Читать книгу The Black Cabinet - Dora Amy Elles - Страница 10

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Chloe danced again with Tim Renton, a cheerful youth with a free tongue and a good conceit of himself.

“What’s happened to you?” he said. “No chit-chat, no light and airy badinage—in fact, no anything! Make a remark about the weather, there’s a good soul, or the whole of Maxton will say that I’ve proposed to you and been turned down. I should hate that.”

“Which part of it?”

Tim Renton grinned.

“Being turned down, of course. What on earth did the old buffer who looks as if he’d just come out of cold storage say or do to cast such a horrid blight?”

“I’m not in the least blighted,” said Chloe.

“Well, you look it. Did he say, ‘Fly with me, and with all my worldly millions I will thee endow,’ or words to that effect?”

Chloe tried to look very severe.

“Tim, you haven’t any manners at all. I don’t know why I dance with you.”

“I expect it’s because I’m so beautiful,” said Tim. He had the kind of ugly, flat face that goes with green eyes, freckles, and a grin.

Chloe laughed, and felt more cheerful.

“If he was proposing that you should fly with him, I wouldn’t go—I don’t believe even the millions would make it worth while. Lady Gresson says he is going to adopt you; but, personally, I should hate to be adopted by a sort of survival from the ice age. Now you go right ahead and tell me just what kind of a neck I’ve got to butt in on your affairs. You’ll do it awfully well, and I shan’t mind a bit, so we’ll both be quite happy. Your lead, partner!”

The bright, angry colour ran up into Chloe’s cheeks.

“How dare Lady Gresson go about talking like that! It’s not her business. I should think Mr. Dane would be furious.” Then, with a sudden change of manner, “Tim, why did you say that?”

“Say what?”

“You know—about Mr. Dane. If he did want to adopt me, why shouldn’t I say ‘Yes’?”

For once in his life Tim Renton looked serious. The ugly face showed a promise of strength and sense.

“I don’t know. I was chaffing.”

“But you meant something.”

“I don’t know what I meant. At least——”

“Tell me!” said Chloe imperiously.

“My dear girl, there’s nothing to tell. I like you; and I don’t like him—that’s all.”

The words kept coming back to Chloe then and later. As nearly as possible they defined the indefinable. There are people you like, and people you don’t like. You don’t always know why you like people; and you don’t always know why you dislike them.

Chloe did not let her other partners find her silent; but the bloom had gone from the evening. She did not dance again with Martin Fossetter. Of course, as Chloe put it quite firmly to herself, she did not care in the very, very least whether Martin Fossetter asked her to dance with him or not. It vexed her to think how intimately she had talked to him that afternoon at Ranbourne; and of course it would have been pleasant to have had the opportunity of snubbing him a little. She had, in point of fact, made up her mind to be very distant to Mr. Fossetter, and it was annoying not to have been able to put this good resolution to the proof.

Towards the end of the evening Bernard Austin succeeded in producing his rather well-worn proposal.

“You can’t say there are eight hundred people looking on now, Chloe, and I must have it out with you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” said Chloe crossly. “It’s not the slightest use. I can’t think why you want to when you know it isn’t the slightest use.”

Chloe had been sitting out an interval with Jack Renton. She made a movement to rise, but Bernard dropped into the empty chair beside her.

“It’s this way,” he began. “You say it’s no good; but as long as I go on seeing you I have the feeling that in the end you’ll listen to me. Why shouldn’t you? I’m making enough to give you a comfortable home; and a schoolmaster is like a doctor—he’s bound to get married. Indeed, he’s much more bound to get married than a doctor is. As a matter of fact, and quite apart from being in love with you, I’m bound to get married.” He brought an acquisitive gaze to bear upon Chloe, and said firmly, “I need a wife.”

When Bernard Austin talked like that Chloe always wanted to box his ears. Having received a refined education at the hands of Miss Tankerville, she restrained herself; but the tips of her fingers tingled badly.

“I need a wife,” repeated Bernard Austin. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “As a bachelor, I am at a distinct disadvantage. Parents expect one to have a wife. Mrs. Methven Smith told me only yesterday that she would send all her six boys to me if I were only married. The eldest is eight. She said she couldn’t feel any confidence that their underclothing would be changed at the proper times in the spring and autumn unless I had a wife that she could write to about it. I told her the school matron was most efficient; but she said that a wife would take more interest. I must have a wife.”

“You can have twenty so long as I’m not one of them,” said Chloe sharply.

“I only want you,” said Bernard. “Mrs. Methven Smith——”

“My good Bernard,” said Chloe, “I haven’t the slightest intention of marrying anyone for ages. And when I do get married, it won’t be because I’ve got a passionate desire to talk about vests and pyjamas to Mrs. Methven Smith.”

Bernard looked pained.

“A wife should identify herself with her husband’s work. She should throw her whole heart into it. She——”

“Good gracious, Bernard, do stop!” said Chloe in an exasperated voice. “When you’ve got a wife, she can do all those things; but they don’t interest me. Do you hear?—they simply don’t interest me. I’m not your wife; and I’m not going to be your wife.” She sprang up as she spoke. “I don’t want to be anybody’s wife; I want to dance.” She laughed over her shoulder at him. “You dance a heap better than you make love, Bernard. Look here, I’ll give you a really good tip,” she added as he got up and gave her his arm. “It won’t work with me, but it might with some one else. Next time you propose to a girl—no, don’t interrupt; it’s rude—next time, you try telling her what a lot of interest you’re going to take in her and how you’re going to put your whole heart into making her happy. And—don’t talk so much about yourself.”

Chloe got home before Rose because Lady Gresson did not stay to the end of the ball, and Edward Anderson did. Chloe was sitting up in bed when Rose came in, pretty and glowing in the pink frock that she had made herself. She flung off her coat, and sank down on the bed with an “Oh, Chloe, such heaps to tell you!”

“So have I,” said Chloe.

“And you mustn’t mind—Chloe darling, you must promise not to mind, or it will spoil everything.”

Chloe roused herself from her own thoughts and plans. Something must have happened to make Rose look like this, so flushed and tremulous.

“What is it?” she asked. “Tell me at once, ducky!”

Rose came nearer, flung an arm about Chloe’s shoulders, and hid her face in Chloe’s neck.

“You mustn’t mind—you must promise not to mind,” she whispered.

“What is it?”

“Edward has to go out a month earlier, and—and—oh, Chloe, we’ll have to be married next week; and I do so hate leaving you.”

Chloe felt a hot tear go trickling down the back of her neck. She put motherly arms about Rose and hugged her.

Danesborough seemed nearer.