The dangerous game
living hell!”
“Well, I shan’t be, so we need not discuss it.”
He saw that the girl he adored was gradually softening towards him.
So conscious was he of the difference of their ages that he did not
press her for an answer. He simply made confession of his
all-absorbing passion, and again expressed regret that he should have
told her the truth.
Her tiny hand closed tightly upon his. Her own heart was at that
moment bursting with grief, and his unexpected words had brought her
comfort. She found that she was no longer alone in the world, for he
whom she had looked upon as a very kind friend actually loved her. It
seemed hardly credible, but she now saw quite plainly that the reason
he had so abruptly left Switzerland for Paris was because Lionel had
returned to her, and she had confessed that she was devoted to her
young lover. She realized, too, how he must have suffered, sorrowing
in silence and nursing his grief in those weeks and months of utter
loneliness. Yet for nearly five months Lionel had gone, and she, too,
had been just as lonely.
“I never dreamed that you cared for me so much, Seton,” she said,
turning her pale face again to his. “All this has come as a complete
surprise to me. I believed that the reason you refused to come and see
me was because I had in some way or other offended you.”
“It was because I could not bear to meet you, knowing that you
belonged to another,” he assured her in a deep, earnest voice. His arm
had stolen around her waist, and she stood locked in his embrace.
“You are certain--quite certain--that this is not a mere passing
infatuation?” she asked, looking at him very seriously. “I somehow
feel that you must love Elaine. What is her name? Do tell me?”
“That I am not permitted to do,” he said with regret, a firmness in
his voice that surprised her. “I took an oath some years ago that I
would never reveal her name to a soul. One day, perhaps, you will find
out. Forgive me, my darling, but I know you would never wish me to
break a solemn oath to a woman.”
She sighed. Her natural curiosity caused her to endeavor to discover
the identity of the pretty young society woman whom he admitted had
played such a prominent part in his later life. His refusal was a
rebuff, yet she could not take offense at it. In honor bound he had to
respect Elaine’s wishes.
“If I had any affection for Elaine I could never love you, Edris,” he
went on after a long pause. “And believe me, darling, you have come
into my life against my better judgment, against my will, because I
know that this sweet dream of mine is only an empty one, and can never
be realized. Love between us is forbidden. That is why I do not ask
you to try and reciprocate my affection, and ask you to love me in
return. You are young and bright, with all your brilliant life before
you. I have lived my life to the full, and have now turned to the path
which leads to old age.”
“No, no, I don’t think so!” she said cheerfully. “Why, you have far
more energy than half the young men I know. At heart you are still
youthful. Have I not remarked that a hundred times?”
Her protest pleased him. It was very sweet of her to hearten him in
that manner. Yet she had, no doubt, done so in order not to unduly
pain him, he thought.
Holding her close to him as he did, he looked into her glorious eyes,
and saw that they met his without wavering. In them was a very earnest
expression, such as he had never seen there before. He had one hand
around her waist and the other upon her bare shoulder, as he drew her
tightly to him. She remained in his embrace without any endeavor to
disengage herself. Her white chest heaved and fell, as she drew long
breaths. For fully five minutes they stood together, neither of them
speaking, so full were they both of their own thoughts.
For many months he had longed to take her in his strong arms and tell
her his secret, and that blissful moment had now come. True, she was
rather cold, and not very responsive. What, however, could he expect
of her in her present grief-stricken state of mind, her illusions
shattered by a young man who had deceived her, and her young heart
broken? Further, the words he had blurted forth had been wholly
unexpected.
He hesitated to ask if she would ever love him in return, for he
thought that such a question might sound foolish. She might laugh him
to scorn.
As she remained inert in his strong embrace a sweet smile came slowly
to her lips, a smile that proved irresistible, for he placed his hand
tenderly upon her head and, raising it towards his lips, slowly
imprinted a long, passionate caress upon her white brow.
“I love you, my darling!” he whispered in that moment of ecstasy. “I
love you! Edris, my darling, can you ever be mine?”
CHAPTER XVII.
BESIDE THE SEA
The week-end visit of Edris lengthened into more than a week.
Daily they walked together by the wintry sea, Bundle being carefully
led by Darville. Both were blissfully happy, though Edris had made no
response to the question he put on that night when he declared his
love. Time after time he urged her to give him his answer, but she
remained silent and undecided.
Sometimes he believed that she loved him, but feared what people might
say if she married a man of his age. He was not wealthy--far from it.
The substantial income he received from the royalties on his books all
over the world he had devoted to paying his own heavy expenses
incurred in so constantly traveling on Secret Service work.
His agents received rich emoluments at his hands, but he himself was
unpaid. To some of those unsuspected men and women, who so repeatedly
risked their liberty in Britain’s cause, he made substantial _ex
gratia_ payments out of the public funds, as recompense for their
astuteness and bravery. Many of those he employed enjoyed quite large
incomes, being regarded as persons of independent means fond of travel
and change.
Edris, unaware of the heavy burden of responsibility upon his
shoulders, frequently wondered at his sudden silence as they walked
together. At one moment he would be bright and merry, and then
suddenly become absorbed and silent.
The four days following that fateful night proved delightful to them
both. Edris found herself thinking less of Lionel’s unreliability and
his heartless shallowness. She saw in Seton Darville a strong contrast
to the young man she had adored. Lionel was slim and very
good-looking, a boy highly attractive to any girl, while Seton,
broad-shouldered and deep-chested, was growing gray. But his hard grip
was that of a strong, resolute man of the world; the look in his eyes
indulgent and sympathetic to a woman, yet to a man hard, even cold to
his friends; yet unscrupulous and bitterly revengeful to any who dared
to do him an injury.
Instead of going to the Metropole for their meals they preferred to
have them together in the flat--simple meals which Edris appreciated,
as their intimate chats could not be conducted in the glare and
garishness of the great Brighton hotel.
Each day they went forth in the winter winds by the sea. Both were
self-absorbed, he regarding her as his idol, while she was full of
wonder at the new situation so suddenly created. They grasped hands
when they thought themselves unobserved. They sat together in the
glasshouse shelters on the promenade very often, and gazed out upon
the gray, misty sea, so full of mystery and sadness.
Their hearts realized the truth that a great gulf remained between
them.
One evening, after they had taken tea at the flat, and Bundle was due
to be taken for his walk, they went forth. A tearing northeast wind
was blowing along from the direction of Brighton, and rain was
falling. Darville, true to his tradition of taking out Bundle twice a
day, went out to face the wind. Both he and Edris wore raincoats
buttoned to the throat, while Bundle, hating the wet, as all toy dogs
do, battled about in the rain, shaking his coat now and then as he
sniffed his favorite corners.
They were walking in the direction of Shoreham, with the wind behind
them, when Darville said very abruptly:
“Do you know, Edris, I fear to go to Wengen again.”
“Fear? Why?” asked the girl, walking at his side and bent against the
strong wind.
“Because I--well, I hesitate. You will be courted and flattered by
younger men. I shall sit while you are dancing and watch you in the
arms of younger men, and--and, by God! I won’t be able to bear it!”
“How silly of you, Seton!” she laughed. “In my state of disillusion,
can you ever dream that any man could attract me?”
“No. I know it. I have no charm for you.”
“Yes, my dear Seton, you have,” she cried at once. “You are older than
I am, it is true, but your vitality and your energy are--well, they
are outstanding and wonderful. The whole world, society, and the
readers of the picture-papers admire you, and agree that you will
never grow up. You are amazing.”
“But why?” he asked, linking his arm in hers as they went along. “I am
such an ordinary type of man. I have done my best, both publicly as an
author, gaining popularity all over the world, and in social circles,
which I never like; indeed, I detest them.”
“So do I,” Edris said. “You recollect how you introduced me to London
society--the fringe of it, perhaps. Your friend Beryl took me up only
because I was your friend. Those at-homes and dinners! What a dream
they were! On the first night you introduced me, I had a man vowing
eternal affection for me. Wasn’t it really funny?”
“Yes, I know,” Darville said. “I heard about it. The head of any other
girl might have been turned by those scoundrels and rogues who are the
parasites of our modern society--those wealthy old men who conceive a
passion for young girls.”
Edris was mute. It was upon her tongue to tell Seton openly that he
was one of those elderly men who attracted young girls. But next
second she hesitated. Seton Darville was a man outstanding in all the
world, a man of brains and intellect--a real caveman, such as she had
longed to meet through all her life.
The pair exchanged glances, but no word was said.
“I hate society,” she said at last. “Everyone is so artificial in the
strenuous struggle for photographs in the papers. I prefer to lead my
own life independently, and to be what I am and no more.”
“I quite agree,” he said, as they strolled together. They had turned,
and now had their faces to the cutting sea breeze.
“To endeavor to be other than one’s own self is, after all,
ridiculous,” he remarked. “I have watched, and seen, how natural you
always are.”
“I care nothing for what people think. All I want to do is to lead my
own life.”
“I admire your independence,” he said. “After I had introduced you to
society at your mother’s wish, you wrote me the truth. Do you recall
that letter you sent me after you had been to the duchess’s
dinner-party? I saw then that you, like myself, have no use for the
shams of society.”
“I love a free, unfettered life,” the girl declared. “I long to
breathe the fresh air of the Alps again, to see those wonderful
snow-clad peaks and those primeval glaciers, and to live among the
well-mannered Swiss peasants, whom I love.”
“Perhaps we will go again to Wengen,” he said. “I will try and give
you a good time, my darling--if I dare call you so.”
She gave no permission, a fact which he at once noted. Though the days
had gone since that night when he had confessed his love, yet she had
given him no hope that his dream might be realized. She tolerated him;
was, indeed, kindly disposed towards him; but that was all.
They were fast friends--lovers perhaps to the world, for no girl would
be guest of a bachelor in his rooms for over a week if they were not