Well, colonel? she began, on a typical occasion, one morning when they were alone together for a few minutes.
The colonel turned his eyes to the windows, coughed, and, looking uneasily round, observed that it was astonishingly warm for the season.
It is, assented Isabel gravely. Whereupon, as if struck by the similarity of their sentiments, he looked into her face, and repeated his assertion with more emphasis.
Astonishingly warm for January. You find it so? So do I. Yes, you really notice it?
I have been thinking over it since I got up, said Isabel. I wonder how many degrees we have in this room?
With the delight of a shy man who has found something definite to speak of, Colonel Stratton at once started up to go to the thermometer which hung in the window; a half-suppressed laugh made him stop and turn round.
You dont really care to know, he said, flushing up to the eyes. Thats one of your jokes, Mrs. Clarendon. Ha, ha! Good!
He stood before her, desperately nibbling both ends of his moustachehe had acquired much skill in the habit of getting them both into his mouth at the same time.
Well, colonel?
You are in aa frisky mood this morning, Mrs. Clarendon, he burst forth, laughing painfully.
A what kind of mood?
I beg your pardon. I should have chosen a better word, he exclaimed, in much confusion. It really is wonderfully warm for the seasonyou notice it?
Colonel, I assure you I notice it.
Fear at length overcame fascination.
I must go and have a look at that new bay, he murmured. Youyoull excuse me, Mrs. Clarendon? Ah, heres Rose! Dont you notice how very warm it is, my dear?
Rose, said Mrs. Clarendon, when the colonel had made his escape at quick time, come here and answer me a rude question. Dont be shocked; its something I do so want to know. How did the colonelshe lowered her voice, her eyes were gleaming with funhow did the colonel propose to you?
My dear, was the reply, given in a humorous whisper, I did it myself.
On another occasion, Colonel Stratton came into the room when Isabel was reading. She just noticed his presence, but did not seem inclined to talk, had, in fact, a shadow on her brow. The colonel observed this, by side glances. He moved about a little, and somehow managed to get behind her chair. Then, tapping her on the shoulderit was his habit with male acquaintances, and he was probably unconscious of the acthe said, in a low voice but with much energy:
Its a damned shame! A damned shame! He had disappeared when Isabel turned to look at him.
She was not quite well that day, or something troubled her. After lunch she went to her own room, and, when she had sat for some time unoccupied, took from her writing-case a letter which she had written the day before. It was to Ada. As she glanced over it, some painful emotion possessed her.
I cant send it! I am ashamed! Her lips uttered the words which she had spoken only to herself.
She crumpled the sheet, and threw it into the fire.
She dined alone, and, a little later, Mrs. Stratton came to sit with her. After various talk, Mrs. Stratton said:
A couple of friends are coming from town to-morrowone of them a friend of yours.
Who?
Rather more than a friend; a relative, I suppose.
Robert Asquith? said Isabel, surprised.
Yes; I invited him some time ago, at Knightswell.
Why, I had a letter from him just before I left, and he didnt say anything about it. How came you to make such friends with him?
Oh, he took my fancy! And I thought it might be pleasant for you to meet here.
Certainly; I am delighted.
Im so glad you like him, she added, after a pause. I had no idea you got on such good terms when he came down.
Why do you never speak of him? Mrs. Stratton asked, smiling slightly.
Dont I? I really cant say. I suppose I take Robert for granted. I dare say he speaks as little of me as I of him.
Perhaps so, said the other, in an unusually absent way. Then she asked:
He has never been married?
Oh no! Robert is a confirmed old bachelor.
Rather strange that, dont you think? He is in easy circumstances, I think you told me?
Decidedly easy.
And good-looking.
You think so? Yes, I suppose he is, mused Isabel.
Suppose? You know very well he is, my dear. And what is he doing, pray?
I really cant say. He has rooms, and lives, I suppose, a very idle life. I shouldnt wonder if he goes back to the East some day.
Very much better for him to stay in England, it seems to me, remarked Mrs. Stratton drily. Isabel changed the subject.
She went to her bedroom early, and, when her attendant had helped her into the easy costume of a dressing-gown, sat by the fire and let her eyes dream on the shapes of glowing coal. Presently she shook loose her hair, which was done up for the night, and spread it over her shoulders. She took a tress between the fingers of her left hand and stroked its smoothness, a smile growing upon her lips. Then she paced the length of the room several times, standing a moment before the mirror when she reached it. The dressing-gown became well the soft outlines of her form; the long, dark hair, rippling in its sweep from brow to shoulder, changed somewhat the ordinary appearance of her face, gave its sweetness a graver meaning, a more earnest cast of thought.
If he saw me now he would tell me I was beautiful.
She smiled at herself, sighed a little, and, before resuming her seat, took from a drawer three letters which she had received during her stay here. Each was of many pages, closely written; he who wrote them had much to say. Isabel had read them many, many times. No such letters had ever before come to her; her pride and joy in them was that of a young girl, touched, however, with the sadness and regret never absent from joy which comes late. She thought how different her life would have been if she had listened to words like these when the years spread out before her a limitless field of hope. It seemed too much as if these letters were addressed to some one else, and had only been given her to read. She had to bring herself with conscious effort to an understanding of all they implied, all they demanded. Yet they moved her to deepest tenderness.
And that was the most marked quality of the letters themselves. In them was sounded by turns every note of love. There was the grace of pure worship, the lyric rapture of passion and desire, the soft rhythm of resigned longing, the sweet sadness of apprehension; but the note of an exquisite tenderness was ever recurrent, with it the music began and ended. They were the love letters of a poet, one in whom melancholy mingled with every emotion, whose brightest visions of joy were shadowed by brooding mortality. There was nothing masterful, no exaction, no distinctly masculine fervour. If a dread fell upon him lest the happiness promised was too great, it found voice in passionate entreaty. He told her much of his past life, its inner secrets, its yearnings, its despair. Of her infinite pity she had chosen him; she would not let him fall again into utter darkness? Love did not stir in him vulgar ambitions; to dwell in the paradise of her presence was all that his soul desired; let the world go its idle way. Too soft, too tender; another would have read his outpourings with compassionate fear, dreading the future of such a love. He visioned a happiness which has no existence. Men win happiness, but not thus. To woo and win as pastime in the pauses of the worlds battle, to make hearth and home a retreat in ill-hap, a place of rest between the combats of day and day, to kindly regard a wife for her usefulness, and children for the pride they satisfy, thus, and not otherwise, do men come to content. Content that is not worth much, perhaps; but what is the price current of misery?
Isabel wrote in reply to each letter; King-cote would have liked to pay in gold the village postman who brought her writing to his door. She, too, spoke with loves poetry, and her passion rang true. How strange to pen such words! She had always thought of such forms of expression with raillery, perhaps with a little contempt. Boys and girls of course wrote to each other in this way; it was excusable as long as one did not know the world. For all her knowledge of the world she would not now have surrendered the high privilege of language born of the heart. And in all that she wrotein her thoughts tooit was her effort to place him in that station of mastery which he would not claim for himself. Was there already self-distrust, and was it only womans instinct of subjection? She would have had him more assured of his lordship, would have desired that he should worship with less humility. If a man have not strength, love alone will not suffice to bind a woman to him; she will pardon brutality, but weakness inspires her with fear. Isabel had no such thoughts as these, but perchance had his letters contained one sentence of hard practical planning at the end of all their tenderness she would have found that something which unconsciously she lacked. She had bridged the gulf between him and herself; she was ready to make good words by deed, and, in spite of every obstacle, become his wife; it must be his to bear her manfully from one threshold to the other. Once done, she felt in her soul that she should regret nothing; she loved him with the first love of her life. But his hand must uphold her, guide her, for she would close her eyes when the moment came....
She was alone in Mrs. Strattons boudoir next morning, when the door was pushed open; turning, she saw her cousin.
I was told that I might come here in search of you, said Robert, with his genial smile. How do you do?
Very well, thank you. How are you?as the children answer. But I neednt ask that; you have a wonderful faculty for looking healthy.
I dont think theres often much amiss with me. Setting aside the chance of breaking my neck over a fence, I think I may promise myself a few more years.
And the risk of fences you are wise enough to avoid.
Nothing of the kind. I was hunting in Leicestershire only yesterday.
Impossible, Robert!
Indisputable fact He had it on his lips to call her Isabel, but for some reason checked himself. A friend of mine took me down and mounted me. I enjoyed it thoroughly.
But you are becoming an Englishman.
Was I ever anything else?
I believe I generally think of you in an Oriental light. At all events, you smoke a hookah, and very much prefer lying on a rug to sitting on a chair.
The hookah I have abandoned; the rug comes of your imagination.
Oh dear no; it was one of the first things you said to me when you came to see me last spring in town. It stamped you in my mind for ever.
They laughed.
But I want to know how you are? Robert resumed, leaning to her, with his hands on his knees. Mrs. Strattons account is too vaguely ladylike. How, in truth, are you?
A ripple of laughter replied to him.
You show me that you can be mirthful; that is much, no doubt. But you must have a change.
Am I not having one?
Oh, I dont call this a change. You must get fresh air.
Asquiths way of speaking with her was not quite what it had formerly been. He assumed more ofwas it cousinship?than he had done, Possibly the man himself had undergone certain changes during the last few months. Oriental he had been to a certain extent; something of over-leisureliness had marked his bearing; there had been an aloofness in his way of remarking upon things and people, a kind of mild fatalism in his modes of speech. An English autumn with its moor-sport and the life of country houses; an English winter with growth of acquaintances at hospitable firesides had doubtless not been without their modifying influence; but other reasons were also discoverable for the change in his manner towards Isabel. For one thing, he had heard of her refusal of Lord Winterset; for another, he knew of Adas approaching marriage.
She made no reply to his advice, and he continued.
You know Henry Calder?
Well.
You know that he has been absolutely ruined by a bank failure?
You dont say so?
Indeed. The poor fellow is in a wretched stateutterly broken down; they feared a few weeks ago that he was going crazy. You know that he was great at yachting; of course he has had to sell his yacht, and I have bought it.
What will you tell me next?
Why, this. It is essential that poor Calder should get away to the South, and nothing would do him half as much good as a sail among the islands. Now I propose to ask him to accompany me on such a cruise, say at the beginning of next month. He and I have been on the best of terms since we were lads, and theres no kind of awkwardness in the arrangement; he goes to put me up to the art of seamanship. Of course his wife accompanies him, and probably their eldest girl.
Thats the kindest thing I have heard for a long time, Robert, said Isabel, giving him a look of admiration.
Oh dear no; nothing could be simpler. And nowI want you to come with them. Isabel shook her head.
But what is your objection?
I cannot leave England at present.
I dont ask you to. We are at the middle of January; it will be time enough in three weeks.
Out of the question.
She still shook her head, smiling. Robert reflected for a moment.
When does this marriage take place? he asked abruptly.
Very shortly, I suppose. I have written to Mr. Lacour to request him to make arrangements as soon as he likes. I shall meet him in London on Monday.
Good. Then you are absolutely free.
I am not free.
He glanced at her inquiringly.
I am not free, Isabel repeated, looking straight before her.
I suppose I shall be grossly impertinent if I ask what it is that holds you?
I cannot now tell you, Robert, butI must remain in England.
Her voice had a tremor in it, which she did her best to subdue. She was smiling still, but in a forced, self-conscious way.
Asquith leaned back; he had lost his look of cheerful confidence.
But it isnt such a grave matter, after all, said Isabel, restoring the former tone. It was a very kind thought of yours, very kindbut you wont quarrel with me because I cant come? It will make no difference in your plan for the Calders, surely?
I cant say, Im sure, Asquith replied, in an almost petulant manner, strangely at variance with his ordinary tone. He had thrust his hands into his pockets, and was tapping the carpet with his foot.
What nonsense! Isabel exclaimed, with growing good humour. As if you would allow such a scheme to be overthrown just because one of the party failed you! I can suggest half a dozen delightful people who will be happy to go with you.
No doubt; but I wanted you.
Robert, you are undeniably Oriental; the despotic habit still clings to you. If one swallow doesnt make a summer, neither does one days hunting make an Englishman.
His countenance cleared.
Well, he said, this is certainly not final. Let us wait till that wedding is over.
It is final, she returned, very positively. The wedding will not in the least alter things.
What then are you going to do? he asked, with deliberation, gazing at her steadily.