MARIE had stopped dead, the blood rushing to her face, her handsnervously clutching the brim of the hat she had taken off when sheentered.
Chris was almost as embarrassed as she. He colored to the roots ofhis hair and laughed awkwardly.
"So you've got back, Marie Celeste."
"Yes." And the dreadful pause fell again.
They both knew quite well that Miss Chester was watching them, butfor the life of her Marie could not have moved a step towards him.
Then, at last, Chris said, "Well, aren't you going to give me akiss?"
He was terribly nervous, which partially accounted for thelightness of the words, but Marie read no meaning into them, exceptthe old dreaded indifference, and she turned her face away when hebent towards her, so that his kiss fell on her cheek.
"You look very well," he said, because it was the exact opposite towhat he was thinking, and Marie said, "So do you," as she movedover to Miss Chester as if for protection, and sat down on the armof her chair.
Chris lounged against the mantelshelf and stared up at the ceiling.
"Did you have a good time with Feathers?" he asked, bringing hiseyes down to his wife's pale face.
"Yes--I'd never been before. We went up to Wargrave. It waslovely!"
She answered mechanically, in little jerky sentences.
"We had some good times camping out years ago," Chris said. "It'sall right if the weather holds."
"Yes," said Marie. She looked at him with brown eyes that weremerely critical and no longer slavishly adoring. He was handsomerthan ever, she thought, but the wonderful feeling of pride in himhad gone. She could admire him almost with indifference.
"It was queer, you meeting Dorothy," she said, with an effort, andChris said, "Yes, the world is a small place."
"I told her that I was sure you would be pleased to have her tostay any time she liked to write and fix it up," he added. "Sheplays a fine game of golf, but I beat her in the end."
"She was always good at sports," Marie said mechanically.
Miss Chester gathered up her knitting and said it was time she wentto bed. It was infinitely pathetic to her, because both Chris andMarie immediately protested that it was still quite early, and thatsurely there was no hurry.
But she persisted, and went off to her room.
There was an awkward silence when she had gone. Chris lit acigarette and forgot to keep it alight.
"I've brought you a bracelet," he said abruptly. "I hope you'lllike it." He took a little box from his pocket, "I got it inEdinburgh coming down--I thought it was rather pretty."
He held the case to her. "Well, don't you want it?"
"Thank you, Chris; of course, I do! Thank you, very much." Sheopened the snap and gave a little exclamation of pleasure; thebracelet was designed like a wreath of small water lilies, thepetals made of platinum, with a diamond in the heart of eachflower.
"It's very pretty," she said. "Thank you so much."
But she made no attempt to take it from the case or slip it on herwrist, and with a little impatient movement he took it from her.
"Come here," he said. "Hold out your hand."
She did so, and he snapped the bracelet on to her arm.
"It's very pretty," said Marie, but she did not dare to raise hereyes to her husband's face. The touch of his hand on her arm hadcommunicated to her something of his old magnetism, and she knewthat she was trembling in every limb.
Then, suddenly, before she could guess at his intention, Chris hadcaught her in his arms, and was kissing her passionately, bringingstinging patches of crimson to her white face, and almost robbingher of breath.
Then he held her at arm's length, his handsome face flushed, andhis eyes very bright and triumphant.
"You little iceberg! How dare you give me such a cold reception!I've been looking forward to seeing you and you calmly go out as ifI didn't exist . . . Why, what's the matter, Marie Celeste?"
He seemed suddenly aware of the strange expression of her eyes. Hishands relaxed their grip, and she twisted herself free.
She had felt his kisses to be an outrage. She knew that he did notlove her, and that this sudden burst of passion was worth nothingat all. There was something akin to hatred in her eyes as sheraised them to his abashed face.
"Please never dare to do that again," she said in a voice that wasall the more intense for its quietness. "I have never bothered you,or asked anything of you--you have gone where you liked and stayedaway as long as you pleased--you always can--but in exchange Iexpect you to allow me the same freedom."
Chris flushed scarlet, but more with surprise than any otheremotion. That she should dare so to speak to him was the biggestshock of his life.
For a moment he could find no words, then he broke out savagely:"Someone has been talking! Someone has been setting you against me.I felt that you had changed directly I came into the room. Who isit? Tell me who it is?"
She smiled contemptuously.
"I have hardly seen anyone, except Aunt Madge's friends and yourown, and if you think they have any reason to speak against you itis no fault of mine."
He broke in passionately: "It's that young devil, Atkins. I knew hewas keen on you; I--Marie---" He caught her by the arm, swinging herround to him as she would have turned away, his eyes searching herface with bitter suspicion. "I suppose you've forgotten that you aremy wife?" he demanded.
She looked up.
"If I have, it isn't for you to be surprised, seeing that you havenever once troubled to remember it."
"Marie--what do you mean? I thought . . . I mean--it was your wish. . ." He stammered and broke off; then all at once he turned awaywith a little harsh laugh.
"What a nice home-coming! I wish to God I'd stayed away."
"You would have done so if you'd wanted to," Marie said quietly.She waited a moment, but Chris did not speak, and she moved towardsthe door. "I am tired--and I dare say you are. Good-night."
He did not answer, and she went silently away.
Chris stood with his elbow on the mantelshelf, staring down intothe empty grate. His pride, if nothing more serious, had received anasty blow.
He had come home quite happily--having had the time of his life--had looked forward to seeing Marie Celeste--had planned all sortsof things for her amusement--and, incidentally, his own--in thefuture, and this was the reception he got!
He bit his lip savagely. What was the explanation of it all? Shehad always been so docile and devoted. It turned his blood to whiteheat to think of the apathy with which she had received his kisses--kisses that had been meant, too! His face darkened--it was thefirst time in his life he had ever known the slightest desire tokiss any woman, but she had looked so provokingly pretty in herwhite frock . . .
Chris swore and lit another cigarette. It would be a very long timebefore he troubled about her again, he promised himself.
He would have been furiously indignant had anyone told him that itwas Marie's indifference that had fired his imagination, andwakened the desire to rouse in her some show of affection.
It was not exactly pleasant to remember the years that were gone,through which she had so faithfully adored him, and contrast themwith the steely feeling of her lips beneath his and the resistanceof her slim body in his arms.
Who was responsible for the change? He sought for it in everyonebut himself. He was the most suspicious of young Atkins--he wasnear Marie's age, and had from the first shown a ridiculousinterest in her.
It was odd that he never seriously considered Feathers. Featherswas his friend and disliked all women; any attention he had shownto Marie had been out of ordinary courtesy, nothing more.
Well, if this was the attitude she meant to adopt, he would soonlet her see that he was quite indifferent. He would go his own wayand leave her severely alone. Hang it all, he had brought her homea bracelet, and written whenever there had been anything to writeabout. He would not have believed it possible for her to be sounreasonable.
He comforted hi
mself with the reflection that in a few days shewould come to her senses. All their lives there had been little upsand downs of this kind, and she had never failed in the end to sayshe was sorry.
She needed a firm hand--he supposed that all women did.
Having argued himself back into a more complacent state of mind,Chris turned out the light and went, up to bed.
His room was next to Marie's, and as he moved about it in hisstockinged feet, once or twice he was sure that he heard the soundof stifled sobbing, though whenever he stood still to listen allwas quiet again.
Once he even softly tried the handle of the communicating door, butit was locked, and he frowned as he turned away.
She had been so different that Sunday afternoon when he asked herto marry him. It gave him an unpleasant twinge to remember the shyradiance of her face. He was very sure that she would not haverepulsed him then had he taken her in his arms and kissed her.
And his mind went back again to young Atkins with angrypersistence. Young cub! If he had been making love to MarieCeleste, he would break his neck for him.
With singular blindness, he believed that the surest way to putthings right between himself and Marie, was to ignore the fact thatanything was wrong.
When they met he was always smiling and cheerful, but he neverasked her to go out with him, never showed the slightest interestin what she did, or how she spent her time.
Miss Chester looked on in troubled perplexity. She loved them both,and did not know with which of them the real fault lay.
She was afraid to ask questions, so matters were just allowed todrift, and whatever battles Marie had to fight, she alone knew ofthem.
She spent a great deal of her time with Miss Chester; she drovewith her and walked with her, and patiently wound wool for theknitting of that interminable shawl.
She had not seen Feathers since the day on the river, though sheknew that he was often with Chris, and her heart was sore at theloss of her friend.
She missed him terribly, though their companionship had only lasteda little more than a week, and it hurt her inexpressibly to hearthe casual way in which Chris spoke of him--Feathers had been onthe ran-dan! Feathers had lost sixty pounds at poker! Feathers hadhad to be taken home from his club in a taxi.
Miss Chester looked up from her work.
"Chris, what is the ran-dan?" she asked.
Chris laughed, and it was Marie who explained.
"It's a slang word for dissipation. Aunt Madge."
Miss Chester said "Oh!" in a rather shocked voice, adding slowly,"I should not have thought Mr. Dakers a dissipated man."
"Nor I," said Marie.
"You don't know him as well as I do." Chris said. "And, by the way,I'm golfing with him on Sunday."
Marie looked up.
"To lunch at the Load of Hay?" she asked quietly.
Chris raised amazed eyebrows.
"How ever did you know?"
"I went there with him once. We motored out, and Mrs. Costin gaveus lunch."
"You never told me."
"I forgot. We met Mrs. Heriot there."
"Yes; so Feathers said. We're going to fix up a foursome with her."
"Why don't you go, too, Marie?" Miss Chester said. "The drive woulddo you good. You haven't been out in the car since that day Mr.Dakers took you on the river."
"Yes; why not come along, Marie Celeste?" Chris said.
"I don't think I care about it," Marie answered.
Later on Chris tried again to persuade her.
He had followed her into the dining-room, where she was arrangingflowers for the dinner table.
"Why won't you come on Sunday?" he demanded.
"Because I should not find it very amusing. I don't play golf, youknow."
Chris fidgeted round the room, jingling some loose coins in hispocket.
"I suppose you'd go if Feathers asked you," he said suddenly--sosuddenly that the hot color flew to Marie's face.
"I don't know what you mean," she said steadily.
"I mean that from all accounts you were with him every day before Icame home."
"Every day! When he was in Scotland with you for a month!"
"You split straws," he answered irritably. "You know quite wellwhat I mean."
"He took me motoring two or three times. I was glad to go; I hadnot had a very exciting time."
"You could have had friends to stay with you."
"I asked Dorothy Webber, and she refused."
Chris colored a little.
"I should not imagine that she is your sort, anyway," he saidoffhandedly.
"She was my best friend at school."
Chris took up a book and threw it down again.
"Well, will you come on Sunday?"
"No, thank you."
He caught her hand as she passed him, and his voice was hoarse ashe asked:
"Marie Celeste, what the devil have I done to make you hate me likethis?"
He had not meant to say it. He had intended to maintain his dignityand indifference until it conquered her, but instead she hadconquered him, and now there was a passionate desire in his heartto see the old shy look of adoration in her eyes and set the bloodfluttering in her pale cheeks.
She gave a little, nervous laugh.
"I don't hate you; don't be absurd, Chris. Let me go; I want tofinish these flowers."
"You can go if you will promise to come with me on Sunday."
She looked up.
"Why are you so anxious for my company all at once?"
He frowned.
"It looks so--so rotten, our never being together. Feathers isalways getting sly digs in at me about it, and it isn't as if thereis any real reason; we have always been good friends, MarieCeleste, until lately."
So it was not that he wanted her. It was just that Feathers hadcommented on the fact that they were so seldom together, and sheknew how Chris hated to be talked about.
She thought of Feathers with a little heartache. It seemed aneternity since she had seen him or felt the strong clasp of hishand, and quite suddenly she made up her mind.
"Very well, I will come."
Chris brightened immediately.
"Thank you, Marie Celeste. I shan't tell Feathers, it will be apleasant surprise for him." There was a little sneer in his voice,but Marie took no notice, as she went on arranging the flowers withhands that were not quite steady.
She did not expect to enjoy herself by accompanying Chris. Shehated Mrs. Heriot, and she knew she would feel out of everythingand unwanted, but--and she knew this had been the determiningfactor--she would see Feathers.
She wore her prettiest frock on Sunday, and turned a deaf ear toMrs. Chester's lamentations that it would be ruined.
"The roads are so dusty--wear something that can't be spoilt, mydear child."
"I'll take a cloak," Marie said.
She was conscious of a little feeling of nervousness as she droveaway with Chris.
"I'm going to pick Feathers up at his rooms," he said. "He's gotrooms in Albany Street, you know."
"Yes, he told me."
Her heart was beating fast as they drew up at the house, and shekept her eyes steadily before her as Chris left the car and rangthe door bell violently.
It was opened by Feathers himself, ready to start and with his golfbag slung over his shoulder.
"Ten minutes late, you miserable blighter," he began, then stopped,and his face seemed to tighten as he looked at Marie. "How do youdo, Mrs. Lawless?" He went forward and shook hands with herformally. "This is a pleasant surprise," he said quietly.
"Well, don't waste time--get in," Chris struck in bluntly. He tookhis seat again beside his wife and drove on.
Marie felt strained and nervous. She tried hard to think ofsomething to say. She knew it would be the most natural thing inthe world for her to turn and speak to Feathers, but she could notforce herself to meet his eyes.
"You're very talkative," Chris said with faint sarcasm, lookingdown at her. He glan
ced over his shoulder at Feathers.
"Was she was quiet as this when you took her out, Feathers?"
Feathers laughed, and made some evasive answer. He tried not tolook at Marie, but his eyes turned to her again and again. Itseemed a lifetime since they had met, and it filled him withunreasonable jealousy to see her sitting by his friend's side asonce she had sat by his, and to know that she belonged to Chris--irrevocably.
It had cost him a tremendous effort to keep away from her. Chrishad asked him to the house a dozen times since his return, but hehad always managed to avoid going. What was the use? He had had hislittle hour of life. There was nothing more to hope for.
Mrs. Heriot was out in the road looking for them when they drew upat the inn. A faint shadow crossed her face when she saw Marie,though she was effusive in her welcome.
"And Mrs. Lawless too! How delightful--and how perfectly splendidyou are looking, Chris!"
Chris walked on with her to the inn, and for a moment Marie andFeathers were left together.
They both tried to think of something to say, but even ordinaryconversation seemed difficult.
It was only when Marie's coat slipped from her arm and they bothstooped to recover it, that for an instant their eyes met, and shebroke out, as if the words were formed without her will orknowledge, "It is nice to see you again, Mr. Dakers."
Poor Feathers! He flushed to the roots of his rough hair as heanswered gruffly:
"You are very kind, Mrs. Lawless," and then, with a desperateattempt to change the subject, "Chris looks well, doesn't he?"
"Yes." She looked at him resentfully, but something in his facesoothed the soreness of her heart, for there was a hard unhappinessin his eyes, and a bitter fold to his lips.
"He is not happy, any more than I am," she thought, and wonderedwhy. She sat next to him at lunch, and Mrs. Heriot and her sistertook the whole of the conversation between them. They talked ofgolf till Marie's head reeled, and Feathers interrupted at last.
"This is not very interesting to you, I am afraid, Mrs. Lawless."
Mrs. Heriot laughed.
"Mrs. Lawless ought to learn to play! Why don't you teach her, Mr.Dakers? She really ought to play."
"I'm afraid I should never be any good at it," Marie answered. "Inever could walk far, and it seems to me that you spend all thetime walking round and round."
Mrs. Heriot looked at Chris.
"Your wife is a vandal," she told him. "I am surprised that youhave not made her into more of a sportswoman."
He would have spoken, but she rattled on. "Did they tell you howthey ran into us down here ten days ago? Wasn't it queer? And whatdo you think that silly Mrs. Costin thought?--why, that Mrs.Lawless was Mr. Dakers' wife! We had such a laugh over it, didn'twe?" she appealed to her sister.
Marie had flushed crimson. She looked appealingly across at herhusband, and was stunned by the look of anger in his eyes--angerwith her, she knew. With a desperate effort she pulled herselftogether.
"I wonder if people thought any of the women Chris played golf within Scotland were his wife?" she said.
Mrs. Heriot screamed with laughter.
"That's the first time I've ever seen you hit back," she cried,clapping her hands. "You dear, delightful child."
Feathers pushed back his chair and rose.
"Are we obliged to waste all the day here?" he asked. "I thoughtthe main object was to play golf."
Mrs. Heriot followed him with alacrity, and her sister glanced atMarie.
"What are you going to do?" she asked. "You'll find it very tiringwalking round with us, I'm afraid; the sun is so hot."
"I should like to come." Marie said. "You would like me to,wouldn't you, Chris?"
"My dear child, please yourself, and you will please me."
He tried to make his voice pleasant, but to Marie, who knew him sowell, there was an underlying current of angry bitterness.
Was he jealous because of that remark about Feathers, she wondered,and laughed at herself. Chris had never been jealous of anyone oranything in his life.
"I shall come then," she said, and walked out of the room.
But before they had got half-way round the course she was tiredout, and had to admit it. There were hardly any trees for shelter,and the sun blazed down relentlessly on the dry grass.
Mrs. Heriot and Chris were playing together and a little ahead, andMarie said to Feathers:
"I'm going to stay here and rest. Please go on, and I will walkback to the clubhouse directly."
They were passing a little group of trees.
"It will be cool in the shade here," she added.
Mrs. Heriot's sister called to them.
"Now then, you two! What are you waiting for?"
"You'd better have my coat to sit on," Feathers said. "Yes, I knowit's hot, but there are heavy dews at night and the grass may bedamp, and you don't want to take any risks."
He had been playing without his coat, and he handed it to herbefore he went on to join his partner.
Marie sat down in the shade. Her head ached and she was glad of therest. She let Feathers' coat lie on her lap listlessly. What did itmatter if she caught cold or not? Certainly nobody cared whatbecame of her.
The others had gone on over a rise in the ground and out of sightbefore Chris noticed that Marie was not with them.
He called out to Feathers, "Where is Marie?"
"She was tired--she is going back to the clubhouse when she hasrested."
Mrs. Heriot laughed as she walked on by Chris' side. "Mr. Dakers isvery devoted," she said softly.
"Devoted!" Chris echoed the word blankly. "Devoted to what?" heasked.
She raised her eyes and lowered them again immediately.
"To your wife, I mean," she said.
"To--my--wife!"
She gave a little affected laugh.
"My dear Chris, don't pretend to be surprised when everyone down atthe hotel noticed it, even on your honeymoon. Why, Mrs. Lister evenasked me which of you was her husband--you or Mr. Dakers. So sillyof her, of course, but it shows how people notice things. You knowI always think that when a man dislikes women, as Mr. Dakers hasalways professed to do, in the long run he is bound to be badlycaught."
Chris turned on her furiously.
"I think you forget you are speaking of my wife," he said.
She flushed scarlet.
"My dear boy, I meant nothing against her. I know as well as you dothat there is nothing in it, on her side at all. I only meant thatMr. Dakers . . ."
"Dakers is my friend. I would rather not discuss him, if you haveno objection."
She saw that she had gone too far, and relapsed into silence. Theyboth played badly for the remainder of the game, and lost thematch.
They were rather a silent party as they walked back to theclubhouse.
Feathers looked round quickly.
"Mrs. Lawless is not here," he said to Chris.
Chris threw his clubs into a corner.
"No; I'll go and find her," he said, and walked out again into thesunshine.
CHAPTER XVI
"Better for both that the word should be spoken; Fetters, than heart, if one must be broken."