The New Warden. Ritchie David George

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СКАЧАТЬ head and the dark lashes hiding the downcast eyes. "Those who doubt," he said slowly and tentatively, "whether after all the High Gods want us – those who doubt whether there are High Gods – even those doubt with regret – now." He waited for a response and May Dashwood suddenly raised her eyes to his.

      "There is no truculence in modern unbelief," he said, "it is a matter of passionate regret. And belief has become a passionate hope."

      Lady Dashwood knew that not a word of this was meant for her. She disliked all talk about the future world. It made her feel dismal. Her life had been spent in managing first her father, then her brother, and now her husband, and incidentally many of her friends.

      Some people dislike having plans made for them, some endure it, some positively like it, and for those who liked it, Lady Dashwood made extensive plans. Her brain worked now almost automatically in plans. For herself she had no plans, she was the planner. But her plans were about this world. To the "other world" Lady Dashwood felt secretly inimical; that "unknown" lurking in the future, would probably, not so long hence, engulf her husband, leaving her, alas! still on this side – with no heart left for making any more plans.

      If she had been alone with the Warden he would not have mentioned the "future life," nor would he have spoken of the "High Gods." He knew her mind too well. Was he probing the mind of May Dashwood? Either he was deliberately questioning her, or there was something in her presence that drew from him his inmost thoughts. Lady Dashwood felt a pang of indignation at herself for "being in the way" when to be "out of the way" at such a moment was absolutely necessary. She must leave these two people alone together – now – at this propitious moment. What should she do? She began casting about wildly in her brain for a plan of escape that would not be too obvious in its intention. The Warden had never been with May alone for five minutes. To-morrow would be a blank day – there was Chartcote first and then when they returned the Warden would be still away and very probably would not be visible that evening.

      She could see May's raised face looking very expressive – full of thoughts. Lady Dashwood rose from her chair confident that inspired words would come to her lips – and they came!

      "My dear Jim," she heard herself saying, "your mentioning the High Gods has made me remember that I left about some letters that ought to be answered. Horribly careless of me – I must go and find them. I'll only be away a moment. So sorry to interrupt when you are just getting interesting!" And still murmuring Lady Dashwood made her escape.

      She had done the best she could under the circumstances, and she smiled broadly as she went through the corridor.

      "That for Belinda and Co.!" she exclaimed half aloud, and she snapped her fingers.

      And what was going to happen after Belinda and Co. were defeated, banished for ever from the Lodgings? What was going to happen to the Warden? He had been successfully rescued from one danger – but what about the future? Was he going to fall in love with May Dashwood?

      "It sounded to me uncommonly like a metaphysical wooing of May," said Lady Dashwood to herself. "That I must leave in the hands of Providence;" and she went up to her room smiling. There she found Louise.

      "Madame is gay," said the Frenchwoman, catching sight of the entering smile. "Gay in this sad Oxford!"

      "Sad!" said Lady Dashwood, her smile still lingering. "The hospitals are sad, Louise, yes, very sad, and the half-empty Colleges."

      "Oh, it is sad, incredibly sad," said the maid. "What kind of city is it, it contains only grey monasteries, no boulevards, no shops. There is one shop, perhaps, but what is that?"

      Lady Dashwood had gone to the toilet table, for she caught sight of the letters lying on the top of the jewel drawers. She had seen them several times that day, and had always intended tearing them up, for neither of them needed an answer. But they had served a good purpose. She had escaped from the drawing-room with their aid. She took them up and opened them and looked at them again. Louise watched her covertly. She glanced at the first and tore it up; then at the second and tore that up. She opened the third and glanced at it. And now the faint remains of the smile that had lingered on her face suddenly vanished.

      "My dear Gwen," (Lena badly written, of course).

      "I hope you understood that Lady Dashwood will keep you till the 3rd. You don't mention the Warden! Does that mean that you are making no progress in that direction? Perhaps taking no trouble! The question is – "

      Here Lady Dashwood stopped. She looked at the signature of the writer. But that was not necessary – the handwriting was Belinda Scott's.

      For a moment or two Lady Dashwood stood as if she intended to remain in the same position for the rest of her life. Then she breathed rather heavily and her nostrils dilated.

      "Ah! Well!" said Louise to herself, and she nodded her head ominously.

      Soon Lady Dashwood recovered herself and folded up the letter. She looked at the envelope. It was addressed to Miss Gwendolen Scott. She put the letter back into its envelope.

      Had she opened the letter and then laid it aside with the others, without perceiving that the letter was not addressed to her and without reading it? Was it possible that she, in her hurry last evening, had done this? If so, Gwen had never received the letter or read it.

      Of course she could not have read it. If she had, it would not have been laid on the toilet table. If Gwen had read it and left it about, it would have either been destroyed or taken to her room.

      "Does Madame wish to go to bed immediately?" asked Louise innocently. She had been waiting nearly twenty-four hours for something to happen about that letter. She was beginning to be afraid that it might be discovered when she would not be there to see the effect it had on Madame. Ah! the letter was all that Louise's fancy had painted it. See the emotion in Madame's back! How expressive is the back! What abominable intrigue! It was not necessary, indeed, to go to Paris to find wickedness. And, above all, the Warden – Oh, my God! Never, never shall I repose confidence even in the Englishman the most respectable!

      "Presently," said Lady Dashwood, in answer to Louise's question.

      Lady Dashwood had made up her mind. She must have opened all three letters but only read two of them. There was no other explanation possible. What was to be done with Gwen's letter? What was to be done with this – vile scribble?

      Lady Dashwood's fingers were aching to tear the letter up, but she refrained. It would need some thinking over. The style of this letter was probably familiar to Gwendolen – her mind had already been corrupted. And to think that Jim might have had Belinda and Co., and all that Belinda and Co. implied, hanging round his neck and dragging him down – till he dropped into his grave from the sheer dead weight of it!

      "Yes, immediately," said Lady Dashwood. She would not go downstairs again. It was of vital importance that Jim and May should be alone together, yes, alone together.

      Lady Dashwood put the letter away in a drawer and locked it. She must have time to think.

      A few minutes later Louise was brushing out her mistress's hair – a mass of grey hair, still luxuriant, that had once been black.

      "I find that Oxford does not agree with Madame's hair," said Louise, as she plied vigorously with the brush.

      Lady Dashwood made no reply.

      "I find that Oxford does not agree with Madame's hair at all, at all," repeated Louise, firmly.

      "Is it going greyer?" said Lady Dashwood indifferently, for her mind was working hard on another СКАЧАТЬ