Jim, it was plain, was head over heels in love with the girl he was to marry, and every subject of conversation that arose was steered back, sooner or later, to Allegra. Stella mentioned her efforts at learning Hindustani and was told enthusiastically that Allegra was picking up Urdu in the most marvelous manner; she spoke of the glorious sunsets one saw in this part of India and heard that Allegra had never seen such skies, even in Switzerland; she asked him about his work and had to listen to his raptures over the intelligent interest that Allegra took in every detail of his career.
Every detail of your income is more like this precious fiancée of yours, was Stella’s grim thought, and unable to digest any further praises of the other girl, she turned her attention to the man on her right—a man in the police, whose conversation was less of the single-track variety and who proved quite an entertaining companion.
After dinner when the women trooped off to the drawing room, leaving the men to enjoy their port and swap stories, she had a taste of Allegra’s bitter tongue. Acting as hostess, she moved about the room offering cigarettes, and when she came to Stella she observed under her breath, “A gorgeous gown, my dear. All that it needs to set it off is a jewel or two—emeralds, for example.”
“And you could do with a few rose buds, couldn’t you—all innocent and dewy!” Without the slightest hesitation—and with no more than the faintest change of color—Stella flung back the retort and was humanly glad to see, from the way Allegra bit her lip, that the shaft had gone home.
Perhaps the little wretch will leave me alone now, she thought as she watched her pass along to chat with some of her of the guests and marveled once again at the girl’s utter meanness. Knowing that she was to be left in possession of the field, could she not have behaved with ordinary decency? But there it was! She trusted nobody and probably thought that the only way to ensure Stella’s carrying out her promise was by making her life in Ghasirabad a perfect misery—a course that Stella decided, showed a very poor knowledge of psychology.
The men did not linger long over their wine—the passing around of the port decanter being little more than an empty rite in that climate—and as soon as they came into the drawing room, Armand made a beeline in Stella’s direction.
“Here we are again,” he exclaimed cheerfully. “And don’t tell me tonight that I’m not to pay you any compliments. If you could put on that dress and hope that no one would remark on it, then you’re no daughter of Eve.” As always she found it impossible to stand on her dignity with the smiling young Frenchman—or to remember with any seriousness his former outbursts of passion.
“I’m glad you like my dress,” she returned gaily. “It comes from your little old hometown!”
“That goes without saying.” His eyes swept her from head to foot. And then he added, lowering his voice, “Lord, it’s good to see you again. I wish I could think you echoed that sentiment.”
“To tell you the truth, I’m rather surprised to find you here,” Stella told him frankly. “What with that long and uncomfortable drive from Bhindi—and with you and Roger not being exactly on cordial terms, these days!”
He gave a little laugh. “In the first place I’d undertake a much worse drive than that if I knew I was going to meet you at the end of it; and in the second, Roger only invited me, I’m certain, because that very attractive Miss Allegra badgered him into it. Someone was kind enough to sing my praises as a dancer—and to decry the talents of most of the other men in that direction—and as she’s a keen dancer herself, and needs a foil, she made up her mind to get me here.”
“I see.” Stella was ironically amused, but she felt less inclined to smile when Armand went on vivaciously. “She’s the type, you know, that we call in French câline! The sort that tries to twist every man she meets around her little finger—and usually succeeds.”
“She’s certainly very attractive,” Stella agreed with forced enthusiasm, and was glad when, after claiming three or four dances, he moved on to talk to someone else.
The minute he left her Roger came up. He looked very distinguished, she thought, in full evening dress; and though no one could have called him handsome in the orthodox sense of the word, his great height and breadth of shoulder gave him a certain superiority over all the other men in the room.
“I hope our friend Verle hasn’t grabbed all your dances,” he said dryly.
She smiled, her heart beginning to beat uncomfortably fast.
“I would hardly be so discourteous as to have no dances left for my host.”
“Not a very encouraging reply. Still, I suppose I ought to be thankful for small mercies.” He glanced around. “I see old Jim is putting on a record now. Shall we dance?”
She nodded and standing up let him take her in his arms. Held thus she was swept by an ecstasy such as she had never known in all her life before. If only this moment could last forever! Did he feel the same, she wondered! And dared not look up into his eyes for fear of what she might see written there.
Even if she had not loved him, there would have been a thrill in dancing with him, for though his steps were conventional, he was as light on his feet as a panther and had a perfect sense of rhythm. His movements, too, were so decided, it was child’s play to follow him.
If she were pleased with him as a partner, he, for his part, was utterly delighted.
“I guessed you’d be a good dancer by the way you moved,” he told her eagerly, “but I never dreamed you’d be as perfect as this. But then you’re perfect in every way, Stella—except—” and his voice dropped “—in your treatment of me.”
“I think the boot is on the other foot.” She tried to speak lightly. “I haven’t known you very long, but you must have given me at least half a dozen good scoldings in that time.”
“I know. I’m a wretch.” His voice was contrite. “But you’re such a reckless little devil, Stella, and I’m scared stiff of any harm coming to you. It’s because I—I think so much of you that I get so crotchety.”
“You certainly fuss too much,” she told him coolly. "You forget that I’m that tough creature—a trained hospital nurse.”
“Tough!” He gave an odd little laugh and for a moment held her even closer to him. “To me you’re the most precious, fragile thing in the world—Dresden china, or maybe a first pale primrose.”
“I didn’t know you were a poet,” she countered, trying hard to speak calmly.
“Most men are romantics at heart, my dear.” Then glancing across the room he added, “Look at Jim; he’s positively radiant. He’s in love with a vengeance.”
“And you’re pleased with his choice?” For the life of her she could not keep back the question.
“Very.” He spoke without the slightest hesitation. “Allegra seems just the one for him. He’s come out like anything since he got engaged to her.”
The record came to an end and they moved apart, and to Stella it was like stepping from a rosy dream into gray reality. She longed for the moment when they should be dancing together again—although she told herself bitterly that these brief snatches of bliss would only make the forthcoming parting more agonizingly hard to bear. She might be storing up a few golden memories for herself—but what could they hold for her but tears?
Her next partner was Jim, and from him, too, she had to listen to praises of Allegra; indeed, he seemed, as before, to wish for no other subject of conversation.
Allegra was dancing with Armand now and looking, Stella thought, a good deal more animated than when she had had Jim as her partner. The young Frenchman’s sallies of wit evidently amused her greatly, for every now and then that characteristic laugh of hers rippled out.
But Jim, for one, had no fault to find with her high spirits.
“Isn’t she a darling!” he exclaimed, gazing raptly across at her. “Miss Hantley, I do hope you and she are going to be friends.”
“There won’t be much time for forming a friendship, I am afraid,” Stella answered quietly. “Miss Jelli
ngs and I will be moving on very soon now—at least, I hope so.”
He seemed rather taken aback by this reply. “Do you really mean that—and that you’ll be glad to go? I somehow thought—” And he broke off lamely, reddening a little.
“Oh, one usually has mixed feelings over leaving a place where one has had a good time,” she observed coolly. “But we have a lot of interesting ground to cover in the rest of our tour, and I’m looking forward to seeing Rajdor.”
“I see!” Jim sounded vaguely disappointed. But the next moment he went on more cheerfully. “Still, you’ll doubtless be coming back to Ghasirabad?”
“Most unlikely. We’re really working our way by slow degrees to Calcutta—and from there we shall sail straight for home.”
“And will you take up your nursing career again?”
“I expect so.”
He hesitated, then said awkwardly, “If you’ll forgive my saying so, I think it’s a pity. I’d like to see you happily married.”
She achieved a fairly convincing laugh. “You’re so much in love yourself, and so enamored of matrimony, you want all your friends to follow example and hurry to the altar.”
He echoed her laugh. “Maybe you’re right.” Then he went on, with an intensity that almost startled Stella, “I only know this: I didn’t begin to live until the day when Allegra promised to be my wife.”
That remark of his, made with such depths of feeling, haunted Stella for the rest of the evening. Till then there had lurked in the dim recesses of her brain the half-formed thought that if Allegra goaded her too far she would retaliate and insist on giving Roger and Jim her version of that miserable affair of five years ago. Now she told herself more firmly than ever before that such a course was out of the question. Even if Roger were to believe her, which was doubtful, what happiness would there be for herself and him if it were gained at the cost of Jim’s heartbreak? Their marriage, if it ever took place, would be doomed from the start. No, Jim and Allegra were actually engaged whereas she and Roger had not even spoken of love. It was clearly she who must withdraw before further damage was done.
Roger’s mood, when he came to claim her for another dunce, was so different from his former one that she had less difficulty than she had anticipated in behaving more coolly to him. He had been talking to Miss Jellings in an interval between two rubbers of bridge, had heard about Chawand Rao’s loan to them of two of his horses and was distinctly perturbed at their ready acceptance.
“Miss Jellings probably thinks I’m a fussy old woman,” he observed as he steered her into a slow fox-trot, “but of course she has no idea of the rumors that have been floating around about Chawand Rao’s—well, designs on you.”
“She’d be too sensible, anyway, to listen to a lot of rubbishy gossip,” Stella retorted hotly. “I may be an ignoramus so far as India is concerned, but I should have thought that servants’ chatter in a Hindu palace would be discredited from the start. Hussein probably got His Highness’s remark about me all wrong. I’ve too high an opinion of Chawand Rao to suppose—”
“It’s no reflection on His Highness that he should wish to marry a white woman,” Roger interrupted quickly. “The point I want to make is that if you wish to scotch such notions you ought to behave with very great discretion. You’re playing with fire now. ”
Stella’s cheeks flamed. It was queer, she reflected, how she could feel so angry with Roger—and yet go on loving him all the time. “Another lecture?” she exclaimed. “Really, Roger, you seem bent on quarreling with me.”
“Well, you’re just a bit of a spitfire yourself, Stella.” He was smiling down at her now with a half-troubled, half-amused expression. “What we ought to do is to clear the air and have a real heart-to-heart talk; then there’d be an end to all these misunderstandings and bickering.” His arm tightened around her. “Don’t you think so, sweet?”
She stiffened, panic rising in her heart. “No, Roger, it’s no use,” she murmured incoherently. And when he pressed her for an explanation she could do nothing but beg him miserably to leave her alone.
“Heaven knows what the trouble is, but I won’t worry you any more this evening,” he promised at last. “But, Stella, I shall be around to the rest house at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, bringing the mare with me, in the hope that you’ll come for a ride. I must and will have a talk with you alone.”
CHAPTER TEN
Stella’s evening had been a compound of bliss and misery, but Miss Jellings had thoroughly enjoyed herself. She had bid and won a grand slam, and when her opponents had endeavored to do likewise had brought them tumbling down to the tune of fourteen hundred points! What more could a bridge player want?
Her pleasure, however, did not prevent her feeling extremely tired the next day; indeed, she was so utterly exhausted that Stella was too concerned on her account to have much time for brooding on her own problems.
I suppose by the time I’m Jelly’s age I shall have grown philosophical, she thought bitterly as she poured out a few drops of the old lady’s special restorative. Love—and all the joys and torments that go with it—will be forgotten. A good bridge four will be preferable to any téte-a-téte!
But if Miss Jellings’s dreams of romance were long since over, she could still interest herself, in the love affairs of other people. And when, the stimulant having done its work, she was propped up against the pillows, with a piece of crochet to amuse her, she made Stella pull up a chair to the bedside and tell her all that had happened the previous evening.
For a while Stella fobbed her off with gay, evasive answers, but before long the old lady gave up the pretense of using her crochet hook. Thrusting the work aside she asked, with all the frankness of an Edwardian mother, “Well, my dear—and have you and Roger fixed things up yet?”
Stella’s color rose. “There’s nothing to fix up,” she said abruptly.
“My dear child, must we fence all the time?” Jelly gave an irritable tweak to the coquettish boudoir cap of lace and rose buds that she invariably wore when spending a day in bed. “I’m quite aware that I’ve no right to ask you questions, but considering that you’ve no people of your own, I should have thought that you would have appreciated a little kindly interest.” And then her plain old face softened. “You know how fond I am of you, dear.”
“Oh, Jelly, I know!” The tears sprang to Stella’s eyes and hung on the dark, curling lashes. “And I’m just the same about you. But I can’t worry you with my troubles.”
“Why not?” Miss Jellings was eyeing her keenly.
“It wouldn’t be right. I’m supposed to be looking after you, not tiring you out with a recital of my problems.”
“That’s not your only reason, Stella.” She stretched across and took Stella’s hand in hers. “Something has gone wrong with your friendship with Roger Fendish; that’s as plain as a pikestaff. Wouldn’t it be a relief to talk« about it a little? I promise you that I’ll be as mum as an oyster.”
Stella hesitated then she said, her lips trembling as she spoke, “I feel pretty certain Roger wants to ask me to marry him, and there’s a reason why I’m bound to say no. That’s why I’m so worried.”
“And so miserable!” Miss Jellings finished the sentence her own way. “Tell me this, Stella—are you in love with the man or not?”
For a moment Stella was tempted to hedge, but she knew very well that Jelly, on the alert now, was listening for every inflection of her voice, watching her face for every smallest change of expression. And turning her tear-filled eyes to meet Jelly’s look she said brokenly, “Fearfully in love—unfortunately!”
Jelly frowned. “And are you going to tell me seriously that there’s an insurmountable barrier between you?”
“I’m afraid so.” Stella’s voice was steadier now.
“What! You’re not going to spring it on me that you’ve been keeping a husband in the background all this time?”
Stella, smiling wryly, shook her curly head.
“Well, I’m dead certain Roger’s never had a wife! He’s much too unknowledgeable about women.” Jelly sounded grimly amused. “Personally I can’t imagine what other obstacle can exist—unless there’s some hereditary malady in one or other of your families.”
Again Stella managed to smile. “No, it’s nothing like that.” Then, sober again, she added, “It’s just that I can’t marry Roger without bringing a fearful lot of misery to other people.”
For a minute or two Jelly was silent. Then she said thoughtfully, “Something went wrong that night you went to dinner at Roger’s bungalow—the time Mr. Verle and Mr. Blonson were there. You were perfectly happy about Roger up to that evening—although you tried to make me believe you weren’t falling in love with him!”
Stella made no answer, but her silence told Miss Jellings she had hit the mark. “And you’d rather not tell me about it, child?” she continued.
“It means raking up a miserable old story, and I’m so afraid that when you’ve heard it, you’ll try to convince me l hat I ought to marry Roger and take a chance on things working out all right.”
There was a longer silence between them now, which Jelly finally broke. “If you’ve any—well, indiscretions—in your past, my dear,” she said very gently, “you’ve a right to forget them. I’ve no patience with women who upset the applecart by making unnecessary revelations to the men they’re going to marry. They don’t expect similar candor from their husbands. Of course, if it’s something that’s bound to come out, the only thing is to take your courage in both hands and make a clean breast of the matter.”
“I suppose you mean something—something immoral!” Stella’s cheeks were burning now. “I can assure you, Jelly, I’ve nothing like that on my conscience. I’ve always been—well, quite unfashionably prudish.”
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