CHAPTER XXVI
SUBSTANCE
It was a blustering spring day, and Avery, caught in a sudden storm ofdriving sleet, stood up against the railings of the doctor's house,sheltering as best she might. She was holding her umbrella well in theteeth of the gale, and trying to protect an armful of purchases as well.
She was alone, Gracie, the black sheep, having been sent to school at theclose of the Christmas holidays, and Jeanie being confined to the housewith a severe cold. Olive, having become more and more her father'sconstant companion, disdained shopping expeditions. The two elder boysand Pat were all at a neighbouring school as weekly boarders, and thoughshe missed them Avery had it not in her heart to regret the arrangement.The Vicarage might at times seem dreary, but it had become undeniably anabode of peace.
Mrs. Lorimer was gradually recovering her strength, and Avery's care nowcentred more upon Jeanie than her mother. Though the child had recoveredfrom her accident, she had not been really well all the winter, and thecold spring seemed to tax her strength to the uttermost. Tudor stilldropped in at intervals, but he said little, and his manner did notencourage Avery to question him. Privately she was growing anxious aboutJeanie, and she wished that he would be more communicative. He hadabsolutely forbidden book-work, a fiat to which Mr. Lorimer had yieldedunder protest.
"The child will grow up a positive dunce," he had declared.
To which Tudor had brusquely rejoined, "What of it?"
But his word was law so far as Jeanie was concerned, and Mr. Lorimer hadrelinquished the point with the sigh of one submitting to the inevitable.He did not like Lennox Tudor, but for some reason he always avoided anopen disagreement with him.
It was of Jeanie that Avery was thinking as she stood there huddledagainst the railings while the sleet beat a fierce tattoo on her levelledumbrella and streamed from it in rivers on to the ground. She evendebated with herself if it seemed advisable to turn and enter thedoctor's dwelling, and try to get him to speak frankly of the matter ashe had spoken once before.
She dismissed the idea, however, reflecting that he would mostprobably be out, and she was on the point of collecting her forces tomake a rush for another sheltered spot further on when the front dooropened unexpectedly behind her, and Tudor himself came forthbareheaded into the rain.
"What are you doing there, Mrs. Denys?" he said. "Why don't youcome inside?"
He opened the gate for her, and took her parcels without waiting for areply. And Avery, still with her umbrella poised against the blast,smiled her thanks and passed in.
The hair grew far back on Tudor's forehead, it was in fact becomingscanty on the top of his head; and the raindrops glistened upon it as heentered behind Avery. He wiped them away, and then took off his glassesand wiped them also.
"Come into the dining-room!" he said. "You are just in time to joinme at tea."
"You're very kind," Avery said. "But I ought to hurry back the moment therain lessens."
"It won't lessen yet," said Tudor. "Take off your mackintosh, won't you?I expect your feet are wet. There's a fire to dry them by."
Certainly the storm showed no signs of abating. The sky was growingdarker every instant. Avery slipped the streaming mackintosh from hershoulders and entered the room into which he had invited her.
The blaze on the hearth was cheering after the icy gale without. She wentto it, stretching her numbed hands to the warmth.
Tudor pushed forward a chair. "I believe you are chilled to thebone," he said.
She laughed at that. "Oh no, indeed I am not! But it is a cold wind,isn't it? Have you finished your work for to-day?"
Tudor foraged in a cupboard for an extra cup and saucer. "No. I've got togo out again later. I've just come back from Miss Whalley's. She's got atouch of jaundice."
"Oh, poor thing!" said Avery.
"Yes; poor thing!" echoed Tudor grimly. "She is very sorry for herself, Ican assure you; but as full of gossip as ever." He paused.
Avery, with her face to the fire, laughed a little. "Anything new?"
"Miss Whalley," said Tudor deliberately, "always gets hold of somethingnew. Never noticed that?"
"Wouldn't you like me to pour out?" suggested Avery.
"No. You keep your feet on the fender. Do you want to hear the latesttittle-tattle--or not?"
There was a wary gleam behind Tudor's glasses; but Avery did not turn hereyes from the fire. A curious little feeling of uneasiness possessed her,a sensation that scarcely amounted to dread yet which quickened thebeating of her heart in a fashion that she found vaguely disconcerting.
"Don't tell me anything ugly!" she said gently, still not looking athim.
Tudor uttered a short laugh. "There's nothing especially venomous aboutit that I can see." He lifted the teapot and began to pour. "Have youheard from young Evesham lately?"
The question was casually uttered; but Avery's hands made a slightinvoluntary movement over the fire towards which she leaned.
"No," she said.
At the same moment the cup that Tudor was filling overflowed, and hewhispered something under his breath and set down the tea-pot.
Avery turned towards him instinctively, to see him dabbing the table withhis handkerchief.
"It's almost too dark to see what one is doing," he said.
"It is," she assented gravely, and turned back quietly to the fire, notoffering to assist. A soft veil of reserve seemed to have descendedupon her. She did not speak again until he had remedied the disasterand brought her some tea. Then, with absolute composure, she raised hereyes to his.
"You were going to tell me something about Piers Evesham," she said.
His eyes looked back into hers with a certain steeliness, as though theysought to penetrate her reserve.
"I was," he said, after a moment, "though I don't suppose it willinterest you very greatly. I had it from Miss Whalley, but I was not toldthe source of her information. Rumour says that the young man is engagedto Miss Ina Rose of Wardenhurst."
"Oh, really?" said Avery. She took the cup he offered her with a handthat was perfectly steady, though she was conscious of the fact that herface was pale. "They are abroad, I think?"
"Yes, in the Riviera." Tudor's eyes fell away from hers abruptly. "Atleast they have been. Someone said they were coming home." He stooped toput wood on the fire, and there fell a silence.
Avery spoke after a moment. "No doubt he will be happier married."
"I wonder," said Tudor. "I should say myself that he has the sort oftemperament that is never satisfied. He's too restless for that. I don'tthink Miss Ina Rose is greatly to be envied."
"Unless she loves him," said Avery. She spoke almost under her breath,her eyes upon the fire. Tudor, standing beside her with his elbow onthe mantelpiece, was still conscious of that filmy veil of reservefloating between them. It chafed him, but it was too intangible a thingto tear aside.
He waited therefore in silence, watching her face, the tender lines ofher mouth, the sweet curves that in childhood must have made a perfectpicture of happiness.
She raised her eyes at length. "Dr. Tudor!"
And then she realized his scrutiny, and a soft flush rose and overspreadher pale face. She lifted her straight brows questioningly.
And all in a moment Tudor found himself speaking,--not of his ownvolition, not the words he had meant to speak, but nervously,stammeringly, giving utterance to the thoughts that suddenly welled overfrom his soul. "I've been wanting to speak for ages. I couldn't get itout. But it's no good keeping it in, is it? I don't get any nearer thatway. I don't want to vex you, make you feel uncomfortable. No one knowsbetter than I that I haven't much to offer. But I can give you a homeand--and all my love, if you will have it. It may seem a small thing toyou, but it's bigger than the calf-love of an infant like young Evesham.I know he dared to let his fancy stray your way, and you see now what itwas worth. But mine--mine isn't fancy."
And there he stopped; for Avery had risen and was facing him in thefirelight with
eyes of troubled entreaty.
"Oh, please," she said, "please don't go on!"
He stood upright with a jerk. The distress on her face restored hisnormal self-command more quickly than any words. Half-mechanically hereached out and took her tea-cup, setting it down on the mantelpiecebefore her.
"Don't be upset!" he said. "I didn't mean to upset you. I shan't go on,if it is against your wish."
"It is," said Avery. She spoke tremulously, locking her hands fasttogether. "It must be my own fault," she said, "I'm dreadfully sorry. Ihoped you weren't--really in earnest."
He smiled at that with a touch of cynicism. "Did you think I was amusingmyself--or you? Sit down again, won't you? There is no occasion whateverfor you to be distressed. I assure you that you are in no way to blame."
"I am dreadfully sorry," Avery repeated.
"That's nice of you. I had scarcely dared to flatter myself that youwould be--glad. So you see, you have really nothing to reproach yourselfwith. I am no worse off than I was before."
She put out her hand to him with a quick, confiding gesture. "You arevery kind to put it in that way. I value your friendship so much, so verymuch. Yes, and I value your love too. It's not a small thing to me. Only,you know--you know--" she faltered a little--"I've been married before,and--though I loved my husband--my married life was a tragedy. Oh yes, heloved me too. It wasn't that sort of misery. It was--it was drink."
"Poor girl!" said Tudor.
He spoke with unwonted gentleness, and he held her hand with the utmostkindness. There was nothing of the rejected lover in his attitude. Hewas man enough to give her his first sympathy.
Avery's lips were quivering. She went on with a visible effort. "He dieda violent death. He was killed in a quarrel with another man. I was toldit was an accident, but it didn't seem like that to me. And--it had aneffect on me. It made me hard--made me bitter."
"You, Avery!" Tudor's voice was gravely incredulous.
She turned her face to the fire, and he saw on her lashes the gleam oftears. "I've never told anyone that; but it's the truth. It seemed to methat life was cruel, mainly because of men's vices. And women werecreated only to go under. It was a horrid sort of feeling to have, but ithas never wholly left me. I don't think I could ever face marriage asecond time."
"Oh yes, you could," said Tudor, quietly, "if you loved the man."
She shook her head. "I am too old to fall in love. I have somehowmissed the romance of life. I know what it is, but it will never cometo me now."
"And you won't marry without?" he said.
"No."
There fell a pause; then, still with the utmost quietness, herelinquished her hand. "I think you are right," he said. "Marriagewithout love on both sides is a ship without ballast. Yet, I can't helpthinking that you are mistaken in your idea that you have lost thecapacity for that form of love. You may know what it is. Most women do.But I wonder if you have ever really felt it."
"Not to the full," Avery answered, her voice very low. "Then I was tooyoung. Mine was just a child's rapture and it was simply extinguishedwhen I came to know the kind of burden I had to bear. It all faded soquickly, and the reality was so terribly grim. Now--now I look on theworld with experienced eyes. I am too old."
"You think experience destroys romance?" said Tudor.
She looked at him. "Don't you?"
"No," he said. "If it did, I do not think you would be afraid to marryme. Don't think I am trying to persuade you! I am not. But are you surethat in refusing me you are not sacrificing substance to shadow?"
"I don't quite understand you," she said.
He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I can't be more explicit. No doubtyou will follow your own instincts. But allow me to say that I don'tthink you are the sort of woman to go through life unmated; and though Imay not be romantic, I am sound. I think I could give you a certainmeasure of happiness. But the choice is yours. I can only bow to yourdecision."
There was a certain dignity in his speech that gave it weight. Averylistened in silence, and into silence the words passed.
Several seconds slipped away, then without effort Tudor came back toeveryday things. "Sit down, won't you? Your tea is getting cold."
Avery sat down, and he handed it to her, and after a moment turned asideto the table.
"As a matter of fact," he said, "I have just come back from theVicarage."
"Oh, have you?" Avery looked round quickly. "You went to see Jeanie?"
"Yes." Tudor spoke gravely. "I also saw the Vicar. I told him the childmust go away. That cough of hers is tearing her to pieces. She ought togo to the South Coast. I told him so."
"Oh! What did he say?" Avery spoke with eagerness. She had been longingto suggest that very proposal for some time past.
Tudor smiled into his cup. "He said it was a total impossibility. Thatwas the starting-point. At the finish it was practically decided thatyou should take her away next week."
"I!" said Avery.
"Yes, you. Mrs. Lorimer will manage all right now. The nurse can lookafter her and the little ones without assistance. And the secondgirl--Olive isn't it?--can look after the Reverend Stephen. It's allarranged in fact, unless it fails to meet with your approval, in whichcase of course the whole business must be reconsidered."
"But of course I approve," Avery said. "I would do anything that lay inmy power. But I don't quite like the idea of leaving Mrs. Lorimer."
"She will be all right," Tudor asserted again. "She wouldn't be happyaway from her precious husband, and she would sooner have you lookingafter Jeanie than anyone. She told me so."
"She always thinks of others first," said Avery.
"So does someone else I know," rejoined Tudor. "It's just a habitsome women have,--not always a good habit from some points of view.We may regard it as settled then, may we? You really have noobjections to raise?"
"None," said Avery. "I think the idea is excellent. I have been feelingtroubled about Jeanie nearly all the winter. This last cold has worn herout terribly."
Tudor nodded. "Yes."
He drank his tea thoughtfully, and then spoke again. "I sounded her thisafternoon. The left lung is not in a healthy condition. She will need allthe attention you can give her if she is going to throw off the mischief.It has not gone very far at present, but--to be frank with you--I am veryfar from satisfied that she can muster the strength." He got up and beganto pace the room. "I have not said this plainly to anyone else. I don'twant to frighten Mrs. Lorimer before I need. The poor soul has enough tobear without this added. Possibly the change will work wonders. Possiblyshe will pull round. Children have marvellous recuperative powers. But Ihave seen this sort of thing a good many times before, and--" he cameback to the hearth--"it doesn't make me happy."
"I am glad you have told me," Avery said.
"I had to tell you. I believe you more than half suspected it." Tudorspoke restlessly; his thoughts were evidently not of his companion atthat moment. "There are of course a good many points in her favour. Sheis a good, obedient child with a placid temperament. And the summer isbefore us. We shall have to work hard this summer, Mrs. Denys." He smiledat her abruptly. "It is like building a sea-wall when the tide is out.We've got to make it as strong as possible before the tide comes back."
"You may rely on me to do my very best," Avery said earnestly.
He nodded. "Thank you. I know I may. I always do. Hence my confidence inyou. May I give you some more tea?"
He quitted the subject as suddenly as he had embarked upon it. There wassomething very friendly in his treatment of her. She knew withunquestioning intuition that for the future he would keep strictly withinthe bounds of friendship unless he had her permission to pass beyondthem. And it was this knowledge that emboldened her at parting to say,with her hand in his: "You are very, very good to me. I would like tothank you if I could."
He pressed her hand with the kindness of an old friend. "No, don't thankme!" he said, smiling at her in a way that somehow went to her heart. "Is
hall always be at your service. But I'd rather you took it as a matterof course. I feel more comfortable that way."
Avery left him at length and trudged home through the mud with a curiousfeeling of uncertainty in her soul. It was as though she had beenvouchsafed a far glimpse of destiny which had been too fleeting for hercomprehension.