The Heather-Moon
But Mrs. MacDonald knew nothing of Aline West. And Somerled was
beginning to think that, for all the boasted sagacity of experience, he
knew not much more.
"Thank you for your kind wishes," he said non-committally. "And now I
will wish you a good day."
He put out his hand, and, to her own intense surprise when she thought
of it afterward, Mrs. MacDonald gave hers. Over the prominent knuckles
the old skin lay soft and loose. The grim woman was vaguely pathetic to
Somerled in his youth and strength and full tide of success. The touch
of the would-be iron hand in the velvet glove of faded age made him
conscious of his vast advantage over her. He went away filled with hope,
and a curious new joy of life, which was partly the excitement of
battle.
"The _heather moon_!" he found himself saying, as he passed out of the
ill-kept, once lovely garden where Barrie had often dreamed. Perhaps the
thought came then because here and there a patch of heather glorified
the weeds, or perhaps because Barrie's dreams still empurpled their
birthplace.
IX
When luncheon-time drew near and Somerled was absent, Aline's heart
misgave her. It was useless to argue that he must have lingered in talk
with his chauffeur, with whom he had early gone to confer. Reason
offered this explanation, which was plausible, and altogether more
likely than any other; but instinct was deaf to it. Aline wandered
nervously about the house and garden, unable to settle anywhere, and it
was an added vexation to her disturbed spirit that Basil should be
giving himself heart and soul to the entertainment of that dreadful girl
in the summer-house. It was well enough that he should entertain her,
and keep her passive, but Aline would have liked him to be a martyr,
sacrificing his own inclination for his sister's good. She did not wish
to think that there was something about this young, crude creature which
attracted men to her, and caused them to find pleasure in her society.
Aline's head ached, and she could not think consecutively. Again and
again she asked herself, "What shall I do if he has been to see that old
woman and found out about the telegram?" but no clear answer would come.
She could only repeat the would-be consoling words, "But he _hasn't_
been there. It's silly to think of such a thing. He's not that sort of
man."
She was in the summer-house with her brother and Barrie MacDonald when
at last Somerled did come. She called to him gayly as he appeared round
the corner of an immense architectural rose-bush, and he answered
pleasantly. He even met her smile with a smile as friendly to the eye,
and there was no definable change in his look or manner, yet--Aline was
filled with a cold fear which chilled the perfumed August noon. Her
perception of the invisible was as sensitive as the needle of a compass
to the thrill of the magnetic north. Her brain suddenly buzzed as if a
hive of bees had been let loose in her head. A voice seemed to be
yelling in her ears accusations: "What a fool you have been--what a fool
you have been. It's all your fault if he has found out. You needn't have
done the thing. It wasn't necessary."
She feared to meet Somerled's eyes and read condemnation, yet her very
dread forced her to seek them, and learn at once the best or worst,
since suspense was unbearable. It seemed to her that he avoided her
look; that he too was nervous and uncomfortable, while trying to appear
at ease.
For a moment or two he talked of the car, which he had been to see, and
of a sight-seeing expedition round Carlisle which Basil had proposed for
the afternoon. Then he turned suddenly to Barrie: "I've been thinking
over what we can do for you, Miss MacDonald," he said. "We don't know
where your mother is now, but we do know that she'll be in Edinburgh the
first of next week. Perhaps we might be able to find out her whereabouts
meanwhile, but there'd be delay before we could expect answers to
inquiries, if she's playing small towns in order to knock her new play
into shape. You don't want to go back to your grandmother's. We're
starting off in my car to-morrow. I've undertaken the responsibility of
you, so I'm your guardian _pro tem_. I couldn't allow you to hang about
alone anywhere. The alternative is, taking you with us in the car. What
do you say?"
"Me in a motor-car!" exclaimed Barrie, rapturous. "It can't be true."
"It will be true if you say 'yes.'" Somerled spoke coolly, but it seemed
to Aline that his eyes were alight. They were fixed on the girl, noting
how she paled and flushed. Her face, seen in the golden lights and green
shadows of the summer-house, had the texture of flowers. Aline had not
known it was in her to hate any one so bleakly as she hated Barrie
MacDonald at this moment; and she hated Somerled too, more than she had
hated him last night. She ached to make him suffer as he was making her
suffer. If only she could--if she but had the power!
This was the blow she had known would fall: the invitation to Barrie.
Now the worst had happened despite the risk she had run for its
prevention. And Somerled would not meet her eyes. Did this mean that he
not only made light of her arguments, but had found out the falsehood on
which they were based?
"Of course I say 'yes!'" Barrie was gayly answering. "It seems more than
ever as if I were in a fairy story. Travelling for five days, in a real,
live motor-car, to see my real live mother! Oh, if _Grandma_ knew!"
"She does know," said Somerled. The words spoke themselves. For once
unable to decide quickly and definitely, he had come back from Hillard
House to Moorhill Farm without making up his mind whether or no to tell
how he had spent most of his morning. He had left chance to settle the
question; and now it was settled. Still he did not look at Mrs. West. He
spoke in a commonplace tone, as if Mrs. MacDonald's knowledge of his
plan included no secret knowledge on his part.
"How do you know she knows?" asked Barrie eagerly, leaning toward him
with elbows on knees, chin in hand, long red plait failing over
shoulder. "You--you haven't _seen_ her?"
"I have."
"You met her looking for me!"
"No, not that."
"Then you must have been to Hillard House."
"Yes. I went there to talk with Mrs. MacDonald about you."
To save her life, Aline could not have kept down her agonizing blush.
Tears started to her eyes. Though she had been half prepared for this
blow, it fell upon her with an almost mortal shock. Ostentatiously,
Somerled was keeping his eyes off her face; and that was worse than if
he had stared straight into her eyes. Her terrible blush must have
touched the consciousness of a blind man. It called Basil's fascinated
attention from the girl; and so stricken did his sister look that he
would have cried out to ask what was the matter had she not sealed his
lips with a glance of desperate command.
There was no longer a gram of doubt. Somerled knew that Mrs. West had
lied about the telegram, and everything was changed between them
forever. For a moment Aline told herself that there was no hope, there
could not possibly be any; and yet, if he cared for her, would he not
forgive? Was there no way of saving the situation, and turning the
inevitable change into gain instead of loss? She took a quick and
courageous resolution, as a timid woman may when told that her life
depends upon a dangerous operation, to be performed instantly or not at
all.
"Mr. Somerled," she said, "can I speak to you--just you and me alone for
a few minutes?" As she made her plea, she rose from the rustic seat
where she had been sitting by her brother's side and opposite Barrie.
"Of course, with pleasure." Somerled rose too, stiff and alert as a
soldier on duty. She hated this stiffness, this alertness. It showed her
that he was sensitively dreading the scene to come, and hiding
reluctance behind a hard, bright shield.
"Mrs. West," Barrie spoke out impulsively, "if you don't want me to go
in the car, I won't."
"Of course I want you to go, silly child." Aline tried to withdraw
sharpness from her voice, but it was there, like the sting of a wasp in
a wound. "Even if I didn't think it wise for some reasons, it isn't my
car, you know, but Mr. Somerled's, and he has a perfect right to invite
any guests he likes. Don't imagine that I'm going to talk to him about
_you_. It's something quite different I have to say."
Barrie was snubbed into instant silence; but as Aline and Somerled
walked away together they heard her appeal confidentially to Basil, in a
tone of passionate interest: "What _shall I_ do about clothes? I can't
go off in a motor-car with----" The rest was lost in distance.
The two walked without speaking as far as the big, spouting rose-bush
and the junction where two paths met. Then, choosing the path which
avoided the house, Aline took her life in her hands.
"You mentioned that telegram to Mrs. MacDonald?"
"Yes," confessed Somerled. "The subject came up--accidentally."
"What did she say? I want you to tell me. Afterward I'll explain--why."
"She said that she hadn't sent any telegram; and I saw at once that you
must have made a mistake."
"You needn't put it that way to save my feelings!" Aline caught him up,
panting a little, not trying to calm herself. "You knew that I had--told
you a fib. Be honest with me. You must. And I'll be honest with you."
"I'm glad you're talking to me like this," said Somerled simply,
"because I was puzzled, I admit. I couldn't bear to think----"
"I know exactly what you couldn't bear to think," she cut in, letting
herself break into a sob. "You thought: 'Mrs. West has told me a
deliberate lie because she's jealous of that child, and doesn't want me
to take her in the car.' Oh, don't deny it. I _know_. And it's true. I
_was_ jealous, I don't dislike the poor little thing. Why should I?
She's too insignificant, too much a child in intellect as well as years.
But--I wanted you to ourselves. It was horrid of me. Only you can't
imagine how I've looked forward to this trip, ever since the day you
asked us to take it with you. Before that I was bored with the idea of
writing the book we've promised our publishers. Our going with you made
all the difference to me. You see, we got to be such friends on
shipboard--that last night. I _am_ a jealous friend. I admit it. And it
was such a blow to have a stranger thrust upon us--to have _you_ thrust
her upon us--when you might have guessed how I felt, if we're friends.
The telegram this morning was from Sir George. It told me that Mrs. Bal
was coming to Edinburgh. Instantly I _knew_ you'd ask that girl to go
with us there in the car--oh, simply in your kindness of heart to a
waif. But I couldn't bear it. I saw everything spoiled--for us all, even
you. I was like a disappointed child. I had to do _something_--and on
the impulse I made up that fib. I'm not sorry even now--I think. Yet I
did mean to tell you, sooner or later, the truth. Honestly, I shouldn't
have kept silence long if you hadn't found out. I'm not a coward when
it's necessary to be brave."
"I see you're not," said Ian. "You--have paid me a great compliment, and
I thank you."
"You thank me for what--precisely? For telling a fib because I wanted to
keep my friend to myself--if I could?"
"For liking me well to enough tell it."
"For liking you well enough! Yet now I've shown my liking--and my
courage, you like me less."
"No."
"You do!"
"No."
"Prove that."
"How do you want me to prove it?"
Aline's voice was thick. She felt broken, but not beaten yet. "Prove
it," she almost whispered, "by sacrificing that girl to--_our_
friendship. When we go back to the summer-house, tell her you've changed
your mind; that you'll find out at what place her mother is playing now;