The Limit Part 41

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

ROMER OVERHEARS

Romer started to go by himself for a five-mile walk, leaving Daphne, Valentia and Harry in the garden, but a nail in his boot hurt so much that, after the first half-mile, Romer decided he couldn't stand it any longer, and would walk back, go quietly in, and then surprise them by coming to tea in the garden.

He was gone a very short time, but he hastened his steps, looking forward immensely to the removal of the boot, and also to seeing Valentia again.

Lately he had been more than ever devoted to her. Ever since they had been at the Green Gate she had been specially gentle and charming--but not nearly so lively as usual. Sometimes she looked quite anxious and preoccupied. He thought, too, that she was occasionally irritable; which was unlike her--and her spirits varied continually.

He asked her one day what was the matter, and she a.s.sured him that there was nothing, so he believed her. But he was always thinking about her, trying to find some means to please her. He was dissatisfied about her.

He came back, went into his room, and his spirits incalculably raised by the cessation of the torture, he went and sat by the window, and looked out at the lovely garden.

It was a hot summer day; a little wind was in the trees.

Exactly under the window, on the little verandah, sat Harry with Valentia. Daphne was no longer there.

They were talking; and talking, it seemed to him, in an agitated way.

Leaning a little over he could see Valentia on a bamboo chair. To his horror he saw that she was crying.

Harry, speaking in a suppressed but rather angry voice, appeared to be trying to comfort her.

Without a second's hesitation or a moment's scruple, Romer intently listened. He did not hide or draw behind the curtain. He remained in full view, in the window, so that they could see him easily if they happened to look up. But they did not; they were far too much preoccupied.... He heard Harry speaking volubly, saying, in a tone of irritated apology and explanation--

"My dear girl, I do wish to heaven you wouldn't take it like that. I haven't changed--I never shall. I don't care two straws about Miss Walmer. But really, it is such a splendid chance for me! You ought no more to expect me to give it up than any other good business opportunity that might crop up."

"I should never see you again," she answered, her voice broken by sobs.

"Yes, you would. We should be the same as ever. You know we can't do without each other. You're part of my life."

He spoke casually, but with irritation, as if mentioning a self-evident fact.

"Oh yes, you say that," she answered sadly. "But nothing could alter the fact that you wish to be treacherous, and throw me over--and just for money! It's simply degrading. It's all nonsense to say it will be just the same!"

"Well, of course--for a time--immediately after the marriage--it couldn't be; but it would gradually drift into very much the same."

"It wouldn't, even if it could, because I should never see you again,"

she repeated.

Harry stood up with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders raised.

Romer could see his face quite plainly, and wondered at its hard, selfish, almost cruel expression.

"Well, if you won't you won't," he said. "How can I waste all my life dangling after a woman who is married to somebody else? I should be only too delighted--if I could afford it. But I can't, and that's the brutal truth. And then, you know, there has been a little talk. That mother-in-law of yours has been gossiping about us. Some day, Romer's bound to get hold of it, and then where shall we be? Don't you see, dear," he went on more gently, "this will stop all that? Wouldn't it be better for me to be married--just in this official sort of way--to remain in England, and be able to see you just the same as ever--very soon--than to go out to the colonies or somewhere, and never see you again at all? There's no doubt I've got to do something. I'm in a frightful hole. Seven thousand a year--a place in the country--and a decent sort of girl, dropped down on me, as it were, from heaven! I hadn't the slightest idea of such luck--and hadn't any pretensions to it. But the girl has taken a liking to me, and her mother wants to get her married. It's ugly--unromantic--but there are the facts. If you cared for me really, I shouldn't think you would want to stand in my way."

"Very well, do it, then," she said, drying her eyes. "If you can speak in this heartless way it shows you are very different from what I believed you. But it will kill me; I shall never get over it."

She was rus.h.i.+ng away when Harry caught her hand and stopped her.

"Listen," he said, in an impressive voice. "Go to your room, bathe your eyes, and calm yourself down. Make no more scenes, for heaven's sake, and we'll see what can be done."

"Oh, Harry, really--_is_ there any hope? Or are you deceiving me again?"

"I've almost agreed to it, you know," he said. "Still, there's not what one could call an actual engagement yet. At any rate, it might be delayed. I'll see; I'll think--really if I weren't so hard up I wouldn't do it."

"Oh, Harry!" A gleam of joy came into her eyes, and she clasped her hands.

"Then you won't worry me any more about it for the next few days?" he asked.

"I promise;" and smiling sweetly through her tears she left him, going into the house. Her room, on the same floor as Romer's, was at the other end of the corridor, so she did not even pa.s.s his door, and had not the slightest idea that he was at home.

He was still at the window, looking out apparently at the garden.

Harry gave an impatient sigh, lit a cigarette and strolled off through the garden.

It had been about three o'clock when Romer had come in and sat down by the window. He was still there in precisely the same position at seven, when his valet brought his hot water.

But Romer could not dress and go down to dinner. He could not see them till he had made up his mind what to do. He always thought slowly, and now he was acutely anxious to make no mistake. He felt that by the slightest wrong move he might lose Valentia altogether. That, at least, was his instinctive dread. He sent Valentia a message that he had to go up to London to see his mother, and would be back the next day. He arranged that she did not get the message till he was driving to the station--just before dinner.

He went up to London and stayed at an hotel, but did not go to his mother's, and thought nearly all night till he had made a resolution.

Then he slept till nine o'clock, feeling much happier. He remembered clearly that Harry was coming to town and going to the studio on this day, as he often did. He calculated that he would be likely to arrive by the quick early morning train, and was standing waiting at the door of the studio at twelve o'clock when Harry drove up, looking intensely surprised, with hand outstretched, cordial and delighted.

"My dear fellow, how jolly of you to remember I was coming up! Come in, come in! I've only got this bothering business to attend to, then we'll lunch together, and go back by the four train, shall we? You won't have to stop on here, will you?"

"I don't know," said Romer, as he followed Harry.

"Your mother's not ill, I hope," said Harry, throwing himself into an arm-chair.

"I don't think so," said Romer; "she's at Bournemouth."

"Bournemouth! How like her! But you haven't been down there to see her?"

"No."

"Are you going?"

"Don't think so."

"Then it isn't your mother that brought you up to town, old chap?"

"No."

"Is anything wrong?" asked Harry, after a moment's pause.