The Passion for Life Part 34

"But there, we will not talk about that any more. I shall expect you to-night, then, and will send down the car at a quarter to seven. No, no, I shall accept no refusal. That is settled. I dare not face my wife if I had to go back and say you would not come." And a wintry smile pa.s.sed over his face.

"I am like a moth fluttering in a candle," I said to myself as I put on my evening clothes that night. "Why should I be going to this man's house? Why should I eat of his dinner? Why should I throw myself into the society of this girl? She is nothing to me, never can be; in a way I positively dislike her, and yet I am always thinking about her."

"I am glad you are going out to-night, sir," said Simpson, as he helped me on with my fur-lined coat. "It must be very lonely for you night after night, sir, with no one to speak to. I hope you will have a pleasant evening, sir."

"It must be a little lonely for you too, Simpson, and I am afraid I try your patience sometimes." For the man had been with me for so long, and had served in our family for so many years, that I regarded him more as a friend than as a servant.

"No, sir, it is always a pleasure to serve you, sir."

He lit the lantern and walked ahead of me, as we went along the pathway through the copse.

"Shall I wait up for you, sir?" he added, as he held open the door of the car.

"I think you may as well, Simpson," I said. "I shall not be late."

A few minutes later I had reached Josiah Lethbridge's house, and was greeted warmly by Mrs. Lethbridge. I heard the sound of merry voices in the drawing-room close by, and was made somewhat angry that Mr.

Lethbridge had asked me this evening, especially as, in spite of what he had said, they were evidently giving a dinner-party that night. When I went into the drawing-room, however, I found only three people. A young man and woman, whom I took to be brother and sister, were the only guests besides myself. They were the son and daughter of the managing director of one of the Cornish banks, and had motored some twenty miles in order to be present. The man, Edward Barcroft, was a young fellow of about five-and-twenty, and I knew him to be a rich man's son. There was nothing striking about him. He was of medium height, somewhat stoutly built, and carried himself with an air of confidence. I did not like him, however. He seemed to be too sure of himself, too aggressive. Miss Barcroft was one of those placid, even-tempered girls who made me think of a German frau.

Before the evening was very far advanced, I could not help concluding that Edward Barcroft was a suitor for Isabella Lethbridge's hand, while, as it seemed to me, she was much flattered by his attentions. I do not think I had ever seen her look so handsome as she looked that night. I was never able to describe a woman's dress, but I could not help noticing that her clothes fitted her to perfection. They seemed a part of her. She was very gay, too. She laughed frequently, but her pleasantries grated upon me. Why, I could not tell. She paid me very little attention; indeed, she did not treat me as her guest at all. I had simply come there at the invitation of her father and mother, while she devoted all her attention to young Barcroft.

I have said that I had never seen Isabella Lethbridge looking so handsome as she did that night; on the other hand, she had never repelled me more, even while she fascinated me. I understood, as I had not understood before, young Prideaux's description of her. She was a flirt. I saw that young Barcroft was greatly enamored with her; noted, too, that she laughed at his feeblest jokes, and, as far as I could judge, made him believe that she was as interested in him as he was in her. Yet I could not help realizing the artificiality of her every word and action.

As for poor Hugh, he was never mentioned. He might never have existed, although I knew by the look on Mrs. Lethbridge's face that she was constantly thinking of him, constantly grieving about what had taken place.

I could not tell why it was, but in spite of the fact that every one except Isabella Lethbridge was very kind and courteous to me, I was angry, and felt a sort of contempt for the self-a.s.sertive, unpleasant young Cornishman who made himself so much at home in Josiah Lethbridge's house.

"The war will soon be over, don't you think, Mr. Erskine?" he said.

"What makes you think so?" I asked.

"Why, the Germans have been able to do nothing for months," was his reply. "Never since their first blow have they been able to hurt us. See how we have been able to hold them up at Ypres. At present we are not ready to strike our decisive blow, but when we have more guns and ammunition, we shall be able to drive them like a flock of sheep.

Besides, they are financially bankrupt, you know."

"Indeed," I said.

"Yes. It is a matter of robbing Peter to pay Paul with them now. They live by taking in each other's was.h.i.+ng; but that will soon come to an end. On the other hand, the war hasn't been such a bad thing for us."

"No," I said. "How?"

"Oh, it has been good for business. Money has been circulated as it has never been circulated before. Instead of it meaning a financial crash to us, it has meant a boom. Have you not found it so, Mr. Lethbridge?"

"Money has certainly been circulated freely," was the older man's reply, "but I do not wish to talk about it. The whole thing is a crime." And both his face and voice hardened.

At that moment a servant entered and brought Mr. Lethbridge an official-looking doc.u.ment, which he opened eagerly. He read it through twice, and then calmly and deliberately folded it again and placed it in the envelope.

"What is it about, Josiah?" asked Mrs. Lethbridge.

I thought he looked pleased, but I could not tell. He did not answer his wife's question.

"Is it about Hugh?" she asked.

Still he was silent.

"Josiah, Josiah, tell me, is he wounded, killed?"

"No. I--I suppose it is all the other way. It is nothing to me. There, you can read it if you like."

With trembling hands Mrs. Lethbridge took the letter and read it.

"Oh, Hugh, my darling boy," she sobbed.

"What is it, mother?" asked Isabella. "What has he done?"

"He has received some order, some distinguished order for bravery.

There, there, read it! Isn't it splendid? I was afraid he was killed or hurt or something. I didn't expect this. Oh, isn't it glorious? But it is just like him."

Josiah Lethbridge rose from the table.

"Shall we go into the library for our coffee and cigars?" he asked. He seemed to be making an effort to be calm.

"We must tell Mary," said Mrs. Lethbridge.

"You must do nothing of the sort," said her husband. "When I said, once for all, that we would have nothing to do with that woman, I meant it.

Will you come this way, Barcroft and Mr. Erskine? Oh yes, the ladies can come with us if they do not mind tobacco smoke."

A few minutes later we were all in the library, where, in spite of Mr.

Lethbridge's chagrin, we were not able to suppress our desire to talk about Hugh and what he had done. It appeared by the doc.u.ment received that he had, by his coolness and bravery, not only saved the life of an officer, but that he had rendered such important service to his battalion that a possible disaster had been turned into a victory.

"Ah!" I said. "How I envy him!"

"Envy him! In what way?" asked Barcroft.

"Envy his being able to serve his country," was my reply. "How a man with health and strength can stay in England at a time like this I can't understand."

"Are you referring to me?" he asked. And I noticed there was an angry look in his eyes.

"I was not referring to any one," was my reply. "I was simply stating what I felt."

"For my own part, I believe that a man who is looking after the finances of the country may be doing more for his nation than by wearing khaki,"

he replied. "Don't you think so, Miss Lethbridge?"

"I think too much is made of the so-called heroism of soldiers," she said, evidently with a desire to please him. "Of course it was grand of Hugh to do what he did, but he was always like that." And she looked smilingly into Barcroft's face.

Again the girl angered me, and in my heart of hearts I despised her. But why should I be angry? Why should I care about her evident desire to please this young Cornishman? And then, realizing that my words were bordering on discourtesy, said:

"I expect the War Office will have written to his wife. Anyhow, I will see that she knows to-morrow that her husband is a hero."

At this, Isabella Lethbridge looked at her father and laughed, while he, having given me an angry look, talked about something else.