Читать книгу The Indian Bangle - Fergus Hume - Страница 16

When Olive saw who was standing on the lawn, she felt very much inclined to fly from so dear yet dangerous a foe. But maidenly pride came to her aid, and, doing violence to her feelings, the better to conceal them, she saluted Mr. Mallow with so much frigidity as rather to disconcert that young gentleman.

"Mr. Dimbal told me that you were here," she said. "He saw you at Reading Station yesterday."

"Mr. Dimbal is very kind to save me the trouble of announcing myself," said Mallow' dryly. "So unimportant a person as I am should feel much flattered."

"No friend is unimportant, Mr. Mallow," reproved Miss Bellairs, gently.

"I believe that--when there is something substantial to be gained from the friendship."

"What a cruel remark!" cried Tui, shaking her head. "I hope you do not practise what you preach, Mr. Mallow."

"Mallow's bark is worse than his bite," chimed in Aldean.

"And the horse is the noblest of all animals," said Mallow' ironically. "Go on, Aldean; I love these dry chips from the tree of knowledge."

"The Hebrew tree of knowledge was stolen by them from the Chaldeans," said Miss Slarge, loudly. "The serpent legend, so intimately connected with it, came from the same source. Well, young people, I must really return to my studies. Lord Aldean--Mr. Mallow; I hope you will both stay to luncheon?"

Aldean consulted Mallow by a side look, but seeing no encouragement in his moody face refused the invitation on behalf of them both; whereat Miss Slarge shook hands in the nineteenth-century fashion, and returned to her studies and the primæval days when Nimrod began to be a mighty one on the earth. The four young people were left standing, and a short silence prevailed, which was broken by Mallow.

"'Hence, loathed melancholy!'" he spouted theatrically; "we have had enough of that dismal goddess. Miss Bellairs, smile; Aldean, make a joke; Miss Ostergaard, laugh for goodness' sake."

"I can't," replied the last-named lady, "until Lord Aldean makes his joke. One can't make bricks without straw or mirth without jests."

"I always have to think out my jokes," said Aldean, innocently; which remark brought forth the required mirth.

"You are like the man whose impromptus took him years to invent," said Olive, beginning to be merry. "Mr. Mallow, what is the latest news from town?"

"Men are in love; thieves are in gaol, and women still use looking-glasses."

"Also Queen Anne is dead," laughed Tui, swinging her basket. "Oysters and news should both be fresh, yet you talk truisms."

"Have you heard of that awful murder?" put in Aldean. "Murder! Oh, the horrid word, you make me shudder!"

"Aldean is like the fat boy in Pickwick," said Mallow, and quoted, "I wants to make your flesh creep.'"

"Is that the Athelstane Place crime, Lord Aldean?" asked Olive.

"Yes. Fellow was killed with a knitting-needle. I wonder who did it?"

"A woman, you may be sure."

"What makes you think so, Miss Bellairs?" demanded Mallow, quickly.

"Because men don't use knitting-needles, and women do," replied the girl. "I dare say it was a case of jealousy."

"Perhaps; but even a jealous woman would hesitate to cut off the right hand of a dead lover."

"Unless she came from the East," said Aldean, suddenly.

"Why should she come from the East?"

"Well, the Morning Planet says that the man came from India."

"From India!" cried Olive and Tui in one breath; and their thoughts centred at once on Angus Carson.

"Oh, that is only a theory of the newspaper!" said Mallow, hastily. "Can't you find a pleasanter subject to talk about, Aldean?"

"Yes," replied Aldean, looking meaningly at Tui. "Only----"

"Only I am wasting my time, and you are helping me to do so," cried that young lady, briskly. "I must tie up my roses."

"Let me help you."

"I am afraid your help would be a hindrance," said Miss Ostergaard, as she moved towards the house, followed by her huge admirer. "However, if you are very, very good, you may hold the ball of string."

Left alone with Mallow, Olive felt in so dangerous a position that she assumed a demeanour even more reserved.

"So Mr. Carson has arrived in England," remarked the young man, gloomily.

"Yes; who told you so?"

"Mr. Dimbal, the lawyer. Of course, it is an open secret that you are to marry him."

"I see no reason why it should be a secret at all," retorted Olive, with a flush. "If my father wished for the marriage, no one can say a word against it."

"I am not saying a word against it. If I did, I should probably say too much."

"Then don't let us discuss the subject," said Olive, hurriedly; "you only make my position the harder."

"Do you consider it hard?"

"You have no right to ask me that question, Mr. Mallow."

"I beg your pardon," said the young man, reddening. "I admit that I have no right--unless you give me one."

"Mr. Mallow, I really do not understand you."

"I don't understand myself, Miss Bellairs; usually I am not timid when I should be bold."

"'Be bold--be bold, but be not over bold,'" quoted Olive, trying to turn off his speech with a laugh--an attempt which Mallow resolutely refused to countenance.

"I suppose you will marry Mr. Carson?" he inquired anxiously.

"I suppose I shall," replied Miss Bellairs, with a coolness she was far from feeling.

"Is it absolutely certain?"

Olive felt a quiver pass through her frame, and it was with difficulty she prevented her emotion from overcoming her. She thought of the man who was coming to claim her, the man she had never even seen; of the undeclared lover who was by her side dreading the answer which she should give. Finally the memory of the sealed letter, with its menace of coming evil passed through her mind, and dictated the reply--

"It is absolutely certain--absolutely."

"In that case there is nothing for me to do but to offer you the customary congratulations on your--your good fortune."

"My good fortune!" she burst out. "My good--oh yes, of course. Thank you, Mr. Mallow. I congratulate you, in my turn, on your penetration." And before he could recover from his amazement at this attack, she flitted across the lawn, swept past the astonished couple on the steps, and vanished into the house.

This incident brought the visit to a close, for as Olive did not reappear to explain her sudden anger, Mallow said good-bye to Miss Ostergaard, and departed with the reluctant Aldean. The young lord, guessing that his friend and Olive had come to words, more than expected to have a peevish companion for his homeward walk, instead of which Mallow was quite uproariously merry. By this time he had fathomed the cause of Olive's wrath, and he cursed himself for a fool not to have seen and known that she was not the woman to wear her heart upon her sleeve. Her sudden retreat after her foolish speech had been the result of fear at having betrayed her real feelings. These were not for Carson, he was sure of that now, but for himself--Olive loved him; and whether the pre-arranged marriage took place or not, nothing could alter that fact. As the thought became conviction, Mallow found it impossible to suppress the joy he felt, and he forthwith indulged in antics which would have shamed a schoolboy.

"What is it?" asked Aldean, amazed at this conduct in so grave a man.

"What do you think it is, Jim?"

"Lunacy, I should say, on the face of it."

"No, my boy; but a word much the same in meaning, which begins with the same letter."

"Larking?" guessed the obtuse Jim, with a grin.

"I can't say much for your penetration, Lord Aldean," said Mallow, with a laugh. "Love is the word I mean--love is the feeling which thrills me, for 'to-day the birthday of my life is come.'"

"One would think you had been celebrating the occasion with strong drink," retorted Jim, soberly. "Have you spoken to Miss Bellairs?"

"No, sir; I have done nothing so foolish."

"Then has she perhaps given you to understand----"

"Of course not; do you think for one moment she is the woman to do such a thing?"

"I don't know; once or twice girls have pretty near proposed to me. I've had some trouble with them, I can tell you. Then how do you know it is all right?"

"Because I do know."

"That isn't an answer; it's a statement."

"Then you will have to take the statement for your answer, my dear old thickhead. Olive loves me, the angel that she is."

"She ran away from you."

"I know she did, but she loves me."

"She was in a pelting rage; I saw her face."

"I know she was, but she loves me."

"Oh, come home," growled Aldean, putting his arm within that of his enigmatic friend. "You're a human cuckoo."

Mallow laughed, and went back to Kingsholme with an excellent appetite, which went to prove that he was no lover out of a sickly romance. For the next two or three days he made no attempt to see Olive, but lived on the memory of her self-betrayal. In spite of Jim's insidious hints that the pleasantest walks tended towards the Manor House, Laurence kept away. With his host he rode and drove and played golf. He spun over the country on his Humber, and fought Jim valiantly in singles on the tennis-lawn.

Then the news came that Angus Carson and his friend Major Semberry had arrived, and were in possession of the garden of flowers, and presumably of the nymphs who haunted it. Mallow's spirits suddenly went down to zero, and, in a moping mood, he worried Aldean for two whole days. On the third he resolved to meet his rival face to face; so, taking advantage of Aldean's absence at Reading, he walked over to the Manor House, and was duly shown into the drawing-room.

Remembering their last meeting, Olive blushed as she gave Mallow her hand. Then, to cover her confusion, she presented Mallow to a tall, slender young man in a grey tweed suit, with his right hand in a black silk sling.

"Mr. Mallow, this is Mr. Carson."

Laurence bowed, and as he did so he became aware of a faint drowsy odour.

It was the perfume of sandal-wood.