CHAPTER XI
GOING WITH THE TIDE
As Nan, who had reluctantly complied with Kitty's stern decree that shemust rest in bed during the greater part of the following day, at lastdescended from her room, she discovered, much to her satisfaction, thather ankle had ceased to pain her. But she still felt somewhat stiffand sore after the knocking about of the previous day.
At dinner she was astonished to find that the house-party had decreasedby one. Ralph Fenton was absent.
"He left for town this morning, by the early train from St. WennysHalt," explained Kitty. "He was--was called away very suddenly," sheadded blandly, in answer to Nan's surprised enquiries.
A somewhat awkward pause ensued, then everybody rushed intoconversation at once, so that Nan could only guess that somecontretemps must have occurred between Penelope and the singer of whichshe was in ignorance. As soon as dinner was at an end she manoeuvredKitty into a corner and demanded an explanation.
"Why has Ralph gone away?" she asked. "And why did you look souncomfortable when I asked about him? And why did Penelope blush?"
"Could I have them one at a time?" suggested Kitty mildly.
"You can have them combined into one. Tell me, what's been happeningto-day?"
"Well, I gather that Ralph has been offering his hand and heart toPenelope."
"It seems to be epidemic," murmured Nan _sotto voce_.
"What did you say?"
"Only that it seems an odd proceeding for a newly-engaged young man togo careering off to London immediately."
"But he isn't engaged--that's just it. Penelope refused him."
"Refused him? But--but why?" asked Nan in amazement.
"You'd better ask her yourself. Perhaps you can get some sense out ofher--since you appear to be the chief stumbling-block."
"I?"
"Yes. I saw Ralph before he went away. He seemed very down on hisluck, poor dear! He's been trying to persuade Penelope to say yes andto fix an early date for their wedding, as he's got the offer of a verygood short tour in America--really thumping fees--and he won't acceptit unless she'll marry him first and go with him."
"Well, I don't see how that's my fault."
"In a way it is. The only reason Penelope gave him as to why shewouldn't consent was that she will never marry as long as you need her."
Nan digested this information in silence. Then she said quietly:
"If that's all, you can take off your sackcloth and ashes and phoneRalph at his hotel to come back here to-morrow. I'll--I'll talk toPenelope to-night."
Kitty stared at her in surprise.
"You seem very sure of the effect of your persuasions," she answereddubiously.
"I am. Quite sure. It won't take me five minutes to convince Penelopethat there is no need for her to remain in a state of singleblessedness on my account. And now, I'm going out of doors to have asmoke all by myself. You were quite right"--smiling briefly--"when yousaid I should feel everything more to-day than yesterday. Do keeppeople away from me, there's a good soul."
Kitty gave her a searching glance. But for two spots of feverishlyvivid colour in her cheeks, the girl's face was very pale, and her eyesover-bright, with heavy shadows underlying them.
"Very well," she said kindly. "Tuck yourself up in one of the loungechairs and I'll see that no one bothers you."
But Nan was in no mood for a lounge chair. Lighting a cigarette, shepaced restlessly up and down the flagged path of the quadrangularcourt, absorbed in her thoughts.
It seemed to her as though Fate had suddenly given her a gentle push inthe direction of marriage with Roger. She knew now that Penny hadrefused Ralph solely on her account--so that she might not be leftalone. If she could go to her and tell her that she herself was aboutto marry Trenby, then the only obstacle which stood in the way ofPenelope's happiness would be removed. Last night her thoughts hadswung from side to side in a ceaseless ding-dong struggle ofindecision, but this new factor in the matter weighted the scalesheavily in favour of her marrying Trenby.
At last she made up her mind. There were two chances, two avenueswhich might lead away from him. Should both of these be closed againsther, she would yield to the current of affairs which now seemed set tosweep her into his arms.
She would use her utmost persuasions to induce Penelope to marry RalphFenton, irrespective of whether she herself proposed to enter thematrimonial state or not. That was the first of her two chances. Forif she succeeded in prevailing upon Penelope to retract her refusal ofRalph, she would feel that she had dealt at least one blow against thefate which seemed to be driving her onward. The urgency of that lastpush towards Roger would be removed! Then if Penelope remainedobdurate, to-morrow she would tell Trenby frankly that she had no love,but only liking, to give him, and she would insist upon his facing thefact that there had been someone else in her life who had first claimupon her heart. That would be her other chance. And should Roger--aswell he might--refuse to take second best, then willy-nilly she wouldbe once more thrust forth into the troublous sea of longing and desire.But if he still wanted her--why, then she would have been quite honestwith him and it would seem to be her destiny to be his wife. She wouldleave it at that--leave it for chance, or fate, or whatever it is thatshapes our ends, to settle a matter that, swayed as she was by opposingforces, she was unable to decide for herself.
She heaved a sigh of relief. After those wretched, interminable hoursof irresolution, when love, and fear of that same love, had torturedher almost beyond bearing, it was an odd kind of comfort to feel thatshe had given herself two chances, and, if both failed, to know thatshe must abide by the result.
The turmoil of her mind drove her at last almost insensibly towards thelow, wide wall facing the unquiet sea. Here she sat down, stillabsorbed in her thoughts, her gaze resting absently on the incomingtide below. She was conscious of a strange feeling of communion withthe shifting, changeful waters.
As far as eye could see the great billows of the Atlantic,silver-crested in the brilliant moonlight, came tumbling shoreward,breaking at last against the inviolate cliffs with a dull, boomingnoise like the sound of distant guns. Then came the suction ofretreat, as the beaten waves were hurled backwards from the fierceheadlands in a grey tumult of surging waters, while the big stones andpebbles over which they swirled clashed and ground together, roaringunder the pull of the outgoing current--that "drag" of which anyCornish seaman will warn a stranger in the grave tones of one who knowsits peril.
To right and left, at the foot of savage cliffs black against thesilver moonlight, Nan could see the long combers roll in and break intoa cloud of upflung spray, girdling the wild coast with a zone of misty,moonlit spray that must surely have been fashioned in some dim world offaery.
She sat very still, watching the eternal battle between sea and shore,and the sheer splendour of it laid hold of her, so that for a littlewhile everything that troubled her was swept away. For the moment shefelt absolutely happy.
Always the vision, of anything overwhelmingly beautiful seemed to fillher soul, drawing with it the memories of all that had been beautifulin life. And watching this glory of moon and sea and shore, Nan feltstrangely comforted. Maryon Rooke had no part in it, nor Roger Trenby.But her love for Peter and his for her seemed one and indivisible withit. That, and music--the two most beautiful things which had enteredinto her life.
. . . A bank of cloud, slowly spreading upward from the horizon,suddenly clothed the moon in darkness, wiping out the whole landscape.Only the ominous boom of the waves and the roar of the struggling beachstill beat against Nan's ears.
The vision had fled, and the grim realities of life closed round heronce again.
Late that evening she slipped into a loose wrapper--a verycharacteristic little garment of lace and ribbons and clingingsilk--and marched down the corridor to Penelope's room. The latter wasdiligently brushing her hair, but at Nan's abrupt entrance she laiddown the brush resignedly. She had sma
ll doubt as to the primary causeof this late visit.
"Well?" she said, a faintly humorous twinkle gleaming in the depths ofher brown eyes, although there were tired shadows underneath them."Well?"
"Yes, you dear silly woman, of course you know what I've come about,"responded Nan, ensconcing herself on the cushioned window seat.
"I'd know better if you were to explain."
"Then--in his words--why have you refused Ralph Fenton?"
"Oh, is that it?"--indifferently. "Because I don't want to marry--atpresent." And Penelope picked up her brush and resumed the brushing ofher hair as though the matter were at an end.
"So that's why you told him--as your reason for refusing him--that youwouldn't marry him as long as I needed you?"
The hair-brush clattered to the floor.
"The idiot!--I suppose he told Kitty?" exclaimed Penelope, making adive after her brush.
"Yes, he did. And Kitty told me. And now I've come to tell you that Ientirely decline to be a reason for your refusing to marry a nice youngman like Ralph."
Penelope was silent, and Nan, coming over to her side, slipped an armabout her shoulders.
"Dear old Penny! It was just like you, but if you think I'm going tolet you make a burnt-offering of yourself in that way, you're mistaken.Do you suppose"--indignantly--"that I can't look after myself?"
"I'm quite sure of it."
"Rubbish! Why, I've got Kitty and Uncle David and oh! dozens of peopleto look after me!"
Penelope's mouth set itself in an obstinate line.
"I shall never marry till you do, Nan . . . because not one of the'dozens' understand your--your general craziness as well as I do."
Nan laughed.
"That's rude--though a fairly accurate statement. But still, Pennydear, just to please me, will you marry Ralph?"
"No"--with promptitude--"I certainly won't. If I married him at all,it would be to please myself."
"Well," wheedled Nan, "wouldn't it please you--really?"
"We can't always do as we please in this world."
Nan grimaced.
"Hoots, lassie! Now you're talking like Aunt Eliza."
Penelope continued brushing her hair serenely and vouchsafed no answer.
Nan renewed the attack.
"It amounts to this, then--that I've got to get married in order to letRalph marry you!"
"Of course it doesn't!"
"Well, answer me this: If I were going to be married, would you giveRalph a different answer?"
"I might"--non-committally.
"Then you may as well go and do it. As I _am_ going to be married--toRoger Trenby."
"To Roger! Nan, you don't mean it? It isn't true?"
"It is--perfectly true. Have you anything to say againstit?"--defiantly.
"Everything. He's the last man in the world to make you happy."
"Time will decide that. In any case he's coming on Monday for myanswer. And that will be 'yes.' So you and Ralph can have your bannsput up with a clear conscience--as the only just cause and impedimentis now removed."
Penelope was silent.
"You ought to be rather pleased with me than otherwise," insisted Nan.
When at length Penelope replied, it was with a certain gravity.
"My dear, matrimony is one of the affairs of life in which it is fatalto accept second best. You can do it in hats and frocks--it's merely amatter of appearances--although you'll never get quite the samesatisfaction out of them. But you can't do it in boots and shoes. Youhave to walk in those--and the second best wear out at once. Matrimonyis the boots and shoes of life."
"Well, at least it's better to have the second quality--than to gobarefoot."
"I don't think so. Nan, do wait a little. Don't, in a fit of angrypique over Maryon Rooke, go and bind yourself irrevocably to someoneelse."
"Penny, the bluntness of your methods is deplorable. Instead ofinsinuating that I am accepting Roger as a _pis-aller_, it would bemore seemly if you would congratulate me and--wish me luck."
"I do--oh, I do, Nan. But, my dear--"
"No buts, please. Surely I know my own business best? I assure you,Roger and I will be a model couple--an example, probably, to you andRalph! You'll--you'll say 'yes' to him to-morrow when he comes backagain, won't you, Penny?"
"He isn't coming back to-morrow."
"I think he is." Nan smiled. "You'll say 'yes' then?"
Penelope looked at her very straightly.
"Would you marry Roger in any case--whether I accepted Ralph or not?"she asked.
Nan lied courageously.
"I should marry Roger in any case," she answered quietly.
A long silence ensued. Presently Nan broke it, her voice a littlesharpened by the tension of the moment.
"So when Ralph comes back you'll be--kind to him, Penny? You'll givehim the answer he wants?"
Penelope's face was hidden by a curtain of dark hair. After a momentan affirmative came softly from behind the curtain.
With a sudden impulse Nan threw her arms round her and kissed her.
"Oh, Penny! Penny! I do hope you'll be _very_ happy!" she exclaimedin a stifled voice. Then slipped from the room like a shadow--verynoiselessly and swiftly--to lie on her bed hour after hour staring upinto the blackness with wide, tearless eyes until sheer bodilyexhaustion conquered the tortured spirit which could find neither restnor comfort, and at last she slept.