But Max came into the room just then, and with a confused murmur about having something to do in her own room, Juliet fled.
There was nothing she wanted to do in her own room, however, except to walk up and down its charming length and go over and over in her mind the things she and her cousin had just said.
She must have been crazy, she thought again, not to have known before this that Verity was in love with Elmer Lawson. A dozen minor incidents came back to confirm it, now that she knew the central fact, and she could not help asking herself with anxious insistence whether she would not have acted differently herself if she had known before.
There was no vitally different decision that she would have taken, she supposed. But would she have been quite so definite in her encouragement of Martin’s hope, or quite so categorical when she told Max that she loved Martin?
It isn’t true, anyway, Juliet thought, with ruthless self-revelation. I’m terribly fond of Martin and more sorry for him than I can say. I’d gladly make him happy if I could. But—I don’t really love him any longer. You can’t love two men at one and the same time, and it’s Max I love.
Whether he loved her or not had nothing to do with it. That all-revealing conversation with her cousin had established one fact before all. Juliet loved Max now and for always, and argue and reason as she might with herself, she could not see how she could ever forget him enough to marry Martin.
It won’t be nice telling Martin, she thought miserably. And I ought never to have encouraged him as far as I did. But I can’t help him or anyone else by pretending any longer. Whatever there was between us has gone.
In all the emotional vicissitudes through which she had lived since she had left London, Juliet had always preserved enough courage to face the next issue. But suddenly she found that she was at the end of her resistance. She could not go downstairs and face a meal with Max and Verity, knowing what she did.
It’s beyond human endurance, Juliet told herself passionately. And, anyway, the problem is Verity’s, not mine. She can pretend and dissemble if she will. I can’t watch the man I love being deceived like that. Not until I’ve summoned up a little more nerve for the job, at any rate.
So she sent a message downstairs that she was not feeling very well and preferred to stay in her room. Verity, of course, would know what was the matter, but Juliet was past caring about that now. And if Max thought her indisposition was sudden, at least the excuse was as good as any other.
Supper was sent up to her on a tray. But both that and the message of sympathy that accompanied it were brought by Rose, the pretty housemaid. Evidently Verity had said all she wished to say to her cousin and saw no point in further discussion.
Juliet passed a miserable evening and a horrible, restless night. At one point she even thought she would have preferred not to have known the truth about Verity. Hard though it had always been to think of giving up Max to her, at least there had been something clean and final in the knowledge—or supposed knowledge—that Verity loved him.
Now everything seemed confused and insincere and completely unworthwhile.
When Juliet finally awoke it was to the knowledge that another almost unendurable day lay ahead of her—and after that another, and another. For at least a week of their proposed visit yet remained and it was difficult to see how or why it should be curtailed.
She delayed coming down to breakfast for as long as possible. And when she finally did so she found to her relief that Max had already gone out. Verity, it seemed, was breakfasting in her room.
Idling over her coffee and toast, Juliet asked herself rather severely how long she supposed she could go on avoiding the issue like this. But she was thankful for even so short a reprieve.
Toward the end of the meal Rose brought in the mail.
“Mr. Ormathon rode down for it,” she explained.
“Has he come in then?” Juliet asked quickly.
But Rose shook her head. “No. They’re pretty busy down in the South Meadow, you know,” she said, as though Juliet would naturally know all about that.
“I see.” Juliet nervously shuffled through the letters, and saw that there was one for her from Penelope.
There were also two for Verity, and Rose said, “Shall I take up Miss Burlett’s to her?”
“No,” Juliet said, suddenly deciding that she must force herself back into normal relations with her cousin and that this was as good an opportunity as any. “I’ll take them myself.”
And, leaving Penelope’s letter on the table, she took Verity’s mail upstairs.
In answer to her knock, Verity called, “Come in,” and Juliet went in to find her cousin still in bed, though propped up against pillows and looking very pretty and slightly fragile.
“I’ve brought you your mail.” Juliet put the letters down on the bed, without looking at either them or Verity.
“Thanks.” Verity picked them up and then said, “Oh!” rather sharply.
“What is it?” Juliet, who had gone to the window and stood looking out, glanced back into the room.
“Did you look at these letters?”
“Look at them? No, of course not.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean did you open them,” Verity laughed slightly. “I meant did you notice the postmark—on one of them at any rate?”
“No. I can’t say I did.”
“It’s a Bathurst postmark.”
“Oh?”
“And the writing,” Verity said slowly, “is Elmer’s.”
“Why don’t you open it, then?”
“I’m afraid.” Verity fingered the envelope. “Isn’t it ridiculous? I’m superstitiously afraid. And there’s something I want to tell you ... first, Juliet. I broke my engagement to Max last night.”
“No!” Juliet came slowly back toward the bed.
“I don’t know quite how it happened. I don’t know even that I intended to do it. But ... your talking the way you did may have had something to do with it. And ... a sort of feeling that I couldn’t deserve happiness if I deliberately clouded all the issues.” Verity laughed again slightly, as though faintly ashamed of the impulse that had moved her.
“I think you did right,” Juliet said gently.
“Oh, yes...” Verity shrugged impatiently. “I suppose you think that one should do good, and good will come of it.”
“Broadly speaking—yes.”
“So that—” Verity looked down at the letter in her hand with widened eyes “—according to your philosophy, this letter ought to contain the reward for my candor in the shape of some—some hope for Elmer.”
“My dear, you can’t bargain with fate—or God—like that. You’ve done what you thought was right. One can’t do more, one shouldn’t do less, with or without reward.”
“It sounds one-sided to me,” Verity said bitterly.
Juliet smiled faintly. “Life isn’t a mutual benefit society, Verity. Take heart and open your letter. Would you like me to go?”
“No—stay,” Verity said abruptly, and with an almost violent movement she tore open the envelope and drew out several sheets.
Watching in almost painful anxiety, Juliet saw her cousin go pale, then she dropped the letter on the sheet and buried her face in her hands and wept.
“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry!”
For the first time in their acquaintance, Juliet wanted to put her arms around her cousin. But when she went to do so, Verity almost thrust her away with one hand.
“No,” she gasped, “read what he says. I don’t deserve it!” Slowly, Juliet picked up the first page and read:
Beloved,—I have no right to address you like this, since I am Max’s friend, and I think I’d have managed to keep silent if I truly believed you loved him, but—
She put down the letter again, for the rest of it was not for her, she saw. And, realizing that Verity’s tears were tears of frightened, passionate relief, Juliet just dropped a kiss on the top of her head and went out of the room.
&nb
sp; It was the strangest day after that. Max either had, or arranged to have, business in Adelaide all day. And when Verity joined Juliet at lunch, it was obvious that she was in a happy, chastened and indescribably relieved mood.
“I can’t, in all decency, say anything in front of Max about my happiness, so you’ll just have to put up with it all, Juliet,” she said.
“I don’t mind.” Juliet smiled at her across the table. “But apart from any strain of hiding your feelings, don’t you think that in the circumstances we ought to leave for home as soon as we tactfully can?”
“Why, of course. I asked Max to make the arrangements today. That’s one reason that he’s gone into Adelaide. It can’t be anything but embarrassing for us all if you and I stay on.”
“That’s what I thought,” Juliet said, with every appearance of agreement. But in reality her heart sank wretchedly at the thought of leaving.
Not only could she never expect to see this heavenly place again. When she said goodbye to Max, she supposed it might well be for always. With the breaking of his engagement to Verity, his connection with the family would cease, and in this country of terrible distances, how could one hope for casual meetings?
There was always the link of Carol, of course. But even that seemed uncertain and unsubstantial at the moment.
In the early evening Max returned, and because of his coolness and self-possession, the situation was not as embarrassing as it might have been. To Juliet, when they were left alone for a minute or two, he said, “I suppose Verity has told you that we have broken our engagement?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” Juliet felt bound in common politeness to say that, however inaccurately and, a little conscience-stricken, she added immediately, “I mean—I’m sorry if you’re very unhappy about it.”
He smiled slightly and ruefully.
“No man exactly likes being—rejected, Juliet. But Verity was so positive about her change of feeling that I could do nothing but accept her decision. I knew already, of course, that she was dismayed by her practical experience of life here and, if she were going to find it something she couldn’t face, I suppose it was a great deal better that she should find that out before she married rather than after.”
“Of course,” Juliet said.
But she was thinking, How cool—almost cold—he is about it. I wonder if he was right when he used to declare to Carol that he couldn’t feel very deeply about anyone.
But she changed her mind about that the following day when they actually came to the hastily arranged departure.
On the long drive to the airport, he was almost completely silent, and for the first time since she had known him, Juliet saw him profoundly depressed. Once or twice he made obvious efforts to disguise the fact, but they were useless, and Juliet, in her own unhappiness, could do little to help him.
Verity was the only happy one of the three of them. And, in her newfound consideration for others, she had to do her best to hide her good spirits. So that they were a very quiet and subdued trio who arrived at the airport, and Juliet felt that she hated, yet clung to, every minute of that last quarter of an hour with Max.
How tragic and banal to have to fill this precious meeting, which must inevitably be the last for some while if not forever, with meaningless phrases about the journey, the weather, the other passengers.
They sat on the wide leather seats, or walked about the restricted space, pretending to examine magazines, notices at the candy and tobacco kiosk or even the one or two stationary planes grounded outside the big windows.
It can’t just end here, Juliet thought despairingly.
But it seemed that it could. The minutes dragged their slow length across the face of the big clock and presently, with bright ruthlessness, a disembodied voice announced that their plane was ready to depart.
“Goodbye, my dear—good luck,” she heard him say to Verity, and characteristically they kissed each other, as though to show that they remained on terms of common-sense friendship.
“Goodbye, Juliet.” Her hand was in his now, and, quite unexpectedly, he bent and kissed her, too. She felt his firm mouth on hers—unsentimentally, even perhaps impersonally—and knew that this was what she would always remember of their goodbye.
“Goodbye, Max.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as tremulous as she felt. And at the very, very last moment, he said. “Write to me, will you, and let me know how things are with you?”
“Of course I will!” she cried, feeling like a prisoner reprieved. And as she went out into the hot sunshine of the airfield, she seemed to feel that, after all, she took with her one fine, tenuous little thread that bound her still to Max.
It was a completely uneventful flight during which Verity slept most of the time, apparently worn out with happiness and excitement. Only when they were nearing Bathurst did she wake up, looking indescribably fresh and happy, and say to Juliet, “We’re nearly there, aren’t we?”
“Yes. I think we have about ten minutes to go.”
“I expect Elmer will be at the airport. I sent him a telegram.”
Oh, fortunate Verity, who was going to meet her love, instead of having left him behind!
Elmer Lawson was indeed at the airport, to greet his beloved with such unfeigned delight that Juliet’s heart warmed to him. To see him with Verity was to know that she was safe and loved. And because Juliet had grown sincerely fond of her difficult eldest cousin during the past few weeks, she could not fail to experience some reflection of her happiness.
Juliet stayed overnight with the Lawsons and confirmed her earlier impression that they were kindly, common-sense people who had not lost their heads because of the considerable amount of money they had made. With them, Verity would have a chance to develop the better, more sensible and less selfish side of her nature and, judging from the kind but matter-of-fact way they treated her, Juliet guessed that there would be much affection for her but very little senseless “spoiling.”
Elmer offered, with the utmost good nature, to drive Juliet to Borralung next day. But it would have been cruel to take him from Verity almost as soon as he had found her. And, having discovered that she could cover the journey not too inconveniently by train and long-distance bus, Juliet refused his offer.
“You’ll explain to them at home, won’t you?” Verity said airily, as she bade Juliet goodbye. “Tell mother I’ll be down some weekend soon and that she’s not to worry. You can assure her of that, Juliet, having seen me and Elmer together.”
“Yes,” Juliet agreed with a smile. “I haven’t many misgivings about your future, Verity. I hope you’re going to be most awfully happy.”
“Oh, I shall be. Don’t worry,” Verity stated with confidence. And to show how friendly and thoughtful she had become, she kissed her cousin goodbye—though her improvement was sufficiently partial for her to forget all about expressing reciprocal wishes for Juliet’s happiness until at least half an hour after she had gone.
It was a long journey, and much more tiresome than Juliet had supposed, and sometimes it seemed to her that she must have been sitting for days in the hot, gritty little train as it puffed and jolted in a leisurely manner past whole forests of gum trees, through sun-parched scrubland, and across innumerable level crossings where bells rang incessantly.
At last, however, she reached the small station halt where she was to change over to the bus, and at this point the journey began to speed up and look as though it might eventually have an ending.
It was the very hottest part of the afternoon when she finally arrived at Borralung, but fortunately the bus route went right past the house, and so she was set down at the gate, and she left her luggage just inside for Andrew to bring up later.
Everything looked quite unchanged as she pushed open the screen door and came into the comparative cool of the house, and she had to remind herself that, after all, she had been away less than two weeks, even though it seemed to her that she had lived nearly a lifetime’s experience during that pe
riod.
“Hello, Juliet!” Aunt Katherine came out into the hall and kissed her in her own special manner, which was rather a soft bumping of cheeks than a genuine kiss. “Where is Verity and whatever has happened? You didn’t say anything in the wire except that we were to expect you today.”
“No, Aunt Katherine.” Juliet took off her hat and pushed back her damp hair. “I thought it would be easier to explain when I arrived.”
“Explain what?” Aunt Katherine asked very pertinently, and she seemed annoyed that the explanation was still further delayed by the arrival of her husband and Andrew, and then by Penelope who—though she was supposed to be undemonstrative—threw her arms around Juliet and kissed her.
“Now,” Aunt Katherine said, when at last they were sitting in the front room, “if all the family embraces are over, perhaps dear Juliet will give us the news.”
“The first piece of news,” dear Juliet explained apologetically, “is that Verity has broken off her engagement to Max.”
“She must be mad,” Aunt Katherine said, without emphasis but in a tone which gave “mad” its literal meaning.
“No, Aunt Katherine. She was eminently sane about it.” Juliet smiled slightly. “You see, she didn’t really love Max and—”
“Verity never really loved anyone,” interrupted Aunt Katherine with one of those flashes of bright intuition about her own family, “so there was no need to attach undue importance to that.”
“Well,” Juliet said thoughtfully, “perhaps it’s true that she never deeply loved anyone until recently. But then there was someone, Aunt Katherine, and so the engagement to Max became unreal and then impossible. The man she really loved was Elmer Lawson. She is engaged to him now,” Juliet added, realizing that she had not explained this salient point.
“Really, Juliet, you are exasperating! Why keep us all sitting on thorns like that, when you could have started off by saying that Verity was engaged to Elmer Lawson?”
“Who,” inquired Uncle Edmund at this point, “is Elmer Lawson?”
“Oh, my dear! A most eligible young man,” his wife reminded him impatiently.
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