CHAPTER XXXIII
Trent had done many brave things in his life, but he had never beenconscious of such a distinct thrill of nervousness as he experiencedduring those few minutes' silence. Ernestine, for her part, wascuriously exercised in her mind. He had shaken her faith in hisguilt--he had admitted her to his point of view. She judged herself fromhis standpoint, and the result was unpleasant. She had a sudden impulseto tell him the truth, to reveal her identity, tell him her reasons forconcealment. Perhaps her suspicions had been hasty. Then the personalnote in his last speech had produced a serious effect on her, and allthe time she felt that her silence was emboldening him, as indeed itwas.
"The first time I saw you," he went on, "the likeness struck me. I feltas though I were meeting some one whom I had known all my life."
She laughed a little uneasily. "And you found yourself instead thevictim of an interviewer! What a drop from the romantic to the prosaic!"
"There has never been any drop at all," he answered firmly, "and youhave always seemed to me the same as that picture--something quiteprecious and apart from my life. It's been a poor sort of thing perhaps.I came from the people, I never had any education, I was as rough asmost men of my sort, and I have done many things which I would soonercut off my right hand than do again. But that was when I lived in thedarkness. It was before you came."
"Mr. Trent, will you take me back to Lady Tresham, please?"
"In a moment," he answered gravely. "Don't think that I am going to betoo rash. I know the time hasn't come yet. I am not going to say anymore. Only I want you to know this. The whole success of my life is asnothing compared with the hope of one day--"
"I will not hear another word," she interrupted hastily, and underneathher white veil he could see a scarlet spot of colour in her cheeks; inher speech, too, there was a certain tremulousness. "If you will notcome with me I must find Lady Tresham alone."
They turned round, but as they neared the middle of the paddock progressbecame almost impossible. The bell had rung for the principal race ofthe day and the numbers were going up. The paddock was crowded withothers beside loiterers, looking the horses over and stolidly pushingtheir way through the little groups to the front rank. From Tattersall'scame the roar of clamorous voices. All around were evidences of thatexcitement which always precedes a great race.
"I think," he said, "that we had better watch the race from theserailings. Your gown will be spoilt in the crowd if we try to get out ofthe paddock, and you probably wouldn't get anywhere in time to see it."
She acquiesced silently, recognising that, although he had not alludedto it in words, he had no intention of saying anything further atpresent. Trent, who had been looking forward to the next few minuteswith all the eagerness of a man who, for the first time in his life,runs the favourite in a great race, smiled as he realised how verycontent he was to stay where nothing could be seen until the finalstruggle was over. They took up their places side by side and leanedover the railing.
"Have you much money on Iris?" she asked.
"A thousand both ways," he answered. "I don't plunge, but as I backedher very early I got 10 to 1 and 7 to 2. Listen! They're off!"
There was a roar from across the course, followed by a moment'sbreathless silence. The clamour of voices from Tattersall's subsided,and in its place rose the buzz of excitement from the stands, the murmurof many voices gradually growing in volume. Far away down the straightErnestine and Trent, leaning over the rail, could see the littlecoloured specks come dancing into sight. The roar of voices once morebeat upon the air.
"Nero the Second wins!"
"The favourite's done!"
"Nero the Second for a monkey!"
"Nero the Second romps in!"
"Iris! Iris! Iris wins!"
It was evident from the last shout and the gathering storm of excitementthat, after all, it was to be a race. They were well in sight now; Nerothe Second and Iris, racing neck-and-neck, drawing rapidly away fromthe others. The air shook with the sound of hoarse and fiercely excitedvoices.
"Nero the Second wins!"
"Iris wins!"
Neck-and-neck they passed the post. So it seemed at least to Ernestineand many others, but Trent shook his head and looked at her with asmile.
"Iris was beaten by a short neck," he said. "Good thing you didn't backher. That's a fine horse of the Prince's, though!"
"I'm so sorry," she cried. "Are you sure?"
He nodded and pointed to the numbers which were going up. She flashed asudden look upon him which more than compensated him for his defeat.At least he had earned her respect that day, as a man who knew how toaccept defeat gracefully. They walked slowly up the paddock and stood onthe edge of the crowd, whilst a great person went out to meet his horseamidst a storm of cheering. It chanced that he caught sight of Trent onthe way, and, pausing for a moment, he held out his hand.
"Your horse made a magnificent fight for it, Mr. Trent," he said. "I'mafraid I only got the verdict by a fluke. Another time may you be thefortunate one!"
Trent answered him simply, but without awkwardness. Then his horse camein and he held out his hand to the crestfallen jockey, whilst with hisleft he patted Iris's head.
"Never mind, Dick," he said cheerfully, "you rode a fine race and thebest horse won. Better luck next time."
Several people approached Trent, but he turned away at once toErnestine.
"You will let me take you to Lady Tresham now," he said.
"If you please," she answered quietly.
They left the paddock by the underground way. When they emerged uponthe lawn the band was playing and crowds of people were strolling aboutunder the trees.
"The boxes," Trent suggested, "must be very hot now!"
He turned down a side-walk away from the stand towards an emptyseat under an elm-tree, and, after a moment's scarcely perceptiblehesitation, she followed his lead. He laughed softly to himself. If thiswas defeat, what in the world was better?
"This is your first Ascot, is it not?" she asked.
"My first!"
"And your first defeat?"
"I suppose it is," he admitted cheerfully. "I rather expected to win,too."
"You must be very disappointed, I am afraid."
"I have lost," he said thoughtfully, "a gold cup. I have gained--"
She half rose and shook out her skirts as though about to leave him. Hestopped short and found another conclusion to his sentence.
"Experience!"
A faint smile parted her lips. She resumed her seat.
"I am glad to find you," she said, "so much of a philosopher. Now talkto me for a few minutes about what you have been doing in Africa."
He obeyed her, and very soon she forgot the well dressed crowd ofmen and women by whom they were surrounded, the light hum of gayconversation, the band which was playing the fashionable air of themoment. She saw instead the long line of men of many races, stripped tothe waist and toiling as though for their lives under a tropical sun,she saw the great brown water-jars passed down the line, men faintingbeneath the burning sun and their places taken by others. She heard theshrill whistle of alarm, the beaten drum; she saw the spade exchangedfor the rifle, and the long line of toilers disappear behind the naturalearthwork which their labours had created. She saw black forms risestealthily from the long, rank grass, a flight of quivering spears, thehorrid battle-cry of the natives rang in her ears. The whole drama ofthe man's great past rose up before her eyes, made a living and realthing by his simple but vigorous language. That he effaced himselffrom it went for nothing; she saw him there perhaps more clearly thananything else, the central and domineering figure, a man of brains andnerve who, with his life in his hands, faced with equal immovabilitya herculean task and the chances of death. Certain phrases in Fred'sletter had sunk deep into her mind, they were recalled very vividly bythe presence of the man himself, telling his own story. She sat in thesunlight with the music in her ears, listening to his abrupt, vividspeech, and a fear c
ame to her which blanched her cheeks and caught ather throat. The hand which held her dainty parasol of lace shook, and anindescribable thrill ran through her veins. She could no more thinkof this man as a clodhopper, a coarse upstart without manners orimagination. In many ways he fell short of all the usual standards bywhich the men of her class were judged, yet she suddenly realised thathe possessed a touch of that quality which lifted him at once far overtheir heads. The man had genius. Without education or culture he had yetachieved greatness. By his side the men who were passing about on thelawn became suddenly puppets. Form and style, manners and easy speechbecame suddenly stripped of their significance to her. The man at herside had none of these things, yet he was of a greater world. She felther enmity towards him suddenly weakened. Only her pride now couldhelp her. She called upon it fiercely. He was the man whom she haddeliberately believed to be guilty of her father's death, the man whomshe had set herself to entrap. She brushed all those other thoughts awayand banished firmly that dangerous kindness of manner into which she hadbeen drifting.
And he, on his part, felt a glow of keen pleasure when he realised howthe events of the day had gone in his favour. If not yet of her world,he knew now that his becoming so would be hereafter purely a matter oftime. He looked up through the green leaves at the blue sky, bedappledwith white, fleecy clouds, and wondered whether she guessed that hisappearance here, his ownership of Iris, the studious care with which hehad placed himself in the hands of a Saville Row tailor were all for hersake. It was true that she had condescended to Bohemianism, that he hadfirst met her as a journalist, working for her living in a plain sergesuit and a straw hat. But he felt sure that this had been to a certainextent a whim with her. He stole a sidelong glance at her--she wasthe personification of daintiness from the black patent shoes showingbeneath the flouncing of her skirt, to the white hat with its clustersof roses. Her foulard gown was as simple as genius could make it, andshe wore no ornaments, save a fine clasp to her waistband of dull gold,quaintly fashioned, and the fine gold chain around her neck, from whichhung her racing-glasses. She was to him the very type of everythingaristocratic. It might be, as she had told him, that she chose to workfor her living, but he knew as though by inspiration that her people andconnections were of that world to which he could never belong, saveon sufferance. He meant to belong to it, for her sake--to win her! Headmitted the presumption, but then it would be presumption of any man tolift his eyes to her. He estimated his chances with common sense; hewas not a man disposed to undervalue himself. He knew the power of hiswealth and his advantage over the crowd of young men who were her equalsby birth. For he had met some of them, had inquired into their lives,listened to their jargon, and had come in a faint sort of way tounderstand them. It had been an encouragement to him. After all it wasonly serious work, life lived out face to face with the great realitiesof existence which could make a man. In a dim way he realised that therewere few in her own class likely to satisfy Ernestine. He even dared totell himself that those things which rendered him chiefly unfit for her,the acquired vulgarities of his rougher life, were things which hecould put away; that a time would come when he would take his placeconfidently in her world, and that the end would be success. And all thewhile from out of the blue sky Fate was forging a thunderbolt to launchagainst him!