A Damaged Reputation

  XIII.

  THE OLD LOVE.

  Next morning Brooke set out for the Mineral Development Syndicate's newshaft, which lay a long day's ride nearer the railroad through the bush,and was well received by the manager.

  "Stay just as long as it pleases you, and look at everything you want,though you'll have to excuse me going round with you to-day," he said."There's a party of the Directors' city friends coming up, and it'squite likely they'll keep me busy."

  Brooke was perfectly content to go round himself, and he had acquired agood deal of information about the working of aerial tramways when hesat on the hillside watching a rattling trolley swing across the treetops beneath him on a curving rope of steel. A foreman leaned on asawn-off cedar close by, and glanced at Brooke with a little ironicalgrin when a hum of voices broke out behind them.

  "You hear them? I guess the boss is enjoying himself," he said.

  Brooke turned his head and listened, and a woman said, "But how dothose little specks of gold get into the rock? It really looks sosolid."

  "That's nothing," said the foreman. "She quite expects him to know howthe earth was made. Still, the other one's the worst. You'll hear herstarting in again once she gets her breath. It's not information she'swanting, but to hear herself talk."

  The prediction was evidently warranted, for another voice broke in,"What makes those little trucks run down the rope? Gravity! Of course, Imight have known that. How clever of you to think of it. You haven'tanything like that at those works you're a director of, Shafton?"

  Brooke started a little, for though the speaker was invisible her voicewas curiously familiar. It was also evidently an Englishman who answeredthe last remark, and Brooke, who decided that his ears must havedeceived him, nevertheless became intent. He felt that the mere fancyshould have awakened a host of memories, but he was only sensible of awholly dispassionate curiosity when the voice was raised again, thoughit was, at least, very like one to which he had frequently listened intimes past. Then there was a patter of approaching steps, and he rose tohis feet as the strangers and the mine manager came down the slope.There were several men, one of whom was palpably an Englishman, and twowomen. One of the latter stopped abruptly, with a little exclamation.

  "Harford--is it really you?" she said.

  Brooke quietly swung off his wide hat, which he remembered, withoutembarrassment, was considerably battered, and while most of the othersturned and gazed at him, stood still a moment looking at her. He did notappreciate being made the central figure in a dramatic incident, but itwas evident that the woman rather relished the situation. Several yearshad certainly elapsed since she had tearfully bidden him farewell withprotestations of unwavering constancy, but he realized with faintastonishment that he felt no emotion whatever, not even a trace ofanger.

  "Yes," he said. "I really think it is."

  The woman made a little theatrical gesture, which might have meantanything, and in that moment the few illusions Brooke still retainedconcerning her vanished. She seemed very little older than when heparted from her, and at least as comely, but her shallow artificialitywas very evident to him now. Her astonishment had, he felt, beenexaggerated with a view to making the most of the situation, and eventhe little tremble in her voice appeared no more than an artisticaffectation. The same impression was conveyed by her dress, which struckhim as too ornate and in no way adapted to the country.

  Then she turned swiftly to the man who stood beside her, looking on witha little faintly ironical smile. He was a personable man, but his lipswere thin, and there was a suggestion of half-contemptuous weariness inhis face.

  "This is Harford Brooke, Shafton. Of course, you have heard of him!" shesaid with a coquettish smile, which it occurred to Brooke was not, underthe circumstances, especially appropriate. "Harford, I don't think youever met my husband."

  Brooke stood still and the other man nodded with an air of languidindifference. "Glad to see you, I'm sure," he said. "Met quite a numberof Englishmen in this country."

  Then he turned towards the other woman as though he had done all thatcould be reasonably expected of him, and when the manager of the mineled the way down into the valley Brooke found himself walking with thewoman who had flung him over a few paces behind the rest of the party.He did not know exactly how this came about, but he was certain that he,at least, had neither desired nor in any way contrived it.

  They went down into the hollow between colonnades of towering trunks,crossed a crystal stream and climbed a steep ascent towards the clashingstamp-heads, but the woman appeared in difficulties and gasped a littleuntil Brooke held out his arm. He had already decided that her littlehigh-heeled shoes were distinctly out of place in that country, andwondered at the same time what kind Barbara Heathcote wore, for she, atleast, moved with lithe gracefulness through the bush. He was, however,sensible of nothing in particular when his companion looked up at him asshe leaned upon his arm.

  "I was wondering how long it would be before you offered to help me. Youused to be anxious to do it once," she said.

  Brooke smiled a little. "That was quite a long time ago. I scarcelysupposed you needed help, and one does not care to risk a repulse."

  "Could you have expected one from me?"

  There was an archness in the glance she cast him which Brooke was notespecially gratified to see, and it struck him that the eyes which hehad once considered softest blue were in reality tinged with a hazygrey, but he smiled again as he parried the question. "One," he said,"never quite knows what to expect from a lady."

  His companion made no immediate answer, but by and by she once moreglanced up at him.

  "I am really not used to climbing if Shafton is, and I am not going anyfurther just now," she said.

  A newly-felled cedar lay conveniently near the trail, but itswide-girthed trunk stood high above the underbrush, and Brooke draggedup a big hewn-off branch to make a footstool before his companion satdown on it. The branch was heavy, and she watched his effortsapprovingly.

  "Canada has made you another man. Now, I do not think Shafton could havedone that in a day," she said. "Of course, he would never have tried,even to please me."

  Brooke, who was by no means certain what she wished him to understandfrom this, leaned against a cedar looking down at her gravely. This wasthe woman who had embittered several years of his life, and for whom hehad flung a good deal away, and now he was most clearly sensible of hisfolly. Had he met her in a drawing-room or even the Vancouveropera-house, it might not have been quite so apparent to him, but sheseemed an anachronism in that strip of primeval wilderness. Nature wasdominant there, and the dull pounding of the stamp-heads, which camefaintly through the silence among the great trunks that had grown slowlyduring centuries, suggested man's recognition of the curse and privilegethat was laid upon him in Eden. Graceful idleness was not esteemed inthat country, where bread was won by strenuous toil, and the stillnessand dimness of those great forest aisles emphasized the woman'sartificial superficiality. Voice and gesture, befrizzled, straw-coloredhair which he had once called golden, constricted waist, and figurewhich was suggestively wooden in its curves, enforced the sameimpression, until the man, who realized that she had after all probablymade at least as good a use of life as he had, turned his eyes away.

  "You really couldn't expect him to," he said, with a little laugh. "Hehas never had to do anything of that kind for a living as I have."

  He held up his hands and noticed her little shiver as she saw thescarred knuckles, hard, ingrained flesh, and broken nails.

  "Oh," she said, "how cruel! Whatever have you been doing?"

  Brooke glanced at his fingers reflectively. "On the contrary, I supposeI ought to feel proud of them, though I scarcely think I am. Buildingflumes and dams, though that will hardly convey any very clearimpression to you. It implies swinging the axe and shovel most of everyday, and working up to the waist in water occasionally."

  "But you were always so particular in England."

  "I
could naturally afford to be. It cost me nothing when I was living onanother man's bounty."

  The woman made a little gesture. "And you gave up everything for me!"

  Brooke laughed softly, for it seemed to him that a little candor wasadvisable. "As a matter of fact, I am not quite sure that I did. Mynative wrong-headedness may have had its share in influencing me.Anyway, that was all done with--several years ago."

  "You will not be bitter, Harford," and she cast him a glance of appealwhich might have awakened a trace of tenderness in the man had it sprungfrom any depth of feeling. "Can anything of that kind ever be quite donewith?"

  Brooke commenced to feel a trifle uneasy. "Well," he said, reflectively,"I certainly think it ought to be."

  To his relief his companion smiled and apparently decided to change thesubject. "You never even sent me a message. It really wasn't kind."

  "It appeared considerably more becoming to let myself sink intooblivion. Besides, I could scarcely be expected to feel certain that youwould care to hear from me."

  The woman glanced at him reflectively. "I have often thought about you.Of course, I was dreadfully sorry when I had to give you up, but Ireally couldn't do anything else, and it was all for the best."

  "Of course!" said Brooke, with a trace of dryness, and smiled when sheglanced at him sharply. "I naturally mean in your case."

  "You are only involving yourself, Harford. You never used to be sounfeeling."

  "I was endorsing your own statement, and it is, at least, considerablyeasier to believe that all is for the best when one is prosperous. Youhave a wealthy husband, and Helen, who wrote me once, testified that heindulged you in--she said every caprice."

  "Yes," said his companion, thoughtfully, "Shafton is certainly not poor,and he is almost everything any one could expect him to be. As husbandsgo, I think he is eminently satisfactory."

  "One would fancy that an indulgent and wealthy husband of distinguishedappearance would go a tolerably long way."

  Again the woman appeared to reflect "Prosperity is apt to kill romance,"she said. "One is never quite content, you know, and I feel now and thenthat Shafton scarcely understands me. That is a complaint people appearto find ludicrous, of course, though I really don't see why they shoulddo so. Shafton is conventional and precise. You know exactly what he isgoing to do, and that it will be right, but one has longings now andthen for something original and intense."

  Brooke regarded her with a little dry smile. One, as he had discovered,cannot have everything, and as she had sold herself for wealth andstation it appeared a trifle unreasonable to repine because she couldnot enjoy a romantic passion at the same time. It was, in fact, verylikely that had anything of the kind been thrust upon her she would nothave known what to do with it. It also occurred to him that there weredepths in her husband's nature which she had never sounded, and heremembered the look of cynical weariness in the man's face. Lucy Coulsonwas one who trifled with emotions as a pastime, but Brooke had no wishto be made the subject of another experiment in simulated tenderness,even if that was meant, which, under the circumstances, scarcely seemedlikely.

  "Well," he said, "no doubt most people long for a good deal more thanthey ever get; but your friends must have reached the stamps by now, andthey will be wondering what has become of you."

  "I scarcely think they will. The men seem to consider it a waste of timeto talk to anybody who doesn't know all about ranches and mines, andShafton has Miss Goldie to attend to. She has attached herself to himlike a limpet, but she is, of course, a Canadian, and I really don'tmind."

  Almost involuntarily Brooke contrasted her with a Canadian who had spenta week in the woods with him. Barbara Heathcote had never appeared outof place in the wilderness, for she was wholly natural and had movedamidst those scenes of wild grandeur as though in harmony with them,with the stillness of that lonely land in her steady eyes. There was nosuperficial sentimentality in her, for her thoughts and emotions weredeep as the still blue lakes, and he could not fancy her disturbingtheir serenity for the purpose of whiling an idle day away. Then hisface hardened, for it was becoming unpleasantly evident that she couldnot much longer even regard him with friendliness and there was nothingto be gained by letting his fancy run away with him.

  "You are not the man I used to talk nonsense with, Harford," said hiscompanion, who had in the meanwhile been watching him. "This country hasmade you quiet and a little grim. Why don't you go back again?"

  "I am afraid they have too many men with no ostensible income inEngland."

  "Still you could make it up with the old man."

  Brooke's face was decidedly grim. "I scarcely think I could. Rather morewas said by both of us than could be very well rubbed off one's memory.Besides, I think you know what kind of man he is?"

  Lucy Coulson leaned forward a trifle and there was a trace of genuinefeeling in her voice. "Harford," she said, "he frets about you--and heis getting very old. Of course, he would never show anybody what hefelt, but I could guess, because he was once not long ago almost rude tome. That could only have been on your account, you know. It hurts me alittle, though one could scarcely take exception to anything hesaid--but you know the quiet precision of his manner. If it wasn't quiteso perfect it would be pedantic now. One feels it's a relic of the daysof the hoops and patches ever so long ago."

  "What did he say?" asked Brooke, a trifle impatiently.

  "Nothing that had any particular meaning by itself, but for all that heconveyed an impression, and I think if you were to go back----"

  "Empty-handed!" said Brooke. "There are circumstances under which thedesire for reconciliation with a wealthy relative is liable tomisconception. If I had prospered it would have been easier."

  Lucy Coulson looked at him thoughtfully. "Perhaps I did use you ratherbadly, and it might be possible for me to do you a trifling kindnessnow. Shall I talk to the old man when I go home again? I see him often."

  Brooke shook his head. "I shall never go back a poor man," he said."What are you doing here?"

  "Everybody travels nowadays, and Shafton is never happy unless he isgoing somewhere. We started for Japan, and decided to see the Rockiesand look at the British Columbian mines. That is, of course, Shaftondid. He has money in some of them, and is interested in the colonies. Ihave to sit on platforms and listen while he abuses the Government forneglecting them. In fact, I don't know when I shall be able to get himout of the country now. Of course, I never expected to meet youhere--and almost wonder if there is any reason beyond the one youmentioned that has kept you here so long."

  She glanced at him in a curious fashion and made the most of her eyes,which he had once considered remarkably expressive ones.

  "I can't quite think of any other, beyond the fact that I have a fewdollars at stake," he said.

  "There is nothing else?"

  "No," said Brooke, a trifle too decisively. "What could there be?"

  His companion smiled. "Well," she said, "I fancied there might have beena Canadian. They are not all very good style, but some of them arealmost pretty, and--when one has been a good while away----"

  The man flushed a trifle at the faint contempt in her tone. "I scarcelythink there is one of them who would spare a thought for me. I shouldnot be considered especially eligible even in this country."

  "And you have a good memory!"

  Brooke felt slightly disconcerted, for it was not the first delicatesuggestion she had made. "I don't know that it is of any benefit to me.You see, I really haven't anything very pleasant to remember."

  Lucy Coulson sighed. "Harford," she said, dropping her voice a trifle,"you must try not to blame me. If one of us had been richer--I, atleast, can't help remembering."

  Brooke looked at her steadily. Exactly where she wished to lead him hedid not know, but she had flung away her power to lead him anywhere longago. Perhaps she was influenced by vanity, for there was no genuinepassion or tenderness in her, but Brooke was a well-favored man, and shehad her caprices and drift
ed easily.

  "I really don't think you should," he said. "Your husband mightn't likeit, and it is quite a long while ago, you know."

  A little pink flush crept into the woman's cheek and she rose leisurely."Perhaps he will be wondering where I am, after all," she said. "Youmust come and make friends with him. We may be staying for some time yetat the C. P. R. Hotel, Vancouver."

  Brooke went with her and spent some little time talking to her husband,who made a favorable impression upon him, while when he took his leaveof them the woman let her hand remain in his a moment longer than therewas any apparent necessity for.

  "You must come down and see us--it really isn't very far, and we have somuch to talk about," she said.

  Brooke said nothing, but he felt that he had had a warning as he swungoff his big shapeless hat and turned away.