"What about the young fellow at the antique
shop?" said Luke.
The Major snorted. "He doesn't play golf."
"Has he been in Wychwood long?"
"About two years. Nasty sort of fellow.
Hate those long-haired, purring chaps. Funnily
enough, Lydia liked him. You can't trust
women's judgment about men. They cotton
to some amazing bounders. She even insisted
on taking some patent quack nostrum of his.
Stuff in a purple glass jar with signs of the
Zodiac all over it! Supposed to be certain
herbs picked at the full of the moon. Lot of
tom-foolery, but women swallow that stuff--
swallow it literally, too--ha-ha!"
Luke said, feeling that he was changing
the subject rather abruptly, but correctly
judging that Major Horton would not be
aware of the fact, "What sort of a fellow is
Abbot, the local solicitor? Pretty sound on
the law? I've got to have some legal advice
about something and I thought I might go to
him."
"They say he's pretty shrewd," acknowledged
Major Horton. "I don't know. Matter
of fact, I've had a row with him. Not seen
him since he came out here to make Lydia's
will for her just before she died. In my opinion, the man's a cad. But of course," he
added, "that doesn't affect his ability as a
lawyer."
"No, of course not," said Luke. "He seems
a quarrelsome sort of man, though. Seems to
have fallen out with a good many people, from what I hear."
"Trouble with him is that he's so confoundedly
touchy," said Major Horton. "Seems to think he's God Almighty and that
anyone who disagrees with him is committing
lese-majeste. Heard of his row with
Humbleby?"
"They had a row, did they?"
"First-class row. Mind you, that doesn't
surprise me. Humbleby was an opinionated
ass. Still, there it is."
"His death was very sad."
"Humbleby's? Yes, I suppose it was. Lack
of ordinary care. Blood poisoning's a damned
dangerous thing. Always put iodine on a cut, I do! Simple precaution. Humbleby, who's a
doctor, doesn't do anything of the sort. It
just shows." Luke was not quite sure what it
showed, but he let that pass. Glancing at his
watch, he got up. Major Horton said, "Getting on for lunchtime? So it is. Well, glad to have had a chat with you. Does me
good to see a man who's been about a bit.
We must have a yam some other time. Where
was your show? Mayang Straits? Never been
there. Hear you're writing a book. Superstitions
and all that."
"Yes, I--"
But Major Horton swept on, "I can tell
you several very interesting things. When I
was in India, my boy--"
Luke escaped some ten minutes later, after
enduring the usual histories of fakirs, rope and mango tricks, dear to the retired
Anglo-Indian. As he stepped out into the
open air and heard the Major's voice bellowing
to Nero behind him, he marveled at the
miracle of married life. Major Horton seemed
genuinely to regret a wife who, by all accounts, not excluding his own, must have
been nearly allied to a man-eating tiger. Or
was it, Luke asked himself the question suddenly--was
it an exceedingly clever bluff?
Twelve
the afternoon of the tennis party was, fortunately, fine. Lord Easterfield was in his most
genial mood, acting the part of the host with
a good deal of enjoyment. He referred frequently
to his humble origin. The players
were eight in all--Lord Easterfield, Bridget, Luke, Rose Humbleby, Mr. Abbot, Doctor
Thomas, Major Horton and Hetty Jones, a
giggling young woman who was the daughter
of the bank manager.
In the second set of the afternoon, Luke
found himself partnering Bridget against
Lord Easterfield and Rose Humbleby. Rose
was a good player with a strong forehand
drive, and played in county matches. She
atoned for Lord Easterfield's failures, and
Bridget and Luke, who were neither of them
particularly strong, made quite an even match
of it. They were three games all, and then
Luke found a streak of erratic brilliance and
he and Bridget forged ahead to 5-3. It was
then he observed that Lord Easterfield was
losing his temper. He argued over a line ball, declared a serve to be a fault, in spite of
Rose's disclaimer, and displayed all the attributes
of a peevish child. It was set point, but Bridget sent an easy shot into the net
and immediately after served a double fault.
Deuce. The next ball was returned down the
middle line, and as he prepared to take it, he
and his partner collided. Then Bridget served
another double fault and the game was lost.
Bridget apologized, "Sorry; I've gone to
pieces."
It seemed true enough. Bridget's shots
were wild and she seemed to be unable to do
anything right. The set ended with Lord
Easterfield and his partner victorious with
the score of 8-6. There was a momentary
discussion as to the composition of the next
set. In the end. Rose played again, with Mr.
Abbot as her partner, against Doctor Thomas
and Miss Jones.
Lord Easterfield sat down, wiping his forehead
and smiling complacently, his good humor
quite restored. He began to talk to Major
Horton on the subject of a series of articles
on "Fitness for Britain" which one of his
papers was starting. Luke said to Bridget, "Show me the kitchen garden."
"Why the kitchen garden?"
"I have a feeling for cabbages."
"Won't green peas do?"
"Green peas would be admirable."
They walked away from the tennis court
and came to the walled kitchen garden. It
was empty of gardeners this Saturday afternoon
and looked lazy and peaceful in the
sunshine. "Here are your peas," said Bridget.
Luke paid no attention to the object of the
visit. He said, "Why did you give them the
set?"
Bridget's eyebrows went up a fraction.
"I'm sorry. I went to bits. My tennis is
erratic."
"Not so erratic as that! Those double faults
of yours wouldn't deceive a child! And those
wild shots--each of them half a mile out!"
Bridget said calmly, "That's because I'm
such a rotten tennis player. If I were a bit
better I could, perhaps, have made it a bit
more plausible! But as it is, if I try to make a
ball go just out, it's always just on the line
and all the good work still to do."
"Oh, you admit it then."
"Obvious, my dear Watson."
"And the reason?"
"Equally obvious, I should have thought.
Gordon doesn't like losing."
"And what about me? Supposing I like to
win?"
"I'm afraid, my dear Luke, that that isn't
&nb
sp; equally important."
"Would you like to make your meaning
just a little clearer still?"
"Certainly, if you like. One mustn't quarrel
with one's bread and butter. Gordon is
my bread and butter. You are not."
Luke drew a deep breath. Then he exploded.
"What do you mean by marrying
that absurd little man? Why are you doing
it?"
"Because as his secretary I get six pounds
a week, and as his wife I shall get a hundred
thousand settled on me, a jewel case full of
pearls and diamonds, a handsome allowance, and various perquisites of the married state."
"But for somewhat different duties!"
Bridget said coldly, "Must we have this
melodramatic attitude towards every single
thing in life? If you are contemplating a pretty
picture of Gordon as an uxorious lover, you
can wash it right out. Gordon, as you should
have realized, is a small boy who has not
quite grown up. What he needs is a mother, not a wife. Unfortunately, his mother died
when he was four years old. What he wants
is someone at hand to whom he can brag, someone who will reassure him about himself
and who is prepared to listen indefinitely
to Lord Easterfield on the subject of
himself."
"You've got a bitter tongue, haven't you?"
Bridget retorted sharply, "I don't tell myself
fairy stories, if that's what you mean!
I'm a young woman with a certain amount of
intelligence, very moderate looks, and no
money. I intend to earn an honest living. My
job as Gordon's wife will be practically indistinguishable
from my job as Gordon's secretary.
After a year, I doubt if he'll remember
to kiss me good night. The only difference is
in the salary." They looked at each other.
Both of them were pale with anger. Bridget
said jeeringly, "Go on. You're rather oldfashioned,
aren't you, Mr. Fitzwilliam?
Hadn't you better trot out the old cliches--
say that I'm selling myself for money--that's
always a good one, I think!"
Luke said, "You're a cold-blooded little
devil!"
"That's better than being a hot-blooded
little fool!"
"Is it?"
"Yes. I know."
Luke sneered. "What do you know?"
"I know what it is to care about a man!
Did you ever meet Johnnie Cornish? I was
engaged to him for three years. He was adorable.
I cared like hell about him--cared so
much that it hurt! Well, he threw me over
and married a nice plump widow with a
North Country accent and three chins, and
an income of thirty thousand a year! That
sort of thing rather cures one of romance, don't you think?"
Luke turned away with a sudden groan.
He said, "It might."
"It did."
There was a pause. The silence lay heavy
between them. Bridget broke it at last. She
said, but with a slight uncertainty in her
tone, "I hope you realize that you had no
earthly right to speak to me as you did.
You're staying in Gordon's house and it's
damned bad taste."
Luke had recovered his composure. "Isn't
that rather a cliche too?" he inquired politely.
Bridget flushed. "It's true, anyway."
"It isn't. I had every right."
"Nonsense!"
Luke looked at her. His face had a queer
pallor, like a man who is suffering physical
pain. He said, "I have a right. I've the right
of caring for you--what did you say just
now?--of caring so much that it hurts!"
She drew back a step. She said, "You--"
"Yes, funny, isn't it? The sort of thing
that ought to give you a hearty laugh! I came
down here to do a job of work and you came
round the corner of that house and--how
can I say it?--put a spell on me! That's what
it feels like. You mentioned fairy stories just
now. I'm caught up in a fairy story! You've
bewitched me. I've a feeling that if you
pointed your finger at me and said, 'Turn
into a frog,' I'd go hopping away with my
eyes popping out of my head." He took a
step nearer to her. "I love you like hell, Bridget Conway. And, loving you like hell, you can't expect me to enjoy seeing you get
married to a pot-bellied, pompous little peer
who loses his temper when he doesn't win at
tennis."
"What do you suggest I should do?"
"I suggest that you should marry me instead.
But doubtless that suggestion will give
rise to a lot of merry laughter."
"The laughter is positively uproarious."
"Exactly. Well, now we know where we
are. Shall we return to the tennis court?
Perhaps this time you will find me a partner
who can play to win."
"Really," said Bridget sweetly. "I believe
you mind losing just as much as Gordon
does."
Luke caught her suddenly by the shoulders.
"You've got a devilish tongue, haven't
you, Bridget?"
"I'm afraid you don't like me very much, Luke, however great your passion for me."
"I don't think I like you at all."
Bridget said, watching him, "You meant
to get married and settle down when you
came home, didn't you?
"Yes."
"But not to someone like me?"
"I never thought of anyone in the least
like you."
"No, you wouldn't. I know your type. I
know it exactly."
"You are so clever, dear Bridget."
"A really nice girl, thoroughly English, fond of the country and good with dogs.
You probably visualized her in a tweed skirt, stirring a log fire with the tip of her shoe."
"The picture sounds most attractive."
"I'm sure it does. Shall we return to the
tennis court? You can play with Rose
Humbleby. She's so good that you're practically
certain to win."
"Being old-fashioned, I must allow you to
have the last word."
Again there was a pause. Then Luke took
his hands slowly from her shoulders. They
both stood uncertain, as though something
still unsaid lingered between them.
Then Bridget turned abruptly and led the
way back. The next set was just ending.
Rose protested against playing again. "I've
played two sets running."
Bridget, however, insisted. "I'm feeling
tired. I don't want to play. You and Mr.
Fitzwilliam take on Miss Jones and Major
Horton."
But Rose continued to protest, and in the
end a men's four was arranged. Afterward
came tea.
Lord Easterfield conversed with Doctor
Thomas, describing at length and with great
self-importance a visit he had recently paid
to the Wellerman Kreitz Research Laboratories.
"I wanted to understand the trend of
the latest scientific discoveries for myself,"
he explained earnestly. "I'm responsible for
what my papers print. I feel that very keenly.
This is a scientific age. Science must be made
easily assimilable by the masses."
"A little science might possibly be a dangerous
thing," said Doctor Thomas, with a
slight shrug of his shoulders.
"Science in the home--that's what we have
to aim at," said Lord Easterfield. "Scienceminded--"
"Test-tube
conscious," said Bridget
gravely.
"I was impressed," said Lord Easterfield.
"Wellerman took me round himself, of
course. I begged him to leave me to an underling, but he insisted."
"Naturally," said Luke.
Lord Easterfield looked gratified. "And
he explained everything most clearly--the
cultures, the serum, the whole principle of
the thing. He agreed to contribute the first
article in the series himself."
Mrs. Anstruther murmured, "They use
guinea pigs, I believe. So cruel--though, of
course, not so bad as dogs, or even cats."
"Fellows who use dogs ought to be shot,"
said Major Horton hoarsely.
"I really believe, Horton," said Mr. Abbot, "that you value canine life above human
life."
"Every time!" said the Major. "Dogs can't
turn round on you like human beings can.
Never get a nasty word from a dog."
"Only a nasty tooth stuck into your leg,"
said Mr. Abbot. "What about that, eh, Horton?"
"Dogs are a good judge of character," said
Major Horton.
"One of your brutes nearly pinned me by
the leg last week. What do you say to that,
Horton?"
"Same as I said just now!"
Bridget interposed tactfully, "What about
some more tennis?"
A couple more sets were played. Then, as
Rose Humbleby said good-by, Luke appeared
beside her. "I'll see you home," he
said. "And carry the tennis racket. You
haven't got a car, have you?"
"No, but it's no distance."
"I'd like a walk." He said no more, merely
taking her racket and shoes from her. They
walked down the drive without speaking.
Then Rose mentioned one or two trivial matters.
Luke answered rather shortly, but the
girl did not seem to notice.
As they turned into the gate of her house,
Luke's face cleared. "I'm feeling better now,"
he said.
"Were you feeling badly before?"
"Nice of you to pretend you didn't notice
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