The Knave of Diamonds Part 67

He was full of kindness to her that day, and she thought him cheerier than he had been all the winter. When she bade him good-bye that afternoon he seemed in excellent spirits. Yet after she was gone he lay for a long while staring at the specks of dust that danced in a shaft of sunlight, with the air of a man seeking the solution of a problem that baffled him. And once very suddenly he sighed.

Anne went through the ordeal of publicity with less embarra.s.sment than she had antic.i.p.ated. Mrs. Errol was with her, and she was surrounded by friends. Even Major s.h.i.+rley deigned to look upon her with a favourable eye. Bertie was hunting, but Dot was present to view the final achievement of her favourite scheme.

She seized the first opportunity to slip her arm through Anne's. "Do--do come home with me to tea," she whispered very urgently. "I want to show you some things I have been making. And make the dear mater come too, if someone else doesn't snap her up first."

But the dear mater was already snapped up, and Anne had some difficulty in avoiding a like fate.

Eventually, however, she succeeded in making her escape, and she and Dot drove back to the Dower House, congratulating themselves.

"I am lucky to get you all to myself," Dot said. "And do you know, dear Lady Carfax, you are looking simply lovely to-day?"

Anne smiled a little. She had discarded her widow's veil for the first time, and she felt like a woman emerging from a long imprisonment. People would call it premature, she knew. Doubtless they were already discussing her not too charitably. But after all, why should she consider them? The winter was past and over, and the gold of the coming spring was already dawning. Why should she mourn? Were not all regrets put away for ever?

"I wish you would call me Anne, Dot," she said.

"To be sure I will," said Dot, with s.h.i.+ning eyes. "I never liked the name before I knew you. And now I love it."

There was something wonderfully genuine and childlike about Dot, a youthfulness that would probably cling to her all her life. Anne drew her on to speak of herself and her coming happiness, which she did with that cheery simplicity of hers that had first drawn Bertie to her.

"He makes a tremendous fuss," she said, displaying Bertie's favourite dimple at the thought. "I don't, you know. I somehow feel it's going to be all right. But it's rather nice being petted for months together. I haven't had a tantrum for ages. I'm afraid I'm getting spoilt."

At which piece of logic Anne could not repress a smile.

"He won't be home to tea," said Dot, when they finally turned in at the Dower House. "He stables his hunters at Baronmead, and he is sure to go in and see Luke. So we shall have it all to ourselves. I'm so glad, for I have been wanting your advice for days. I wonder if anyone has been.

Hullo! Bertie's back after all!"

A glow of firelight met them from the little square hall as they entered, and a smell of cigarette smoke mingled with the scent from the burning logs.

Dot stood back for her guest to precede her, but Anne stood suddenly still.

"Hullo!" said Dot again.

A slim, straight figure was standing outlined against the firelight. Dot stared as she stepped forward.

"Why--Nap!" she said incredulously.

He made a swift, elastic movement to meet her, caught her hands, laughed, and kissed her.

"Why--Dot!" he said.

Dot continued to stare. "Good gracious!" she said.

And in the doorway Anne stood like a statue, the soft spring dusk behind her.

"My sister seems surprised," said Nap. "I hope I haven't come at an unlucky moment."

He did not even glance towards the silent figure in the doorway. It was as if he had not observed it.

"I am surprised," said Dot. "Hugely surprised. But I'm very glad to see you," she added. "When did you come?"

"I have been here about half an hour," he told her coolly. "I went to the Rectory first, where I learned for the first time of your marriage. You forgot to mention that detail when you wrote. Hence my brotherly salute, which you must have missed on your wedding-day!"

At this point Dot remembered her other guest, and turned with flushed cheeks. "Lady Carfax--Anne--you--you know my brother-in-law Nap?"

The pleading in her voice was unmistakable. She was evidently agitated, wholly at a loss how to manage a most difficult situation.

But Nap hastened to relieve her of the responsibility. He had dealt with difficult situations before. He went straight to Anne and stood before her.

"Are you going to know me, Lady Carfax?" he asked.

There was no arrogance in voice or bearing as he uttered the question. He looked as if he expected to be dismissed, as if he were ready at a word to turn and go. His eyes were lowered. His foot was already on the threshold.

But Anne stood speechless and rigid. For those few seconds she was as one stricken with paralysis. She knew that if she moved or tried to speak she would faint.

She wondered desperately how long it would be before he looked up, if perhaps he would go without looking at her, or if--ah, he was speaking again! His words reached her as from an immense distance. At the same instant his hands came to her out of a surging darkness that hid all things, grasping, sustaining, compelling. She yielded to them, scarcely knowing what she did.

"Lady Carfax has been overtiring herself," she heard him say. "Have you any brandy at hand?"

"Oh, dear Lady Carfax!" cried Dot in distress. "Make her sit down, Nap.

Here is a cus.h.i.+on. Yes, I'll go and get some."

Guided by those steady hands, Anne sank into a chair, and there the constriction that bound her began to pa.s.s. She s.h.i.+vered from head to foot.

Nap stooped over her and chafed her icy hands. He did not look at her or speak. When Dot came back, he took the gla.s.s from her and held it very quietly to the quivering lips.

She drank, responsive to his unspoken insistence, and as she did so, for a single instant she met his eyes. They were darkly inscrutable and gave her no message of any sort. She might have been accepting help from a total stranger.

"No more, please!" she whispered, and he took the gla.s.s away.

The front door was still open. He drew it wider, and the evening air blew in across her face. Somewhere away in the darkness a thrush was warbling softly. Nap stood against the door and waited. Dot knelt beside her, holding her hand very tightly.

"I am better," Anne said at last. "Forgive me, dear child. I suppose it has been--too much for me."

"My dear, dear Anne!" said Dot impulsively. "Would you like to come into the drawing-room? There is tea there. But of course we will have it here if you prefer it."

"No," Anne said. "No. We will go to the drawing-room."

She prepared to rise, and instantly Nap stepped forward. But he did not offer to touch her. He only stood ready.

When he saw that she had so far recovered herself as to be able to move with Dot's a.s.sistance, he dropped back.

"I am going, Dot," he said. "You will do better without me. I will look in again later."

And before Dot could agree or protest he had stepped out into the deepening twilight and was gone.