CHAPTER VII
THE SIGHTS OF AVIGNON
"It's a curious thing," observed Roger Deane, "but this fellow Baedekeralways travels the opposite way to what I do. When I'm coming back,he's always going out, and vice versa. It makes him precious difficultto understand, I can tell you, Miss Dora. However I think I've got himnow. Listen to this! 'Marseilles to Arles (Amphitheatre starred) oneday. Arles to Avignon (Palace of the Popes starred) two days--slowgoing that--Avignon to----'"
"Do you want to _squat_ in this wretched country, Sir Roger?" demandedDora angrily.
A faint smile played round Sir Roger's lips.
"You're the only one who's in a hurry." he remarked.
"No, I'm not. Mr. Ellerton is in just as much of a hurry."
"Then he bears disappointment better."
"What in the world did papa and--well, and Lady Deane, you know--wantto stop here for?"
"You don't seem to understand how interesting Marseilles is. Let meread you a passage. 'Marseilles was a colony founded about 600B.C.'--What? Oh, all right! We'll skip a bit. 'In 1792 hordes ofgalley-slaves were sent hence to Paris, where they committed frightfulexcesses.' That's what Maud and your father are going to do. 'It wasfor them that Rouget--' I say, what's the matter, Miss Dora?"
"I don't know why you should enjoy teasing me, but you _have_ nearlymade me cry, so perhaps you'll be happy now."
"You tried to take me in. I pretended to be taken in. That's all."
"Well, it was very unkind of you."
"So, after all, it's not a matter of indifference to you at what ratewe travel, as you said in the train to-day?"
"Oh, I had to. I--I couldn't let papa see."
"And why are you in a hurry?"
"I can't tell you; but I must--oh, I must!--be in England in four days."
"You'll hardly get your father to give up a day at Avignon."
"Well, one day there; then we should just do it, if we only slept inParis."
"Yes, but my wife----"
"Oh, you can stay. Don't say anything about Paris yet. Help me to getthere. I'll make papa go on. Please do, Sir Roger. I shall be soawfully obliged to you; so will Mr. Ellerton."
"Charlie Ellerton? Not he! He's in no hurry."
"What do you mean? Didn't you hear him to-day urging papa to travelstraight through?"
"Oh, yes, I heard that."
"Well?"
"You were there then."
"What of that?"
"He's not so pressing when you're away."
"I don't understand. Why should he pretend to be in a hurry when heisn't?"
"Ah, I don't know. Don't you?"
"Not in the least, Sir Roger. But never mind Mr. Ellerton. Will youhelp me?"
"As far as Paris. You must look out for yourself there."
These terms Dora accepted. Surely at Paris she would hear some news ofor from John Ashforth. She thought he must have written one line inresponse to her last letter, and that his answer must have been so fardelayed as to arrive at Cannes after her departure; it would be waitingfor her at Paris and would tell her whether she was in time or whetherthere was no more use in hurrying. The dread that oppressed her waslest, arriving too late in Paris, she should find that she had missedhappiness by reason of this wretched dawdling in Southern France.
Seeing her meditative, Deane slipped away to his cigar, and she sat inthe hotel hall, musing. Deane's revelation of Charlie's treacheryhardly surprised her; she meant to upbraid him severely, but she wasconscious that, if little surprised, she was hardly more than a littleangry. His conduct was indeed contemptible; it revealed an utterinstability and fickleness of mind which made her gravely uneasy as toMary Travers's chances of permanent happiness. Yes, scornful one mightb; but who could be seriously angry with the poor boy? And perhaps,after all, she did him injustice. Some natures were more prone thanothers to sudden passions; it really did not follow that a feeling mustbe either shallow or short-lived because it was sudden; whether itsurvived or passed away would depend chiefly on the person who excitedit. It was clear that Mary Travers was incapable of maintaining apermanent hold over Charlie's affections, but another girl might--mighthave. If so, it would perhaps be a pity if Charlie and Mary Traverswere to come together again. She doubted very much if they were suitedto one another. She pictured Mary as a severe, rather stern youngwoman; and she hardly knew whether to laugh or groan at the thought ofCharlie adapting himself to such a mate. Meanwhile her own position wascertainly very difficult, and she acknowledged its thorniness with alittle sigh. To begin with, the suspense was terrible; at times shewould have been almost relieved to hear that John was married beyondrecall. Then Charlie was a great and a growing difficulty. He had notactually repeated the passionate indiscretion, of which he had beenguilty at Cannes, but more and more watchfulness and severity wereneeded to keep him within the bounds proper to their relativepositions, and it was odious to be disagreeable to a fellow-traveller,especially when he was such a good and devoted friend as Charlie.
Sir Roger loyally carried out his bargain. Lady Deane was hurried on,leaving Marseilles, with its varied types of humanity and its profoundsocial significance, practically unexplored; Aries and Amphitheatre, inspite of the beckoning "star," were dropped out of the programme, andthe next day found the party at Avignon. And now they were once morefor a moment in harmony. Dora could spare twenty-four hours; Lady Deaneand the General were mollified by conscious unselfishness; the prospectof a fresh struggle at Paris lay well in the background and wasdiscreetly ignored; Charlie Ellerton, who had reached the mostdesperate stage of love, looked neither back nor forward. It was enoughfor him to have wrung four-and-twenty hours of Dora's company fromfate's reluctant grasp. He meant to make the most of it.
She and he sat, on the afternoon of their arrival, in the gardens, hardby the Cathedral, where Lady Deane and the General wore doing theirduty. Sir Roger had chartered a cab and gone for a drive on theboulevards.
"And we shall really be in Paris to-morrow night?" said Dora. "And inEngland, I hope, six-and-thirty hours afterwards. I want papa to crossthe next evening. Mr. Ellerton, I believe we shall be in time."
Charlie said nothing. He seemed to be engrossed by the magnificent viewbefore him.
"Well? Have you nothing to say?" she asked.
"It's a sin to rush through a place like this," he observed. "We oughtto stay a week. There's no end to see. It's an education!"
By way, probably, of making the most of his brief opportunity, he wenton gazing, across the river which flowed below, now towards the heightsof Mont Ventoux, now at the ramparts of Villeneuve. Dora, on the otherhand, fixed pensive eyes on his curly hatless head, which leant forwardas he rested his elbows on his knees. He had referred to theattractions of Avignon in tones of almost overpowering emotion.
Presently he turned his head towards her with a quick jerk.
"I don't want to be in time," he said, and, with equal rapidity, hereturned to his survey of Villeneuve.
Dora made no answer, unless a perplexed wrinkle on her brow might servefor one. A long silence followed. It was broken at last by Charlie. Heleft the landscape with a sigh of satisfaction, as though he could notreproach himself with having neglected it, and directed his gaze intohis companion's eyes. Dora blushed and pulled the brim of her hat alittle lower down over her brow.
"What's more," said Charlie, in deliberate tones, and as if no pausehad occurred between this remark and his last, "I don't believe you do."
Dora started and straightened herself in her seat; it looked as if therash remark were to be met with a burst of indignation, but, a secondlater, she leant back again and smiled scornfully.
"How can you be so silly, Mr. Ellerton?" she asked.
"We both of us," pursued Charlie, "see now that we made up our minds tobe very foolish; we both of us mistook our real feelings; we'rebeginning--at least I began some time ago, and you're beginning now--tounderstand the true state of affairs."
"Oh, I know what you m
ean, and I ought to be very angry, I suppose; butit's too absurd."
"Not in the least. The absurd thing is your fancying that you careabout this follow Ashforth."
"No, you must really stop, you must indeed. I don't----"
"I know the sort of fellow he is--a dull dry chap, who makes love as ifhe was dancing a minuet."
"You're quite wrong."
"And kisses you as if it was part of the church service."
This last description, applied to John Ashforth's manner of wooing, hadenough of aptness to stir Dora into genuine resentment.
"A Girl doesn't like a man less because he respects her; nor morebecause he ridicules better men than himself."
"Don't be angry. I'm only saying what's true. Why should I want to runhim down?"
"I suppose--well, I suppose because----"
"Well?"
"You're a little bit--but I don't think I ought to talk about it."
"Jealous, you were going to say."
"Was I?"
"And that shows you know what I mean."
"Well, by now I suppose I do. I can't help your doing it or I would."
Charlie moved closer, and leaning forward till his face was only a yardfrom hers, while his hand, sliding along the back of the seat, almosttouched her, said in a low voice, "Are you sure you would?"
Dora's answer was a laugh--a laugh with a hint of nervousness in it.Perhaps she knew what was in it, for she looked away towards the river.
"Dolly," he whispered, "shall I go back to Cannes? Shall I?"
Perhaps the audacity of this per saltum advance from the distance ofMiss 'Bellairs' to the ineffable assumption involved in 'Dolly' madethe subject of it dumb.
"I will, if you ask me," he said, us she, was silent for a space.
Then with profile towards him and eyes away, she murmured,
"What would Miss Travers say if you turned back now?"
The mention of Mary did not on this occasion evoke any unseemly words.On the contrary, Charlie smiled. He glanced at his companion. Heglanced behind him and round him. Then, drilling his deep design intothe semblance of an uncontrollable impulse, he seized Dora's hand inhis and, before she could stir, kissed her cheek.
She leapt to her feet.
"How dare you?" she cried.
"How could I help it?"
"I'll never speak to you again. No gentleman would have--oh, I do hopeyou're ashamed of yourself!"
Her words evidently struck home. With an air of contrition he sank onthe seat.
"I'm a beast," he said ruefully. "You're quite right, Miss Bellairs.Don't have anything more to say to me. I wish I was--I wish I hadsome--some self-control--and self-respect, you know. If I were afellow like Ashforth now, I should never have done that! Of course youcan't forgive me," and, in his extremity of remorse, he buried his facein his hands.
Dora stood beside him. She made one step as if to leave him; a glanceat him brought her back, and she looked down at him for a minute.Presently a troubled doubtful little smile appeared on her face; whenshe realized it was there, she promptly banished it. Alas! It was toolate. The rascal had been peeping through his fingers, and, with aringing laugh, he sprang to his feet, caught both her hands, and cried,"Shocking, wasn't it? Awful?"
"Let me go, Mr. Ellerton."
"Must I?"
"Yes, yes."
"Why? Why, when you----?"
"Sir Roger's coming. Look behind you."
"Oh, the deuce!"
An instant later they were sitting demurely at opposite ends of theseat, inspecting Villeneuve with interest.
In another moment Deane stood before them, puffing a cigarette, andwearing an expression of amiability tempered by boredom.
"Wonderful old place, isn't it, Deane?" asked Charlie.
"Such a view, Sir Roger!" cried Dora, in almost breathless enthusiasm.
"You certainly," assented Deane, "do see some wonderful sights on thisPromenade. I'm glad I came up. The air's given you quite a color, MissDora."
"It's tea-time," declared Dora suddenly. "Take me down with you, SirRoger. Mr. Ellerton, go and tell the others we're going home to tea."
Charlie started off, and Sir Roger strolled along by Miss Bellairs'sside. Presently he said:
"Still anxious to get to Paris?"
"Why shouldn't I be?" she asked quickly.
"I thought perhaps the charms of Avignon would have decided you tolinger. Haven't you been tempted?"
Dora glanced at him, but his face betrayed no secondary meaning.
"Tempted? Oh, perhaps," she answered, with the same nervous littlelaugh, "but not quite led astray. I'm going on."