The Essential Writings of Marie Belloc Lowndes. Marie Belloc Lowndes

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СКАЧАТЬ the room which had been always occupied, during her infrequent sojourns at the Abbey, by the late Lady St. Amant.

      And now the long, though also the all too short, week-end, which had lasted from Thursday to Tuesday, was over, and all the guests had departed, with the exception of Lord St. Amant's three intimate friends—Mrs. Tropenell, that lady's son, and Mrs. Pavely. This smaller party was staying on for two more days, and then it would break up—Mrs. Tropenell and Mrs. Pavely returning in the morning to Freshley Manor and The Chase, while Mr. Tropenell stayed on to accompany his host to another big shoot in the neighbourhood.

      Though all three had professed sincere regret at the departure of their fellow guests, each of them felt a certain sense of relief, and yes, of more than relief, of considerable satisfaction, when they found themselves alone together.

      There is always plenty to talk about after the breakup of a country house party, and when at last the four of them found themselves together at dinner, they all did talk—even Laura, who was generally so silent, talked and laughed, and exchanged quick, rather shy jests with Oliver.

      Laura and Oliver? Lord St. Amant had of course very soon discovered their innocent secret. He had taxed Mrs. Tropenell with the truth, and she had admitted it, while explaining that they desired their engagement, for obvious reasons, to remain secret for a while.

      During these last few days their host had admired, with a touch of whimsical surprise, Laura's dignity, and Oliver's self-restraint. Of course they had managed to be a good deal together, aided by Lord St. Amant's unobtrusive efforts, and owing to the fact that Mrs. Tropenell's charming sitting-room upstairs was always at their disposal.

      But no one in the cheerful, light-hearted company had come within miles of guessing the truth; and Oliver Tropenell had done his full share in helping Lord St. Amant in the entertainment of his guests. He had also made himself duly agreeable to the ladies—indeed, Oliver, in a sense, had been the success of the party, partly because the way of his life in Mexico enabled him to bring a larger, freer air into the discussions which had taken place after dinner and in the smoking-room, and also because of his vitality—a vitality which just now burned with a brighter glow....

      Lord St. Amant and Oliver only stayed on at the dining-table a very few minutes after Mrs. Tropenell and Laura had gone off into the drawing-room.

      Though now on very cordial terms, the two men never had very much to say to one another. Yet Lord St. Amant had always been fond of Oliver. Being the manner of man he was, he could not but feel attached to Letty Tropenell's child. Still, there had been a time, now many long years ago, just after the death of his wife, when he had been acutely jealous of Oliver—jealous, that is, of Mrs. Tropenell's absorption, love, and pride, in her son. She had made it so very clear that she desired no closer tie to her old friend—and this had shrewdly hurt his self-esteem. But he had been too much of a philosopher to bear rancune, and such a friendship as theirs soon became had, after all, its compensations.

      When Oliver settled in Mexico the time had passed by for a renewal of the old relations, and for a while the tie which had lasted for so long, and survived so many secret vicissitudes, appeared to loosen....

      But now, again, all that was changed. Lord St. Amant had given up his wanderings on the Continent, and he had come once more very near to Mrs. Tropenell, during this last year. He and Oliver were also better friends than they had ever been; this state of things dated from last winter, for, oddly enough, what had brought them in sympathy had been the death of Godfrey Pavely. They had been constantly together during the days which had followed the banker's mysterious disappearance, and they had worked in close union, each, in a sense, representing Laura, and having a dual authority from her to do what seemed best.

      Still, to-night, excellent as were the terms on which each man felt with the other, neither had anything to say that could not be said better in the company of the ladies. And when in the drawing-room, which now looked so large and empty with only two, where last night there had been twelve, women gathered together about the fireplace, the four talked on, pleasantly, cheerfully, intimately, as they had done at dinner.

      After a while Laura and Oliver slipped away into the smaller drawing-room, and Lord St. Amant and Mrs. Tropenell, hardly aware that the other two had left them, went on gossiping—harking back, as they now so often did, to the old stories, the old human tragedies and comedies, of the neighbourhood.

      Soon after ten Laura and Oliver came back, walking side by side, and Oliver's mother looked up with a proud, fond glance.

      They were a striking, well-matched couple—Laura looking more beautiful than ever to-night, perhaps because she seemed a thought more animated than usual.

      "I've come to say good-night," she exclaimed. "I feel so sleepy! Oliver and I had such a glorious walk this afternoon."

      She bent down and kissed Mrs. Tropenell. And then, unexpectedly, she turned to Lord St. Amant, and put up her face as if she expected him also to kiss her.

      Amused and touched, he bent and brushed his old lips against her soft cheek: "My dear," he exclaimed, "this is very kind of you!"

      And then Oliver stepped forward into the circle of light thrown by the big wood fire.

      He said a little huskily, "My turn next, Laura——" And to the infinite surprise of his mother and of his host, Laura, with an impulsive, tender gesture, reached up towards him, and he, too, brushed her soft face with his lips.

      Then he took her hand, and led her to the door. And Lord St. Amant, quoting Champmélé, turned to his old love: "'Ah! Madame—quelle jolie chose qu'un baiser!'" he murmured, and ere the door had quite closed behind Oliver he, too, had put his arm with a caressing gesture round her shoulder, and drawn her to him, with the whispered words, "Letty—don't think me an old fool!" And then, "Oh, Letty! Do you remember the first time——" And though she made no answer, he knew she did remember, like himself only too well, the wild, winter afternoon, nearer forty than thirty years ago, when they two had been caught alone, far from home, in a great storm—the wild weather responding to their wild mood. They had taken shelter in a deserted, half-ruined barn, a survival of the days when England had still great granaries. And there, throwing everything aside—the insistent promptings of honour, and the less insistent promptings of prudence—St. Amant had kissed Letty....

      He remembered, even now, the thrill of mingled rapture, shame, gratitude, triumph, and stinging self-rebuke, which had accompanied that first long clinging kiss.

      The next day he had left the Abbey for the Continent, and when, at last, he had come back, he had himself again well in hand....

      Only yesterday the shooters had gone by that old seventeenth-century barn, of which nothing now remained but thick low walls, and as he had tramped by the spot, so alone with his memories, if outwardly so companioned, there had swept over his heart, that heart which was still susceptible to every keen emotion, a feeling of agonised regret for what had—and what had not been.

      "Ah, Letty," he said huskily, "you've been the best friend man ever had! Don't you think the time has come for two such old friends as you and I have been never to part? It isn't as if I had a great deal of time left."

      An hour later Lord St. Amant was sitting up in bed, reading the fourth volume of a certain delightful edition of the Memoirs of the Duc de Saint Simon. He was feeling happier than he had felt for a very long time—stirred and touched too, as he had not thought to be again.

      Complacently he reminded himself of the successful, the brilliantly successful, elderly marriages he had known in his time. 'Twas odd when one came to think of it, but he couldn't remember one such which had turned СКАЧАТЬ