CHAPTER V
"For all the world to my fond heart means you, And there is nothing left when you are gone."
MARIE'S narrow escape from death did her one good turn--it sealedher friendship with Feathers, and in the days that followed sheowed almost everything to him.
Chris did his best. He really thought he was playing the part of amodel husband; he loaded her with sweets which she could not eatand presents which she did not want. He was in and out of her roomceaselessly--a little too ceaselessly, thought the doctor, who soondiscovered that her husband's presence did not have a very soothingeffect upon his patient.
She always seemed nervous and restless when Chris was around, andafter a little hesitation the doctor told Chris frankly that itwould be better if Marie was not allowed so many visitors.
Chris opened his handsome eyes wide.
"Visitors! Why, she doesn't have any except me, and occasionallyAtkins and Feathers--Dakers, I mean."
"I know--but I think she should not be disturbed during theafternoon at all--not even by you," he added with a deprecatingsmile. "She is not at all strong, and this unfortunate accident hasbeen a severe shock to her system. It will be months before sheproperly recovers."
Chris was not in the least offended, but it worried him to thinkthat possibly Marie was going to be more or less of an invalid. Hehad never had a day's sickness himself, and, like most men, he wasimpatient and over-anxious when it overtook anybody immediatelyconnected with himself.
"Do you think I ought to take her back to London?" he asked."Perhaps she would be better looked after at home."
"She is far better here than in London," was the emphatic reply."This East Coast air is just what is needed to brace her up. No; ifshe is allowed to rest she will be all right."
Chris told Marie what the doctor had said.
"I am not to worry you--I am in and out of your room too often." Helooked at her anxiously. "What do you think, Marie Celeste?"
She smiled faintly. "I suppose the doctor knows best."
"Yes, I suppose he does," Chris agreed, but he felt slightlyirritated. If she wanted him to stay with her, why on earth didn'tshe say so? It never occurred to him that since her accident Mariehad suffered agonies because she feared that he was wearied by herhelplessness and unutterably bored because he was more or lesschained to her side.
She had a vivid recollection of a day, years ago, when, as a child,she had fallen from the stable loft, and Chris had come to see herwhen she was in bed.
He had stood in the doorway, red-faced and awkward, hands thrustinto his pockets, staring at her with half-angry, half-sympatheticeyes.
She had thanked him profusely for condescending to come at all, andhe had asked gruffly by way of graceful acknowledgment, "How longhave you got to stick in bed? When will they let you get up andcome out again?"
Tears had filled her eyes as she answered him, "I don't know--weeks, I suppose!"
Chris said "Humph!" and stared at his boots. "It's topping out ofdoors!" he said unkindly. "I'm going blackberrying this afternoon."
That was the one and only visit he had paid her during the weeks ofher illness, and afterwards he had told her that he hated sickrooms, and that he supposed women were always more or less ailing.
So now she made every effort to get well and strong. She made toomuch effort, the doctor told her.
"There's plenty of time." he said. "Why be in such a hurry?"
And at last, in desperation, she told him. "Doctor, it must beawful for Chris--having to wait about here just because of me. Itcan't be much of a holiday for him."
He looked at her with kindly eyes. "Well, and what about you?" heasked. "It's worse for you, I suppose?"
Marie shook her head. "I--oh, no! He's a man, you see, and he'sdifferent."
Dr. Carey said: "Oh, I see," rather drily. He walked away from herand came back, "You've been married--how long?" he asked.
"Only a week."
"Well, it's not long enough for that husband of yours to have gottired of dancing attendance on you, anyway," he answered. "No, youwill not be allowed downstairs till Saturday."
"It must be awfully dull for Chris," she sighed.
She said the same thing to Feathers when he looked in that eveningfor a few seconds.
Feathers never brought her flowers or sweets, or presents, forwhich she was thankful, and he never stayed more than about fiveminutes, but he always managed to bring a cheeriness into the roomwith him and leave her with a smile in her brown eyes.
"Dull! Chris!" he said, echoing her words bluntly. "Not he. Don'tyou worry, Mrs. Lawless. Chris knows how to look after himself."
He did not tell her that between his spasmodic visits to her Chriswas thoroughly enjoying himself.
He played bridge with Mrs. Heriot and her little crowd when therewas nothing better to do. He played billiards with anybody whowould take him on, and that afternoon he had been out golfing.
"What did he do this afternoon?" Marie asked wistfully.
"This afternoon! Oh, let me see! Well, I believe he played golf--yes, he did!"
"I'm glad--I'm so glad he doesn't stay indoors all day," saidMarie.
Feathers frowned
"Don't you worry about him. I'll look after him," he promised. "Youmake haste and get well and go and play golf with him."
"I can't play golf!"
"Well, then, you must learn--I'll teach you! Can you play bridge?"
"No, I have tried, but Chris says I'm no good at cards."
"Rubbish! You could play all right with practice!" He looked awayfrom her out of the window where a radiant sunset was spreadingrays of gorgeous coloring across the sea.
"Chris is the sort of man who likes a woman to be sporting," hesaid, after a moment, speaking rather carefully, as if choosing hiswords. "I mean to say that he is a man who would like his wife tobe able to join him in his own sports! Do you understand?"
"Yes." Her eyes were fixed anxiously on his averted face, and thenshe asked suddenly: "And do you ever think I could be that sort ofwife, Mr. Dakers?"
Feathers cleared his throat loudly.
"Do I! Of course, I do!" he said, but his voice sounded as If hewere as anxious to convince himself as he was to convince her."You're the sort of woman who could do anything if you set yourmind to it."
She did not speak for a moment, then she said sadly, "It's kind ofyou to say so, but in your heart, you know it isn't true."
He swung round, his face red with distress. "What do you mean, Mrs.Lawless?"
"I mean that you know I couldn't ever be that sort of wife. I'm notmade that way. Dorothy used to say that I should have been an idealwife for a man in early Victorian days; that I was cut out to stayat home and make jams and bread and jangle keys on my chatelaine,and tie up the linen in lavender bags, and look after the babies. . ." She broke off, laughing and flushing a little.
"And who is 'Dorothy,' may I ask?" Feathers demanded.
"She was my best friend at school, and she was ever such a sport!She could beat all the other girls at games, and she could ridehorse-back, and--oh, lots of things like that!"
"She sounds rather a masculine young lady."
"Oh, no, she isn't! Not a bit! I think you would like her!" A faintsmile stole into her eyes. "She was another person who was asked tomy wedding and did not come," she added teasingly.
Feathers laughed. "And now I suppose if I stay any longer Chriswill be on my track and say that I'm tiring you out."
"Does he say that?" she asked, and a little gleam of eagernesscrossed her face. She loved to hear that Chris was anxious abouther, or that he made it his business to see she was not overtired.
"As a matter of fact, I think it was the doctor who said it,"Feathers answered innocently.
"Oh!" said Marie disappointedly. . . .
She persuaded Dr. Carey to allow her downstairs the following day,and Chris carried her out into the garden and propped her up in adeck chair with cushions and rugs.
> "I'm not an invalid really, you know," she said, looking up at himshyly. "I could have walked quite well."
She felt bound to say it, and yet not for worlds would she haveforgone being carried in his arms. The distance had seemed all tooshort. Just for a little she had been quite, quite happy.
Young Atkins was fussing around. He had an enormous bunch of rosesin one hand and all the newest magazines in the other. He could notdo enough for her. As soon as Chris moved away he dragged a chair upand sat down beside her.
"You look heaps better." he declared fervently. He always said thesame thing every time he saw her. "You do feel better, don't you?"
She laughed at his eagerness.
"I really feel quite well, but they will persist that I'm aninvalid."
She looked around for Chris, but he had strolled away, and she gavea little sigh.
"I've got to go back to town to-morrow," young Atkins saidpresently. He spoke rather lugubriously.
"Rotten, isn't it? And, I say, Mrs. Lawless, I may come and see youwhen you get back, mayn't I?"
"If you want to--of course!"
"Of course I want to?" He had never been in love before, but he wasfully persuaded that he was in love now, and he never lost anopportunity to scowl at Chris--when his back was turned!
He moved a little closer to Marie, and looked down at herearnestly.
"If ever there's anything you want done, never be afraid to ask meto do it!" he said. "You'll remember that, won't you?"
Marie did not take him seriously. She was not used to being madelove to. She just looked upon him as a boy.
"Why, of course I will! And there's something you can do for menow, if you will--see if there are any letters."
"Of course!" He was off in an instant, and Marie looked across thegarden, hoping desperately that Chris would see she was alone andreturn.
But he was laughing and talking with Mrs. Heriot and an elderly manand a little chill feeling of unwantedness stole into her heart.
Would life always be like this? she asked herself, and closed hereyes with a sudden feeling of dread.
Supposing she had been drowned! Supposing Feathers had not been intime after all!
She tried to believe that Chris would have been brokenhearted, butshe knew the folly of such a belief. He would have been sorry, ofcourse, for they had known one another so long--been such pals, inthe past, at any rate!
"A penny for your thoughts," said Feathers beside her, and shelooked up with a little half-sigh.
"You will be angry with me if I tell you."
"I shall not! Am I ever angry with you?"
"I think you could be," she answered, seriously.
He sat down in the chair young Atkins had left. "Tell me, and see,"he suggested, half in fun.
Marie looked across at her husband, and then back at the man besideher.
"I was wondering," she said, "what would have happened if you hadnot pulled me out of the sea?"
"What would have happened?" He echoed her words with mockseriousness. "Well, you would have been drowned, of course."
"I know I--I don't mean that I--I mean, what would have happenedto--to Chris--and everyone else."
Feathers did not answer. He vaguely felt that there was someserious question at the back of her words, but his experience ofwomen was so small that he was unable to understand.
"We don't want to think of such things," he said briskly after amoment, "You are alive and well. Isn't that all that matters?"
She did not answer, and looking at her curiously, he was struck bythe sadness of her face, by the downward curves of her pretty mouthand the wistfulness of her eyes, and suddenly he realized that hehad inadvertently stumbled across a secret which he had neversuspected, and it was--that this girl was unhappy!
Whose fault? The question clamored at his brain. Chris' fault orher own? He was conscious of anger against his friend.
Chris was sauntering back to them through the sunshine. He lookedvery careless and debonair, and was whistling as he came.
Feathers rose. "Take this chair." he said curtly.
"No, don't you get up." But Feathers insisted, and as soon as Chriswas seated he walked off to the hotel.
He went into the lounge and aimlessly took up a paper, but he didnot read a word.
Fond as he was of Chris, he knew all his faults and limitations,knew just how selfish he could be, and a vague fear for Marie grewin his heart.
A little distance from him Mrs. Heriot and another woman weretalking. It was quiet in the lounge, and Feathers could hear whatthey were saying, without the smallest effort on his part tolisten.
The newspaper screened his face, and he could only supposeafterwards that they were unconscious of his presence, for Mrs.Heriot said with a rather cynical laugh:
"Did you see our heroine on the lawn, with her cavaliers? Veryamusing, isn't it? I don't suppose she has ever had so muchattention in her life? They say that he married her straight fromthe schoolroom."
"Really! She looks only a child!" the other woman answeredinterestedly. "By the way, which is her husband? The big, ugly man,or the good-looking one?"
Mrs. Heriot laughed. "My dear! Do you mean to say you don't know!Why, the good-looking one, of course!"
"Perhaps it was stupid of me, but I thought--I really quite thoughtthat it was the other one. There is something in the way he looksat her . . . I can't explain! But if you hadn't told me, I shouldcertainly have said that he was the one who was in love with her."
Feathers' big hands gripped the paper with sudden tension.
What cackling, sentimental fools women were! In love! He! Why, hehad never looked at a woman in his life.
He flung the paper down, and, rising, stalked out of the lounge.
The two women looked after him in blank dismay.
"My dear, do you think he heard?" the younger one whispered.
Mrs. Heriot laughed spitefully.
"I hope he did! It will do him good! He's never even commonly civilto a woman." she said. "But it's really rather droll, you thinkinghe was the husband! How he will hate it!"
CHAPTER VI
"What shall I be at fifty. Should nature keep me alive If I find the world so bitter When I am but twenty-five?"