CHAPTER 24.
Out on the terrace the night was very still. From a steel-blue skythe stars looked down as calmly as they had looked on the night ofthe ball, when George had waited by the shrubbery listening to thewailing of the music and thinking long thoughts. From the darkmeadows by the brook came the cry of a corncrake, its harsh notesoftened by distance.
"What shall we do?" said Maud. She was sitting on the stone seatwhere Reggie Byng had sat and meditated on his love for AliceFaraday and his unfortunate habit of slicing his approach-shots. ToGeorge, as he stood beside her, she was a white blur in thedarkness. He could not see her face.
"I don't know!" he said frankly.
Nor did he. Like Lady Caroline and Lord Belpher and Keggs, thebutler, he had been completely overwhelmed by Lord Marshmoreton'sdramatic announcement. The situation had come upon him unheraldedby any warning, and had found him unequal to it.
A choking sound suddenly proceeded from the whiteness that wasMaud. In the stillness it sounded like some loud noise. It jarredon George's disturbed nerves.
"Please!"
"I c-can't help it!"
"There's nothing to cry about, really! If we think long enough, weshall find some way out all right. Please don't cry."
"I'm not crying!" The choking sound became an unmistakable ripple ofmirth. "It's so absurd! Poor father getting up like that in frontof everyone! Did you see Aunt Caroline's face?"
"It haunts me still," said George. "I shall never forget it. Yourbrother didn't seem any too pleased, either."
Maud stopped laughing.
"It's an awful position," she said soberly. "The announcement willbe in the Morning Post the day after tomorrow. And then the lettersof congratulation will begin to pour in. And after that thepresents. And I simply can't see how we can convince them all thatthere has been a mistake." Another aspect of the matter struck her."It's so hard on you, too."
"Don't think about me," urged George. "Heaven knows I'd give thewhole world if we could just let the thing go on, but there's nouse discussing impossibilities." He lowered his voice. "There's nouse, either, in my pretending that I'm not going to have a prettybad time. But we won't discuss that. It was my own fault. I camebutting in on your life of my own free will, and, whatever happens,it's been worth it to have known you and tried to be of service toyou."
"You're the best friend I've ever had."
"I'm glad you think that."
"The best and kindest friend any girl ever had. I wish . . ."She broke off. "Oh, well. . ."
There was a silence. In the castle somebody had begun to play thepiano. Then a man's voice began to sing.
"That's Edwin Plummer," said Maud. "How badly he sings."
George laughed. Somehow the intrusion of Plummer had removed thetension. Plummer, whether designedly and as a sombre commentary onthe situation or because he was the sort of man who does sing thatparticular song, was chanting Tosti's "Good-bye". He was giving toits never very cheery notes a wailing melancholy all his own. A dogin the stables began to howl in sympathy, and with the sound came acurious soothing of George's nerves. He might feel broken-heartedlater, but for the moment, with this double accompaniment, it wasimpossible for a man with humour in his soul to dwell on the deeperemotions. Plummer and his canine duettist had brought him toearth. He felt calm and practical.
"We'd better talk the whole thing over quietly," he said. "There'scertain to be some solution. At the worst you can always go to LordMarshmoreton and tell him that he spoke without a sufficient graspof his subject."
"I could," said Maud, "but, just at present, I feel as if I'drather do anything else in the world. You don't realize what itmust have cost father to defy Aunt Caroline openly like that. Eversince I was old enough to notice anything, I've seen how shedominated him. It was Aunt Caroline who really caused all thistrouble. If it had only been father, I could have coaxed him to letme marry anyone I pleased. I wish, if you possibly can, you wouldthink of some other solution."
"I haven't had an opportunity of telling you," said George, "that Icalled at Belgrave Square, as you asked me to do. I went theredirectly I had seen Reggie Byng safely married."
"Did you see him married?"
"I was best man."
"Dear old Reggie! I hope he will be happy."
"He will. Don't worry about that. Well, as I was saying, I calledat Belgrave Square, and found the house shut up. I couldn't get anyanswer to the bell, though I kept my thumb on it for minutes at atime. I think they must have gone abroad again."
"No, it wasn't that. I had a letter from Geoffrey this morning. Hisuncle died of apoplexy, while they were in Manchester on a businesstrip." She paused. "He left Geoffrey all his money," she went on."Every penny."
The silence seemed to stretch out interminably. The music from thecastle had ceased. The quiet of the summer night was unbroken. ToGeorge the stillness had a touch of the sinister. It was theghastly silence of the end of the world. With a shock he realizedthat even now he had been permitting himself to hope, futile as herecognized the hope to be. Maud had told him she loved another man.That should have been final. And yet somehow his indomitablesub-conscious self had refused to accept it as final. But this newsended everything. The only obstacle that had held Maud and this manapart was removed. There was nothing to prevent them marrying.George was conscious of a vast depression. The last strand of therope had parted, and he was drifting alone out into the ocean ofdesolation.
"Oh!" he said, and was surprised that his voice sounded very muchthe same as usual. Speech was so difficult that it seemed strangethat it should show no signs of effort. "That alters everything,doesn't it."
"He said in his letter that he wanted me to meet him in Londonand--talk things over, I suppose."
"There's nothing now to prevent your going. I mean, now that yourfather has made this announcement, you are free to go where youplease."
"Yes, I suppose I am."
There was another silence.
"Everything's so difficult," said Maud.
"In what way?"
"Oh, I don't know."
"If you are thinking of me," said George, "please don't. I knowexactly what you mean. You are hating the thought of hurting myfeelings. I wish you would look on me as having no feelings. All Iwant is to see you happy. As I said just now, it's enough for me toknow that I've helped you. Do be reasonable about it. The fact thatour engagement has been officially announced makes no difference inour relations to each other. As far as we two are concerned, weare exactly where we were the last time we met. It's no worse forme now than it was then to know that I'm not the man you love, andthat there's somebody else you loved before you ever knew of myexistence. For goodness' sake, a girl like you must be used tohaving men tell her that they love her and having to tell them thatshe can't love them in return."
"But you're so different."
"Not a bit of it. I'm just one of the crowd."
"I've never known anybody quite like you."
"Well, you've never known anybody quite like Plummer, I shouldimagine. But the thought of his sufferings didn't break yourheart."
"I've known a million men exactly like Edwin Plummer," said Maudemphatically. "All the men I ever have known have been likehim--quite nice and pleasant and negative. It never seemed tomatter refusing them. One knew that they would be just a little bitpiqued for a week or two and then wander off and fall in love withsomebody else. But you're different. You . . . matter."
"That is where we disagree. My argument is that, where yourhappiness is concerned, I don't matter."
Maud rested her chin on her hand, and stared out into the velvetdarkness.
"You ought to have been my brother instead of Percy," she said atlast. "What chums we should have been! And how simple that wouldhave made everything!"
"The best thing for you to do is to regard me as an honorarybrother. That will make everything simple."
"It's easy to talk like that . . . No, it isn't. It's horriblyhard. I know exactly how
difficult it is for you to talk as youhave been doing--to try to make me feel better by pretending thewhole trouble is just a trifle . . . It's strange . . . We haveonly met really for a few minutes at a time, and three weeks ago Ididn't know there was such a person as you, but somehow I seem toknow everything you're thinking. I've never felt like that beforewith any man . . . Even Geoffrey. . . He always puzzled me. . . ."
She broke off. The corncrake began to call again out in thedistance.
"I wish I knew what to do," she said with a catch in her voice.
"I'll tell you in two words what to do. The whole thing is absurdlysimple. You love this man and he loves you, and all that kept youapart before was the fact that he could not afford to marry you.Now that he is rich, there is no obstacle at all. I simply won'tlet you look on me and my feelings as an obstacle. Rule me outaltogether. Your father's mistake has made the situation a littlemore complicated than it need have been, but that can easily beremedied. Imitate the excellent example of Reggie Byng. He was in aposition where it would have been embarrassing to announce what heintended to do, so he very sensibly went quietly off and did it andleft everybody to find out after it was done. I'm bound to say Inever looked on Reggie as a master mind, but, when it came to finda way out of embarrassing situations, one has to admit he had theright idea. Do what he did!"
Maud started. She half rose from the stone seat. George could hearthe quick intake of her breath.
"You mean--run away?"
"Exactly. Run away!"
An automobile swung round the corner of the castle from thedirection of the garage, and drew up, purring, at the steps. Therewas a flood of light and the sound of voices, as the great dooropened. Maud rose.
"People are leaving," she said. "I didn't know it was so late." Shestood irresolutely. "I suppose I ought to go in and say good-bye.But I don't think I can."
"Stay where you are. Nobody will see you."
More automobiles arrived. The quiet of the night was shattered bythe noise of their engines. Maud sat down again.
"I suppose they will think it very odd of me not being there."
"Never mind what people think. Reggie Byng didn't."
Maud's foot traced circles on the dry turf.
"What a lovely night," she said. "There's no dew at all."
The automobiles snorted, tooted, back-fired, and passed away.Their clamour died in the distance, leaving the night a thing ofpeace and magic once more. The door of the castle closed with abang.
"I suppose I ought to be going in now," said Maud.
"I suppose so. And I ought to be there, too, politely making myfarewells. But something seems to tell me that Lady Caroline andyour brother will be quite ready to dispense with the formalities.I shall go home."
They faced each other in the darkness.
"Would you really do that?" asked Maud. "Run away, Imean, and get married in London."
"It's the only thing to do."
"But . . . can one get married as quickly as that?"
"At a registrar's? Nothing simpler. You should have seenReggie Byng's wedding. It was over before one realized it hadstarted. A snuffy little man in a black coat with a cold in hishead asked a few questions, wrote a few words, and the thing wasdone."
"That sounds rather . . . dreadful."
"Reggie didn't seem to think so."
"Unromantic, I mean. . . . Prosaic."
"You would supply the romance."
"Of course, one ought to be sensible. It is just the same as aregular wedding."
"In effects, absolutely."
They moved up the terrace together. On the gravel drive by thesteps they paused.
"I'll do it!" said Maud.
George had to make an effort before he could reply. For all hissane and convincing arguments, he could not check a pang at thisdefinite acceptance of them. He had begun to appreciate now thestrain under which he had been speaking.
"You must," he said. "Well . . . good-bye."
There was light on the drive. He could see her face. Her eyes weretroubled.
"What will you do?" she asked.
"Do?"
"I mean, are you going to stay on in your cottage?"
"No, I hardly think I could do that. I shall go back to Londontomorrow, and stay at the Carlton for a few days. Then I shall sailfor America. There are a couple of pieces I've got to do for theFall. I ought to be starting on them."
Maud looked away.
"You've got your work," she said almost inaudibly.
George understood her.
"Yes, I've got my work."
"I'm glad."
She held out her hand.
"You've been very wonderful... Right from the beginning . . .You've been . . . oh, what's the use of me saying anything?"
"I've had my reward. I've known you. We're friends, aren't we?"
"My best friend."
"Pals?"
"Pals!"
They shook hands.