CHAPTER X
INDECISION
Kitty and her husband were strolling together on the terrace whenTrenby's car purred up the drive to Mallow.
"You're back very early!" exclaimed Kitty gaily. "Did you get boredstiff with each other, or what?" Then, as Roger opened the car doorand she caught sight of Nan's leg stretched out in front of her underthe rugs and evidently resting upon something, she asked with a note offear in her voice: "Is Nan hurt? You've not had an accident?"
Roger hastily explained what had occurred, winding up:
"She's had a wonderful escape."
He was looking rather drawn about the month, as though he, too, hadpassed through a big strain of some kind.
"I'm as right as rain really," called out Nan reassuringly. "Ifsomeone will only unpack the collection of rugs and coats I'm bundledup with, I can hop out of the car as well as anybody."
Barry was already at the car side and as he lifted off the lastcovering, revealing beneath a distended silk stocking the bandagedankle, he exclaimed quickly:
"Hullo! This looks like some sort of damage. Is your ankle badlyhurt, old thing?"
"Not a bit--nothing but a few scratches," she answered. "Only Mrs.Denman insisted on my driving back with my leg up, and it would havebroken her heart if I hadn't accepted her ''assock' for the journey."
She stepped rather stiffly out of the car, for her joints still ached,and Barry, seeing her white face and the heavy shadows beneath hereyes, put a strong, friendly arm round her shoulders to steady her.
"You've had a good shaking up, my dear, anyway," he observed withconcern in his voice. "Look, I'm going to help you into the hall andput you on the big divan straight away. Then we'll discuss what's tobe done with you," he added, smiling down at her.
"You won't let them keep me in bed, Barry, will you?" urged Nan as hehelped her up the steps and into the great hall, its ancient panellingof oak gleaming like polished ebony in the afternoon sunlight.
Barry pulled thoughtfully at his big fair moustache.
"If Kitty says 'bed,' you know it'll have to be bed," he answered, hiseyes twinkling a little.
Nan subsided on to the wide, cushioned divan.
"Nonsense!" she exclaimed crossly, "You don't stay in bed becauseyou've scratched your ankle."
"No. But you must remember you've had a bit of a shock."
By this time Kitty and Roger had joined them, overhearing the last partof the conversation.
"Of _course_ you'll go to bed at once," asserted Kitty firmly. "Willyou give her a hand upstairs, Barry?"
"You see?" said Barry, regarding the patient humorously. "Come along,Nan! Shall I carry you or will you hobble?"
"I'll _walk_," returned Nan with emphasis.
"Bed's much the best place for you," put in Roger.
He followed her to the foot of the staircase and, as he shook hands,said quietly:
"Till Monday, then."
"Where's Penelope?" asked Nan, as Barry assisted her upstairs with aperfectly unnecessary hand under her arm, since--as she curtly informedhim--she had "no intention of accomplishing two faints in one day."
"Penelope is out with Fenton--need you ask?" And Barry chuckledgood-humouredly. "Kitty fully expects them to return an engagedcouple."
"Oh, I do hope they will!" cried Nan, bubbling up with theinstantaneous feminine excitement which generally obtains when alove-affair, after seeming to hang fire, at last culminates in a _bonafide_ engagement. "Penny has kept him off so firmly all this time,"she continued. "I can't think why, because it's perfectly patent toeverybody that they're head over ears in love with each other."
Barry, who could have hazarded a very fair idea as to the reason whyfrom odd scraps of information on the subject elicited from his wife,was silent a moment. Finally he said slowly:
"I shouldn't ask Penelope anything about it when she comes in, if Iwere you. If matters aren't quite settled between them yet, it mightupset everything again."
Nan paused outside the door of her bedroom.
"But, my dear old Barry, what on earth is there to upset? There's noearthly obstacle to their marrying that I can see!"
As she spoke she felt a sudden little qualm of apprehension. It waspurely selfish, as she told herself with a twinge of honestself-contempt. But what should she do without Penelope? It wouldcreate a big blank for her if her best friend left her for a home ofher own. Somehow, the inevitable reaction of Penelope's marriage uponher own life had not occurred to her before. It hurt rather badly nowthat the thought had presented itself, but she determined to ignorethat aspect of the matter firmly.
"Well, I hope they _will_ come back engaged," she declared. "Anyway, Iwon't say a word till one or other of them announces the good news."
"Better not," agreed Barry. "I think part of the trouble is this bigAmerican tour Fenton's been offered. It seems to have complicatedmatters."
There came a light footstep on the staircase and Kitty swished roundthe bend. Barry and Nan started guiltily apart, smiling deprecatinglyat her.
"Nan, you ought to be in bed by now!" protested Kitty severely."You're not to be trusted one minute, Barry, keeping her standing abouttalking like this."
She shoo'd her big husband away with a single wave of her arm andmarshalled Nan into the bedroom. In her hand she carried a tray onwhich was a glass of hot milk.
"There," she continued, addressing Nan. "You've got to drink thatwhile you're undressing, and then you'll sleep well. And you're not tocome down to-morrow except for dinner. I'll send your meals up--youshan't be starved! But you must have a thorough rest."
"Oh, Kitty!" Nan's exclamation was a positive wail of dismay.
Kitty cheerfully dismissed any possibility of discussion.
"It's quite settled, my dear. You'll be feeling it all far worseto-morrow than to-day. So get into bed now as quickly as possible."
"This milk's absolutely boiling," complained Nan irritably. "I can'tdrink it."
"Then undress first and drink it when you're in bed. I'll brush yourhair for you."
It goes without saying that Kitty had her way--it was a verykind-hearted way--and before long Nan was sipping her glass of milk andgratefully realising the illimitable comfort which a soft bed brings toweary limbs.
"By the way, I've some news for you," announced Kitty, as she satperched on the edge of the bed, smoking one of the tiny gold-tippedcigarettes she affected.
"News? What news?"
"Well, guess who's coming here?"
Nan named one or two mutual friends, only to be met by a triumphantnegative. Finally Kitty divulged her secret.
"Why, Peter Mallory!"
The glass in Nan's hand jerked suddenly, spilling a few drops of themilk.
"Peter?" She strove to keep all expression out of her voice.
"Yes. He finds he can come after all. Isn't it jolly?"
"Very jolly."
Nan's tones were so non-committal that Kitty looked at her with somesurprise.
"Aren't you pleased?" she asked blankly. She was relying tremendouslyon Peter's visit to restore Nan to normal, and to prevent her frommaking the big mistake of marrying Roger Trenby, so that the lukewarmreception accorded to her news gave her a qualm of apprehension lesthis advent might not accomplish all she hoped.
"Of course I'm pleased!" Nan forced the obviously expected enthusiasminto her affirmative, then, swallowing the last mouthful of milk withan effort, she added: "It'll be topping."
Kitty took the glass from her and with an admonishing, "Now try andhave a good sleep," she departed, blissfully unconscious of howeffectually she herself had just destroyed any possibility of slumber.
Peter coming! The first thrill of pure joy at the thought of seeinghim again was succeeded by a rush of apprehension. She felt herselfcaught up into a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. The idea ofmarriage with Roger Trenby seemed even more impossible than ever withthe knowledge that in a few days Peter would be ther
e, close beside herwith that quiet, comprehending gaze of his, while every nerve in herbody would be vibrating at the mere touch of his hand.
In the dusk of her room, against the shadowy background of theblind-drawn windows, she could visualise each line of his face--thelevel brows and the steady, grey-blue eyes under them--eyes that missedso little and understood so much; the sensitive mouth with those rathertired lines cleft each side of it that deepened when he smiled; thelean cheek-bones and squarish chin.
She remembered them all, and they kept blotting out the picture ofRoger as she had so often seen him--big and bronzed by the sun--when hecame striding over the cliffs to Mallow Court. The memory was like ahand holding her back from casting in her lot with him.
And then the pendulum swung back and she felt that to marry--someone,anyone--was the only thing left to her. She was frightened of her lovefor Peter. Marriage, she argued, would be--_must_ be--a shield andbuckler against the cry of her heart. If she were married she would beable to stifle her love, crush it out, behind those solid, unyieldingbars of conventional wedlock.
The fact of Peter's own marriage seemed to her rather dream-like.There lay the danger. They had never met until after his wife had lefthim, so that her impression of him as a married man was necessarily asomewhat vague and shadowy one.
But there would be nothing vague or shadowy about marriage with Trenby!That Nan realised. And, utterly weary of the persistent struggle inher heart, she felt that it might cut the whole tangle of her life onceand for all if she passed through the strait and narrow gate ofmatrimony into the carefully shepherded fold beyond it. After all,most women settled down to it in course of time, whether their husbandscame up to standard or not. If they didn't, the majority of wivescontrived to put up with the disappointment, and probably she herselfwould be so fully occupied with the putting up part of the businessthat she would not have much time in which to remember Peter.
But perhaps, had she known the inner thoughts of those women who havebeen driven into the "putting up" attitude towards their husbands, shewould have realised that memories do not die so easily.