Footsteps of Fate Part 7

His brain was in a whirl while he spoke; never before had he a.s.sumed such a haughty tone in addressing Frank, but it was like a cry of despair rising up from the ruins of his false pride.

"But, good G.o.d, man! what do you expect?" exclaimed Westhove. "You know all my friends, and it is only through my friends that I can hope to help you."

"I will take no help from any one like the men of our own club, nor from any one to whom you have introduced me as their equal."

"That certainly makes the case a difficult one," said Westhove, with a sharp laugh, for great wrath was rising up in him. "Then you have nothing to say to this?"

"Nothing."

"But what on earth do you want?" said Frank, indignantly.

"For the moment, nothing."

"For the moment--well and good; but by-and-by?"

"That I will see all in good time. And if you cannot be more considerate--"

He stopped short, startled by his own voice. He was speaking loudly--as it would seem with domineering vehemence, but in fact only with the energy of despairing indolence and pride at bay. The two men looked at each other for a few seconds, each suddenly feeling as though he had a store of buried grievances against the other--grievances which had acc.u.mulated in spite of the friendly intimacy of their lives, and which they were on the point now of flinging in each other's teeth as foul insults.

But Van Maeren checked his outburst. He recollected himself, or he had not forgotten himself. He smiled and held out his hand:

"Forgive me, Frank," he said, humbly, with that voice like beaten gold, and that mitigating smile; "I know you meant well. I can never, no, never, repay you for all you have done for me. But this place I cannot really accept. I would rather be a waiter, or the conductor of a tramcar. Forgive me if I seem ungrateful."

So they made it up. But Westhove thought this pride on his companion's part ridiculous, and was vexed that the whole affair must remain a secret from Eva. He would have liked to consult her on the subject. And it was with a deeper frown and more scowling glance that he watched those two, Bertie and Eva, as they sat side by side in the evening in the subdued light of the blue-shaded lamp, chatting like brother and sister. It was like some covert dishonesty. It was all he could do to keep from proclaiming aloud that Bertie was a parasite, a low fellow, from tearing them apart, from s.n.a.t.c.hing them away from their blissful smiling and guileless intimacy as they discussed furniture and hangings.

VII.

After this ineffectual attempt to help Van Maeren his friend took no further trouble, expecting that when the case became urgent Bertie himself would ask his a.s.sistance. But Bertie's refusal led Frank to perceive for the first time the false position in which he had placed his companion, both with regard to himself and to his a.s.sociates; his kindness to a friend out of luck in allowing him to live for a year as a man of fortune struck him now--seen in the light of an attachment which had purified, renovated, and transformed his whole nature--as indescribably preposterous, as trampling on every law of honour and veracity; an unjustifiable mockery of the good faith of the world he lived in. Formerly he had thought all this very amusing, but now he felt that it was mean, base, to have enjoyed such amus.e.m.e.nt as this. And he understood that he had himself encouraged the growth, as of some poisonous weed, of Van Maeren's false pride, which now forbade him to accept a favour from any one of their boon companions.

The days glided by, and Westhove could not shake off the sense of self-reproach, which, indeed, grew upon him as time went on. Van Maeren cast a shadow over the happiness of his love. Eva saw that some dull grief made him silent; he would sit brooding for many minutes at a time--his brows knit and a deep furrow across his forehead.

"What ails you, Frank?"

"Nothing, my darling."

"Are you still jealous?"

"No. I will cure myself of it."

"Well, you see, it is your own fault; if you had not always sung the praises of Bertie as your best friend I should never have become so intimate with him."

Yes, it was his own fault; that he saw very clearly.

"And are you satisfied with me now?" she asked, laughing.

He, too, laughed. For indeed it was true; for Frank's sake she had now suddenly changed her behaviour to Bertie; she would rise and quit the sofa where they sat while he was yet speaking; she sometimes contradicted him, reproached him for his foppishness, and laughed at him for his dainty little hands. He looked at her in amazement, fancied she meant it for flirtation, but could not understand what she would be at.

One evening, for hour after hour, she pestered him with petty annoyances, pin-p.r.i.c.ks, which she intended should rea.s.sure Frank and not wound Bertie too deeply. The conversation presently turned on heraldry, and Sir Archibald wanted to show the two men the blazoned roll of his family tree. Frank rose, ready to follow him to his study, and Bertie did the same. Eva felt a little compunction, thinking she had carried her teasing rather far this time, and she knew that her father's pedigree would not interest him in the least.

"Leave Bertie here, papa," said she. "He knows nothing about heraldry."

And, at the same time, to comfort Frank, who dared not betray his jealousy, she added lightly, with a mollifying twinkle of her long eye-lashes:

"Frank will trust us alone together, I daresay!"

Her voice was so simple, her glance so loving, that Frank smiled and nodded trustfully, though annoyed at seeing Bertie sit down again.

As soon as they were alone Bertie began:

"For shame, Eva, how could you torment me as you have been doing?"

She laughed and blushed, a little ashamed of herself for treating him so to please Frank. But Bertie's face was grave, and with an appealing gesture he folded his hands, and said beseechingly: "Promise me that you will not do so again."

She gazed at him in surprise at his earnest tone; "It is only my fun,"

said she.

"But a form of fun which is suffering to me," he replied in a low voice.

And still she looked at him, not understanding. He sat huddled up, his head on his breast, his eyes fixed before him, and his brown hair, which waved a little over his forehead, clinging to his temples, which were damp with perspiration. He was evidently much agitated. He had no idea what might come of this dialogue, but he was aware that his tone had been solemn, that these first words might be the prelude to a very important interview. He felt that these few minutes were destined to become a precious link in the chain of his life, and he waited with the patience of a fatalist for the thoughts which should take shape in his brain, and the words which should rise to his lips. He kept an eye on himself, as it were, and at the same time spun a web about Eva, as a spider entangles a fly in the thread it draws out of its bowels.

"You see," he went on slowly, "I cannot bear that you should torment me so. You think less well of me than you used. But if I have little hands, I cannot help it."

She could not forbear a smile at the intentionally coquettish tone he had a.s.sumed, an affectation of spoilt-childishness which she saw through at once. But she replied, nevertheless:

"Well, I beg your pardon for teasing you. I will not do so again."

He, however, had risen from his chair, and, pretending not to see the hand she held out, he silently went to the window, and stood there looking out on the park-like greenery of Kensington Gardens, dimmed with mist. She sat still, waiting for him to speak; but he said nothing.

"Are you angry, Bertie?"

Then he slowly turned round. The grey daylight fell through the muslin curtains, and gave a pallid look--a hue of Parian china--to his delicate features. Very gently, with a deep, melancholy smile, he shook his head in negation. And to her romantic fancy the sadness of that smile gave him a poetic interest as of a youthful G.o.d or a fallen angel; the celestial softness of a s.e.xless mythological being, such as she had seen in ill.u.s.trated books of verse; a man in form, a woman in face. She longed to invite him to pour out his woes; and at this moment it would scarcely have surprised her if his speech had sounded like a rhythmical monologue, a long lament in blank verse.

"Bertie, my dear fellow, what is the matter?"

There he stood speechless, in the pale slanting light, knowing that the effect must be almost theatrical. And she, sitting where it was darker, could see that his eyes glistened through tears. Much moved, she went up to him; she took his hand, and made him sit down by her side.

"Speak Bertie, have I vexed you? Can you not tell me?"

But again he shook his head, with that faint smile. And at last he said huskily:

"No, Eva, I am not vexed. I can be vexed no more. But I am very, very sad because we must so soon part, and I care for you so much--"

"Part! Why? Where are you going?"

"Indeed, I do not myself know that, sweet girl. I shall remain till you are married, and then I must go, to wander hither and thither quite alone. Will you sometimes think of me, I wonder?"