CHAPTER VI
THE ENCOUNTER
Piers was right. When Avery left Stanbury Cliffs she went back to herold life at Rodding Vicarage.
Local gossip regarding her estrangement from her husband had practicallyexhausted itself some time before, and in any case it would have beenswamped by the fevered anxiety that possessed the whole country duringthose momentous days.
She slipped back into her old niche almost as if she had never left it.Mrs. Lorimer was ill with grief and overwork. It seemed only natural thatAvery should take up the burden of her care. Even the Vicar could saynothing against it.
Avery sometimes wondered if Jeanie's death had pierced the armour of hisself-complacence at any point. If it had, it was not perceptible; but shedid fancy now and then that she detected in him a shade more ofconsideration for his wife than he had been wont to display. Hecondescended to bestow upon her a little more of his kindly patronage,and he was certainly less severe in his dealings with the children.
Of the blank in Mrs. Lorimer's life only Avery had any conception, forshe shared it with her during every hour of the day. Perhaps her ownburden weighed more heavily upon her than ever before at that time, forthe anxiety she suffered was sometimes more than she could bear. ForPiers had gone from her without a word. Straight from Jeanie'sdeath-bed he had gone, without a single word of explanation or farewell.That she had wounded him deeply, albeit inadvertently, on that last dayshe knew; but with his arm closely clasping her by Jeanie's bedside shehad dared to hope that he had forgiven the wound. Now she felt that itwas otherwise. He had gone from her in bitterness of soul, and thebarrier between them was such that she could not call him back. More andmore the conviction grew upon her that those moments of tenderness hadbeen no more than a part of the game he had summoned her to play forJeanie's sake. He had called it a hollow bargain. He had declared thatfor no other reason would he have proposed it to her. And now that thefarce was over, he had withdrawn from it. He had said that he had notfound it easy. He had called it mere pretence. And now she had begun tothink that he meant their separation to be final. If he had uttered oneword of farewell, if he had but sent her a line later, she knew that shewould have responded in some measure even though the gulf between themremained unbridged. But his utter silence was unassailable. Theconviction grew upon her that he no longer desired to bridge the gulf.He meant to accept their estrangement as inevitable. He had left her,and he did not wish to return.
Through the long weary watches of many nights Avery pondered hisattitude, and sought in vain for any other explanation. She came atlast to believe that the fierce flame of his passion had wholly burntitself out, consuming all the love he had ever known; and that onlyashes remained.
So she could not call him back, and for a time she even shrank fromasking news of him. Then one day she met Victor sorrowfully exercisingCaesar along the confines of the Park, and stopped him when with amelancholy salute he would have passed her by.
His eyes brightened a little at her action, but he volunteered noinformation and she decided later that he had obeyed orders in adoptingthis attitude. With an effort she questioned him. How was it he was notwith his master?
He spread out his hands in mournful protest. _Mais Monsieur Pierre_ hadnot required his services _depuis longtemps._ He was become veryindependent. But yes, he was engaged upon war work. In the Army? But yesagain. Did not _Madame_ know? And then he became vague and sentimental,bemoaning his own age and consequent inactivity, and finally went awaywith brimming eyes and the dubiously expressed hope that _le bon Dieu_would fight on the right side.
It was all wholly unsatisfactory, and Avery yearned to know more. But thepain of investigating further held her back. If that growing convictionof hers were indeed the truth, she shrank morbidly from seeming to makeany advance. No one seemed to know definitely what had become of Piers.She could not bring herself to apply to outsiders for information, andthere was no one to take up her case and make enquiries on her behalf.Lennox Tudor had volunteered for service in the Medical Corps and hadbeen accepted. She did not so much as know where he was, though he wasdeclared by Miss Whalley, who knew most things, to be on Salisbury Plain.She sometimes wondered with wry humour if Miss Whalley could haveenlightened her as to her husband's whereabouts; but that lady's attitudetowards her was invariably expressive of such icy disapproval that shenever ventured to put the wonder into words.
And then one afternoon of brilliant autumn she was shopping with Graciein Wardenhurst, and came face to face with Ina Guyes.
Dick Guyes had gone into the Artillery, and Ina had returned to herfather's house. She and Avery had not met since Ina's wedding day morethan a year before; but their recognition was mutual and instant.
There was a moment of hesitation on both sides, a difficult moment ofintangible reluctance; then Avery held out her hand.
"How do you do?" she said.
Ina took the hand perfunctorily between her fingers and at oncerelinquished it. She was looking remarkably handsome, Avery thought; buther smile was not conspicuously amiable, and her eyes held something thatwas very nearly akin to condemnation.
"Quite well, thanks," she said, with her off-hand air of arrogance whichhad become much more marked since her marriage. "You all right?"
Avery felt herself grow reticent and chilly as she made reply. The girl'seyes of scornful enquiry made her stiffen instinctively. She was preparedto bow and pass on, but for some reason Ina was minded to linger.
"Has Piers come down yet?" she asked abruptly. "I saw him in town twonights ago. I've been up there for a day or two with Dick, but he hasrejoined now. It's been embarkation leave. They're off directly."
Off! Avery's heart gave a single hard throb and stood still. She lookedat Ina wordlessly. The shop in which they stood suddenly lost all formand sound. It seemed to float round her in nebulous billows.
"Good gracious!" said Ina. "Don't look like that! What's up? Aren't youwell? Here, sit down! Or better still, come outside!"
She gripped Avery's arm in a tense, insistent grasp and piloted herto the door.
Avery went, hardly knowing what she did. Ina turned commandinglyto Gracie.
"Look here, child! You stay and collect the parcels! I'm going totake Lady Evesham a little way in the car. We'll come back for you ina few minutes."
She had her own way, as she had always had it on every occasion, saveone, throughout her life.
When Avery felt her heart begin to beat again, she was lying back in aclosed car with Ina seated beside her, very upright, extremely alert.
"Don't speak!" the latter said, as their eyes met. "I'll tell you all Iknow. Dick and I have been stopping at Marchmont's for the last fivedays, and one night Piers walked in. Of course we made him join us. Hewas very thin, but looked quite tough and sunburnt. He is rathermagnificent in khaki--like a prince masquerading. I think he talkedwithout ceasing during the whole evening, but he didn't say a single wordthat I can remember. He expects to go almost any day now. He is in aregiment of Lancers, but I couldn't get any particulars out of him. Hedidn't choose to be communicative, so of course I left him alone. He isturning white about the temples; did you know?"
Avery braced herself to answer the blunt question. There was somethingmerciless about Ina's straight regard. It pierced her; but oddly she feltno resentment, only a curious sensation of compassionate sympathy.
"Yes, I saw him--some weeks ago," she said.
"You have not decided to separate then? Everyone said you had."
Ina's tone was brutally direct, yet still, strangely, Avery felt noindignation.
"We have not been--friends--for the last year," she said.
"Ah! I thought not. And why? Just because of that story about your firsthusband's death that Dick's hateful cousin spread about on ourwedding-day?"
Ina looked at her with searching, challenging eyes, and Avery feltsuddenly as if she were the younger and weaker of the two.
"Was it because of that?" Ina insisted.
"Yes," she admitted.
"And you let such a thing as that come between you and--and--Piers!"There was incredulous amazement in Ina's voice. "You actually hadthe--the--the presumption!" Coherent words suddenly seemed to fail her,but she went on regardless, not caring how they came. "A man likePiers,--a--a--Triton like that,--such a being as is only turned out oncein--in a dozen centuries! Oh, fool! Fool!" She clenched her hands, andbeat them impotently upon her lap. "What did it matter what he'd done? Hewas yours. He worshipped you. And the worship of a man like Piers mustbe--must be--" She broke off, one hand caught convulsively to her throat;then swallowed hard and rushed on. "You sent him away, did you? Youwouldn't live with him any longer? My God! Piers!" Again her throatworked spasmodically, and she controlled it with fierce effort. "He won'tstay true to you of course," she said, more quietly. "You don't expectthat, do you? You can't care--since you wouldn't stick to him. You'vepractically forced him into the mire. I sometimes think that one virtuouswoman can do more harm in the world than a dozen of the other sort.You've embittered him for life. You've made him suffer horribly. I expectyou've suffered too. I hope you have! But your sorrows are not to becompared with his. He has red blood in his veins, but you're tooattenuated with goodness to know what real suffering means. You had thewhole world in your grasp and you threw it away for a whim, just becauseyou were too small, too contemptibly mean, to understand. You thought youloved him, I daresay. Well, you didn't. Love is a very different thing.Love never casts away. But of course you can't understand that. You areone of those women who keep down all the blinds lest the sunshine shouldfade their souls. You don't know even the beginnings of Love!"
Passionately she uttered the words, but in a voice pitched so low thatAvery only just caught them. And having uttered them almost in the samebreath, she took up the speaking-tube and addressed the chauffeur.
Avery sat quite still and silent. She felt as if she had been attackedand completely routed by a creature considerably smaller, but infinitelymore virile, more valiant, than herself.
Ina did not speak to her again for several minutes. She threw herselfback against the cushion with an oddly petulant gesture, and leaned therestaring moodily out.
Then, as they neared their starting-point, she sat up and spoke againwith a species of bored indifference. "Of course it's no affair of mine.I don't care two straws how you treat him. But surely you'll try and givehim some sort of send-off? I wouldn't let even Dick go without that."
Even Dick! There was a world of revelation in those words. Avery's heartstirred again in pity, and still her indignation slumbered.
They reached the shop before which Gracie was waiting for them,and stopped.
"Good-bye!" Avery said gently.
"Oh, good-bye!" Ina looked at her with eyes half closed. "I won't get outif you don't mind. I must be getting back."
She did not offer her hand, but she did not refuse it when very quietlyAvery offered her own. It was not a warm hand-clasp on either side, butneither was it unfriendly.
As she drove away, Ina leaned forward and bowed with an artificial smileon her lips. And Avery saw that she was very pale.