of those times comes along, and I'll take youon again. I don't know when I've seen anything fruitier than theway you got out of the bunker at the fifteenth. It reminded me ofa match I saw between--" Reggie became technical. At the end of hisobservations he climbed into the grey car.
"Can I drop you anywhere?"
"Thanks," said George. "If it's not taking you out your way."
"I'm staying at Belpher Castle."
"I live quite near there. Perhaps you'd care to come in and have adrink on your way?"
"A ripe scheme," agreed Reggie
Ten minutes in the grey car ate up the distance between the linksand George's cottage. Reggie Byng passed these minutes, in theintervals of eluding carts and foiling the apparently suicidalintentions of some stray fowls, in jerky conversation on thesubject of his iron-shots, with which he expressed a deepsatisfaction.
"Topping little place! Absolutely!" was the verdict he pronouncedon the exterior of the cottage as he followed George in. "I'veoften thought it would be a rather sound scheme to settle down inthis sort of shanty and keep chickens and grow a honey colouredbeard, and have soup and jelly brought to you by the vicar's wifeand so forth. Nothing to worry you then. Do you live all alonehere?"
George was busy squirting seltzer into his guest's glass.
"Yes. Mrs. Platt comes in and cooks for me. The farmer's wife nextdoor."
An exclamation from the other caused him to look up. Reggie Byngwas staring at him, wide-eyed.
"Great Scott! Mrs. Platt! Then you're the Chappie?"
George found himself unequal to the intellectual pressure of theconversation.
"The Chappie?"
"The Chappie there's all the row about. The mater was telling meonly this morning that you lived here."
"Is there a row about me?"
"Is there what!" Reggie's manner became solicitous. "I say, my dearold sportsman, I don't want to be the bearer of bad tidings andwhat not, if you know what I mean, but didn't you know there was acertain amount of angry passion rising and so forth because of you?At the castle, I mean. I don't want to seem to be discussing yourprivate affairs, and all that sort of thing, but what I mean is...Well, you don't expect you can come charging in the way you havewithout touching the family on the raw a bit. The daughter of thehouse falls in love with you; the son of the house languishes inchokey because he has a row with you in Piccadilly; and on top ofall that you come here and camp out at the castle gates! Naturallythe family are a bit peeved. Only natural, eh? I mean to say,what?"
George listened to this address in bewilderment. Maud in love withhim! It sounded incredible. That he should love her after their onemeeting was a different thing altogether. That was perfectlynatural and in order. But that he should have had the incredibleluck to win her affection. The thing struck him as grotesque andridiculous.
"In love with me?" he cried. "What on earth do you mean?"
Reggie's bewilderment equalled his own.
"Well, dash it all, old top, it surely isn't news to you? She musthave told you. Why, she told me!"
"Told you? Am I going mad?"
"Absolutely! I mean absolutely not! Look here." Reggie hesitated.The subject was delicate. But, once started, it might as well beproceeded with to some conclusion. A fellow couldn't go on talkingabout his iron-shots after this just as if nothing had happened.This was the time for the laying down of cards, the opening ofhearts. "I say, you know," he went on, feeling his way, "you'llprobably think it deuced rummy of me talking like this. Perfectstranger and what not. Don't even know each other's names."
"Mine's Bevan, if that'll be any help."
"Thanks very much, old chap. Great help! Mine's Byng. Reggie Byng.Well, as we're all pals here and the meeting's tiled and so forth,I'll start by saying that the mater is most deucedly set on mymarrying Lady Maud. Been pals all our lives, you know. Childrentogether, and all that sort of rot. Now there's nobody I think amore corking sportsman than Maud, if you know what I mean,but--this is where the catch comes in--I'm most frightfully in lovewith somebody else. Hopeless, and all that sort of thing, butstill there it is. And all the while the mater behind me with abradawl, sicking me on to propose to Maud who wouldn't have me if Iwere the only fellow on earth. You can't imagine, my dear old chap,what a relief it was to both of us when she told me the other daythat she was in love with you, and wouldn't dream of looking atanybody else. I tell you, I went singing about the place."
George felt inclined to imitate his excellent example. A burst ofsong was the only adequate expression of the mood of heavenlyhappiness which this young man's revelations had brought upon him.The whole world seemed different. Wings seemed to sprout fromReggie's shapely shoulders. The air was filled with soft music.Even the wallpaper seemed moderately attractive.
He mixed himself a second whisky and soda. It was the next bestthing to singing.
"I see," he said. It was difficult to say anything. Reggie wasregarding him enviously.
"I wish I knew how the deuce fel
lows set about making a girl fallin love with them. Other chappies seem to do it, but I can't evenstart. She seems to sort of gaze through me, don't you know. Shekind of looks at me as if I were more to be pitied than censured,but as if she thought I really ought to do something about it. Ofcourse, she's a devilish brainy girl, and I'm a fearful chump.Makes it kind of hopeless, what?"
George, in his new-born happiness, found a pleasure in encouraginga less lucky mortal.
"Not a bit. What you ought to do is to--"
"Yes?" said Reggie eagerly.
George shook his head.
"No, I don't know," he said.
"Nor do I, dash it!" said Reggie.
George pondered.
"It seems to me it's purely a question of luck. Either you're luckyor you're not. Look at me, for instance. What is there about me tomake a wonderful girl love me?"
"Nothing! I see what you mean. At least, what I mean to say is--"
"No. You were right the first time. It's all a question of luck.There's nothing anyone can do."
"I hang about a good deal and get in her way," said Reggie. "She'salways tripping over me. I thought that might help a bit."
"It might, of course."
"But on the other hand, when we do meet, I can't think of anythingto say."
"That's bad."
"Deuced funny thing. I'm not what you'd call a silent sort ofchappie by nature. But, when I'm with her--I don't know. It'srum!" He drained his glass and rose. "Well, I suppose I may as wellbe staggering. Don't get up. Have another game one of these days,what?"
"Splendid. Any time you like."
"Well, so long."
"Good-bye."
George gave himself up to glowing thoughts. For the first time inhis life he seemed to be vividly aware of his own existence. Itwas as if he were some newly-created thing. Everything around himand everything he did had taken on a strange and novel interest. Heseemed to notice the ticking of the clock for the first time. Whenhe raised his glass the action had a curious air of newness. Allhis senses were oddly alert. He could even--
"How would it be," enquired Reggie, appearing in the doorway likepart of a conjuring trick, "if I gave her a flower or two every nowand then? Just thought of it as I was starting the car. She's fondof flowers."
"Fine!" said George heartily. He had not heard a word. Thealertness of sense which had come to him was accompanied by astrange inability to attend to other people's speech. This would nodoubt pass, but meanwhile it made him a poor listener.
"Well, it's worth trying," said Reggie. "I'll give it a whirl.Toodleoo!"
"Good-bye."
"Pip-pip!"
Reggie withdrew, and presently came the noise of the car starting.George returned to his thoughts.
Time, as we understand it, ceases to exist for a man in suchcircumstances. Whether it was a minute later or several hours,George did not know; but presently he was aware of a small boystanding beside him--a golden-haired boy with blue eyes, who worethe uniform of a page. He came out of his trance. This, herecognized, was the boy to whom he had given the note for Maud. Hewas different from any other intruder. He meant something inGeorge's scheme of things.
"'Ullo!" said the youth.
"Hullo, Alphonso!" said George.
"My name's not Alphonso."
"Well, you be very careful or it soon may be."
"Got a note for yer. From Lidy Mord."
"You'll find some cake and ginger-ale in the kitchen," said thegrateful George. "Give it a trial."
"Not 'arf!" said the stripling.
A Damsel in Distress Page 10