Winding Paths Part 44

"I'm sure you'll trust me this far," he said; "people stare so when one is in the middle of the room."

Hal sat down and drew off her gloves, feeling, in spite of herself, unmistakably happy. It was good to be there, instead of trudging home to Bloomsbury; and it was specially good to be chatting to him again.

A dear friend may be always a dear friend, and yet not just the one one wants at the moment. When things are difficult, and irritating, and disappointing, the pleasantest companion is apt to be one with so much individual regard for us at the time that we can hold forth upon our troubles without any fear of boring our listener.

When Hal had poured her tale of woe into Lorraine's ear, she had known that Lorraine was genuinely interested and sorry - and yet, also, that something else occupied her mind at the same time. Sitting now, opposite to Sir Edwin Crathie, it was perfectly apparent for the time being that his mind was entirely at her service.

This was further shown by the fact that he realised something was worrying her before she told him.

"What's the matter?" he asked abruptly; "you look as if something very boring had happened."

"It has."

Hal kept her eyes lowered a moment, with a thoughtful air, and the corners of the fascinating mouth drooped a little.

"What has happened?... Tell me what is bothering you."

He spoke reremptorily, yet with an evident concern for her that made the peremptory tone dangerously alluring. Hal remained silent, though she felt her pulses quicken, and he added:

"Come, we are going to be friends again; aren't we? I've told you I'm very sorry; I can't do more. You will really have to forgive me now."

She looked into his face, and something in his eyes told her he was quite genuine for the time. Of course it might be rash, and unwise, and various other things, but it had been a difficult, trying week, and his sympathy was pa.s.sing good now. Sir Edwin met her gaze for a moment, and then lowered his.

He thought it was chiefly when her eyes laughed that he wanted to kiss her, but when they had that serious, rather appealing expression, he began to feel they were more disturbing still. Mastering his unmanageable senses with an effort, he looked up again, and said:

"Well, what is it? Of course you must tell me."

"Brother Dudley is going to be married," said Hal with her usual directness.

"When?" And Sir Edwin gave a low exclamation of surprise. "Isn't it rather sudden?"

"Very," in dry tones.

"And I suppose you don't want to love your prospective sister-in-law all in a hurry."

"I don't want to love her at all."

"Then I don't suppose you will," with a little laugh. "Presumably you know her."

"I have known her a long time. If I had been asked, she is the last girl I could have believed Dudley would care for. I don't believe he does care for her in the real sense. She is very pretty, and she wanted to marry him, and she just played on his feelings."

"What do you call 'in the real sense' ?" he asked pointedly.

"A pink spot burned in Hal's cheeks; she felt the question a little beside the mark, and did not want to answer it.

"She has rather a dull home, and is very poor, and I think she thought on the whole life would be improved if she were Dudley's wife."

"And that is not the real sense?" insistently.

"It certainly is not love."

"Well, you haven't yet told me what is?"

"I don't know much about it, and" - hastily - "I don't want to. When it's real it hurts, and when it isn't real it's just feebleness."

"Still, you must know some day."

He liked to see the spot of colour spreading in her cheeks, and the frank eyes growing a little defiant as he pressed her against her will.

"It doesn't follow that I must. Perhaps I shall just be feeble, and marry for a home and luxuries."

"Never," with conviction. "You'll - Hal, you'll get it badly when once you're caught."

"I never said you might call me 'Hal'."

"Didn't you? Well, I apologise. May I?"

She could not help laughing.

"You evidently mean to; and I suppose you usually have your own way."

"Very often. That's sensible of you. Of course you are sometimes annoying sensible and practical. I don't know that I ever liked any one quite so level-headed before. It never appealed to me. Yet, somehow, I think you could lose your head. You've got it in you to do so. I wouldn't give tuppence for a woman who hadn't."

Hal was silent, and, as usual, he pressed his point.

"Do you think you could lose your head?"

"I don't think I shall," was the evasive answer.

"I wonder," he said.

She felt him looking hard into her face, and moved restlessly beneath a scrutiny that quickened her pulses and warmed her blood in a way that was altogether new. Then suddenly she looked up.

"Don't you think we are rather talking drivel? Let's get back to the original subject. I don't want to lose my head - it's rather a nice one - sound and reliable and all that."

He sat back in his chair with a laugh.

"You're very clever," he told her admiringly. "I always seem to be out-flanked in the end. Very well then, Brother Dudley has got engaged foolishly, and Hal has been quietly fretting, instead of being a sensible little woman, and telling her friend all about it straight away. What are you going to do now?"

"I can't do anything. He won't get married for a few months anyway."

"And when he does?"

"Then I shall stay where I am, and make the best of it, I suppose...

but... but" - her voice broke a little - "I'm a positive fool about Dudley. I can't bear to lose him."

"Poor little woman. Well, I'll be good to you if you'll let me. I dare say I can brighten things up a little. Every cloud has a silver lining, you know."