XXIII
The next day was Darrow's last at Givre and, foreseeing that theafternoon and evening would have to be given to the family, he had askedAnna to devote an early hour to the final consideration of their plans.He was to meet her in the brown sitting-room at ten, and they were towalk down to the river and talk over their future in the little pavilionabutting on the wall of the park.
It was just a week since his arrival at Givre, and Anna wished, beforehe left, to return to the place where they had sat on their firstafternoon together. Her sensitiveness to the appeal of inanimate things,to the colour and texture of whatever wove itself into the substance ofher emotion, made her want to hear Darrow's voice, and to feel his eyeson her, in the spot where bliss had first flowed into her heart.
That bliss, in the interval, had wound itself into every fold of herbeing. Passing, in the first days, from a high shy tenderness to therush of a secret surrender, it had gradually widened and deepened, toflow on in redoubled beauty. She thought she now knew exactly how andwhy she loved Darrow, and she could see her whole sky reflected in thedeep and tranquil current of her love.
Early the next day, in her sitting-room, she was glancing through theletters which it was Effie's morning privilege to carry up to her. Effiemeanwhile circled inquisitively about the room, where there was alwayssomething new to engage her infant fancy; and Anna, looking up, saw hersuddenly arrested before a photograph of Darrow which, the day before,had taken its place on the writing-table.
Anna held out her arms with a faint blush. "You do like him, don't you,dear?"
"Oh, most awfully, dearest," Effie, against her breast, leaned backto assure her with a limpid look. "And so do Granny and Owen--and I DOthink Sophy does too," she added, after a moment's earnest pondering.
"I hope so," Anna laughed. She checked the impulse to continue: "Has shetalked to you about him, that you're so sure?" She did not know what hadmade the question spring to her lips, but she was glad she had closedthem before pronouncing it. Nothing could have been more distasteful toher than to clear up such obscurities by turning on them the tiny flameof her daughter's observation. And what, after all, now that Owen'shappiness was secured, did it matter if there were certain reserves inDarrow's approval of his marriage?
A knock on the door made Anna glance at the clock. "There's Nurse tocarry you off."
"It's Sophy's knock," the little girl answered, jumping down to open thedoor; and Miss Viner in fact stood on the threshold.
"Come in," Anna said with a smile, instantly remarking how pale shelooked.
"May Effie go out for a turn with Nurse?" the girl asked. "I should liketo speak to you a moment."
"Of course. This ought to be YOUR holiday, as yesterday was Effie's. Runoff, dear," she added, stooping to kiss the little girl.
When the door had closed she turned back to Sophy Viner with a look thatsought her confidence. "I'm so glad you came, my dear. We've got so manythings to talk about, just you and I together."
The confused intercourse of the last days had, in fact, left little timefor any speech with Sophy but such as related to her marriage and themeans of overcoming Madame de Chantelle's opposition to it. Anna hadexacted of Owen that no one, not even Sophy Viner, should be given ahint of her own projects till all contingent questions had been disposedof. She had felt, from the outset, a secret reluctance to intrude hersecurer happiness on the doubts and fears of the young pair.
From the sofa-corner to which she had dropped back she pointed toDarrow's chair. "Come and sit by me, dear. I wanted to see you alone.There's so much to say that I hardly know where to begin."
She leaned forward, her hands clasped on the arms of the sofa, her eyesbent smilingly on Sophy's. As she did so, she noticed that the girl'sunusual pallour was partly due to the slight veil of powder on herface. The discovery was distinctly disagreeable. Anna had never beforenoticed, on Sophy's part, any recourse to cosmetics, and, much asshe wished to think herself exempt from old-fashioned prejudices, shesuddenly became aware that she did not like her daughter's governess tohave a powdered face. Then she reflected that the girl who sat oppositeher was no longer Effie's governess, but her own future daughter-in-law;and she wondered whether Miss Viner had chosen this odd way ofcelebrating her independence, and whether, as Mrs. Owen Leath, she wouldpresent to the world a bedizened countenance. This idea was scarcelyless distasteful than the other, and for a moment Anna continued toconsider her without speaking. Then, in a flash, the truth came to her:Miss Viner had powdered her face because Miss Viner had been crying.
Anna leaned forward impulsively. "My dear child, what's the matter?"She saw the girl's blood rush up under the white mask, and hastened on:"Please don't be afraid to tell me. I do so want you to feel that youcan trust me as Owen does. And you know you mustn't mind if, just atfirst, Madame de Chantelle occasionally relapses."
She spoke eagerly, persuasively, almost on a note of pleading. She had,in truth, so many reasons for wanting Sophy to like her: her love forOwen, her solicitude for Effie, and her own sense of the girl's finemettle. She had always felt a romantic and almost humble admiration forthose members of her sex who, from force of will, or the constraintof circumstances, had plunged into the conflict from which fate hadso persistently excluded her. There were even moments when she fanciedherself vaguely to blame for her immunity, and felt that she oughtsomehow to have affronted the perils and hardships which refused to cometo her. And now, as she sat looking at Sophy Viner, so small, so slight,so visibly defenceless and undone, she still felt, through all thesuperiority of her worldly advantages and her seeming maturity, the sameodd sense of ignorance and inexperience. She could not have said whatthere was in the girl's manner and expression to give her this feeling,but she was reminded, as she looked at Sophy Viner, of the other girlsshe had known in her youth, the girls who seemed possessed of a secretshe had missed. Yes, Sophy Viner had their look--almost the obscurelymenacing look of Kitty Mayne...Anna, with an inward smile, brushed asidethe image of this forgotten rival. But she had felt, deep down, atwinge of the old pain, and she was sorry that, even for the flash ofa thought, Owen's betrothed should have reminded her of so different awoman...
She laid her hand on the girl's. "When his grandmother sees how happyOwen is she'll be quite happy herself. If it's only that, don't bedistressed. Just trust to Owen--and the future."
Sophy Viner, with an almost imperceptible recoil of her whole slightperson, had drawn her hand from under the palm enclosing it.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about--the future."
"Of course! We've all so many plans to make--and to fit into eachother's. Please let's begin with yours."
The girl paused a moment, her hands clasped on the arms of her chair,her lids dropped under Anna's gaze; then she said: "I should like tomake no plans at all...just yet..."
"No plans?"
"No--I should like to go away...my friends the Farlows would let me goto them..." Her voice grew firmer and she lifted her eyes to add: "Ishould like to leave today, if you don't mind."
Anna listened with a rising wonder.
"You want to leave Givre at once?" She gave the idea a moment's swiftconsideration. "You prefer to be with your friends till your marriage?I understand that--but surely you needn't rush off today? There are somany details to discuss; and before long, you know, I shall be goingaway too."
"Yes, I know." The girl was evidently trying to steady her voice. "But Ishould like to wait a few days--to have a little more time to myself."
Anna continued to consider her kindly. It was evident that she did notcare to say why she wished to leave Givre so suddenly, but her disturbedface and shaken voice betrayed a more pressing motive than the naturaldesire to spend the weeks before her marriage under her old friends'roof. Since she had made no response to the allusion to Madame deChantelle, Anna could but conjecture that she had had a passingdisagreement with Owen; and if this were so, random interference mightdo more harm than good.
"M
y dear child, if you really want to go at once I sha'n't, of course,urge you to stay. I suppose you have spoken to Owen?"
"No. Not yet..."
Anna threw an astonished glance at her. "You mean to say you haven'ttold him?"
"I wanted to tell you first. I thought I ought to, on account of Effie."Her look cleared as she put forth this reason.
"Oh, Effie!--" Anna's smile brushed away the scruple. "Owen has a rightto ask that you should consider him before you think of his sister...Ofcourse you shall do just as you wish," she went on, after anotherthoughtful interval.
"Oh, thank you," Sophy Viner murmured and rose to her feet.
Anna rose also, vaguely seeking for some word that should break down thegirl's resistance. "You'll tell Owen at once?" she finally asked.
Miss Viner, instead of replying, stood before her in manifestuncertainty, and as she did so there was a light tap on the door, andOwen Leath walked into the room.
Anna's first glance told her that his face was unclouded. He met hergreeting with his happiest smile and turned to lift Sophy's hand to hislips. The perception that he was utterly unconscious of any cause forMiss Viner's agitation came to his step-mother with a sharp thrill ofsurprise.
"Darrow's looking for you," he said to her. "He asked me to remind youthat you'd promised to go for a walk with him."
Anna glanced at the clock. "I'll go down presently." She waited andlooked again at Sophy Viner, whose troubled eyes seemed to commit theirmessage to her. "You'd better tell Owen, my dear."
Owen's look also turned on the girl. "Tell me what? Why, what'shappened?"
Anna summoned a laugh to ease the vague tension of the moment. "Don'tlook so startled! Nothing, except that Sophy proposes to desert us for awhile for the Farlows."
Owen's brow cleared. "I was afraid she'd run off before long." Heglanced at Anna. "Do please keep her here as long as you can!"
Sophy intervened: "Mrs. Leath's already given me leave to go."
"Already? To go when?"
"Today," said Sophy in a low tone, her eyes on Anna's.
"Today? Why on earth should you go today?" Owen dropped back a step ortwo, flushing and paling under his bewildered frown. His eyes seemed tosearch the girl more closely. "Something's happened." He too looked athis step-mother. "I suppose she must have told you what it is?"
Anna was struck by the suddenness and vehemence of his appeal. It was asthough some smouldering apprehension had lain close under the surface ofhis security.
"She's told me nothing except that she wishes to be with her friends.It's quite natural that she should want to go to them."
Owen visibly controlled himself. "Of course--quite natural." He spoketo Sophy. "But why didn't you tell me so? Why did you come first to mystep-mother?"
Anna intervened with her calm smile. "That seems to me quite natural,too. Sophy was considerate enough to tell me first because of Effie."
He weighed it. "Very well, then: that's quite natural, as you say. Andof course she must do exactly as she pleases." He still kept his eyes onthe girl. "Tomorrow," he abruptly announced, "I shall go up to Paris tosee you."
"Oh, no--no!" she protested.
Owen turned back to Anna. "NOW do you say that nothing's happened?"
Under the influence of his agitation Anna felt a vague tightening ofthe heart. She seemed to herself like some one in a dark room about whomunseen presences are groping.
"If it's anything that Sophy wishes to tell you, no doubt she'll doso. I'm going down now, and I'll leave you here to talk it over byyourselves."
As she moved to the door the girl caught up with her. "But there'snothing to tell: why should there be? I've explained that I simply wantto be quiet." Her look seemed to detain Mrs. Leath.
Owen broke in: "Is that why I mayn't go up tomorrow?"
"Not tomorrow!"
"Then when may I?"
"Later...in a little while...a few days..."
"In how many days?" "Owen!" his step-mother interposed; but he seemedno longer aware of her. "If you go away today, the day that ourengagement's made known, it's only fair," he persisted, "that you shouldtell me when I am to see you."
Sophy's eyes wavered between the two and dropped down wearily. "It's youwho are not fair--when I've said I wanted to be quiet."
"But why should my coming disturb you? I'm not asking now to cometomorrow. I only ask you not to leave without telling me when I'm to seeyou."
"Owen, I don't understand you!" his step-mother exclaimed.
"You don't understand my asking for some explanation, some assurance,when I'm left in this way, without a word, without a sign? All I ask herto tell me is when she'll see me."
Anna turned back to Sophy Viner, who stood straight and tremulousbetween the two.
"After all, my dear, he's not unreasonable!"
"I'll write--I'll write," the girl repeated.
"WHAT will you write?" he pressed her vehemently.
"Owen," Anna exclaimed, "you are unreasonable!"
He turned from Sophy to his step-mother. "I only want her to say whatshe means: that she's going to write to break off our engagement. Isn'tthat what you're going away for?"
Anna felt the contagion of his excitement. She looked at Sophy, whostood motionless, her lips set, her whole face drawn to a silent fixityof resistance.
"You ought to speak, my dear--you ought to answer him."
"I only ask him to wait----"
"Yes," Owen, broke in, "and you won't say how long!"
Both instinctively addressed themselves to Anna, who stood, nearly asshaken as themselves, between the double shock of their struggle. Shelooked again from Sophy's inscrutable eyes to Owen's stormy features;then she said: "What can I do, when there's clearly something betweenyou that I don't know about?"
"Oh, if it WERE between us! Can't you see it's outside of us--outsideof her, dragging at her, dragging her away from me?" Owen wheeled roundagain upon his step-mother.
Anna turned from him to the girl. "Is it true that you want to breakyour engagement? If you do, you ought to tell him now."
Owen burst into a laugh. "She doesn't dare to--she's afraid I'll guessthe reason!"
A faint sound escaped from Sophy's lips, but she kept them close onwhatever answer she had ready.
"If she doesn't wish to marry you, why should she be afraid to have youknow the reason?"
"She's afraid to have YOU know it--not me!"
"To have ME know it?"
He laughed again, and Anna, at his laugh, felt a sudden rush ofindignation.
"Owen, you must explain what you mean!"
He looked at her hard before answering; then: "Ask Darrow!" he said.
"Owen--Owen!" Sophy Viner murmured.