The Raft
supreme interest, she seemed to go out of her way to inform him, without
words, that in hers he was secondary. Then, when he had grown tired and
had almost determined to cure himself, she would do something unexpected
and considerate which kept him hoping. Only at parting did she allow
herself to appear glad of him. She had the power of chilling him with
her graciousness, while with her gray eyes she allured him. Cherry!
Cherry! Her name set all his world to music.
One day he found her alone at Tree-Tops. She had fallen asleep in the
bay-window, which looked out over the plain where the meadows flowed
smoothly and the wheat-fields ripened. The others had left her--had
gone over the shoulder of the hill to play golf. He had cycled out from
Oxford without warning. Climbing through the steep garden, busy with the
stir of birds and insects, he espied her curled up like a kitten among
the cushions, her eyes fast shut and her breath coming softly. He
stooped over her, tempted by the redness of her mouth. Her eyes
opened. She showed no embarrassment--made no attempt to brush away her
sleepiness. She did not move, but lay there meeting his gaze quietly.
He broke the silence. “Cherry, why do you always avoid touching me?
We're farther apart now than we were--were when we first met. I can't
surprise you any longer by telling you that I love you. And yet--and yet
to me it's still wonderful. Why do you always treat me as though I were
nothing?”
“Do I? I don't mean to.”
He sat down beside her and took her hand. “Shall I go away? If I went
away you might learn to miss me.”
She turned toward him gently. “Please, please, Peter, don't do that.”
“Then you do want me--you would miss me? I never know what you think of
me. You never tell me--never betray yourself.”
She let her fingers nestle in his hand. “There's only one Peter. Of
course I'd miss you. I don't need to tell you that. I like you very
much, Peter.”
He looked away across the unheeding country. “Like! Yes, but liking
isn't loving.”
Voices were heard and footsteps approaching. She sat up hurriedly,
smoothing out her dress. “I'd so much rather be friends. I'd be such a
good little friend to you, Peter, if you'd only be content with that.”
Content with that! He shook his head.
“Cherry, I couldn't.”
The Faun Man and the golden woman entered. They were laughing. “You
always treat me in public as if we were alone together. Really, Lorie, I
wish you----.”
Then she saw Peter seated close to Cherry. Her eyes saddened.
CHAPTER XLII--THE COACH-RIDE TO LONDON
I wonder why he doesn't come!”
Peter stepped out of the college-lodge, gazing up and down the cobbled
street.
Harry, always undisturbed and good-natured, laughed. “One can never be
sure of Lorie. Looks as though it was going to rain. P'raps he's put it
off because of that.”
“If he had,” said Peter, “he'd have sent us word.”
For two hours they'd been inventing excuses for the Faun Man. He had
told them to invite a party of their friends and he'd drive them to
London. To go to London without permission was against all rules; but to
ask permission would be useless, since most of the men, like Peter and
Harry, were sitting for their Finals within the next fortnight. That
they were taking a sporting chance of discovery lent a touch of daring
to the excursion.
All of them had risen early and had been ready for the start since
nine. It was nearly eleven. If the Faun Man didn't turn up shortly they
wouldn't have time to cover the sixty odd miles to London and to catch
the last train back. That last train back was very necessary. If they
weren't in college or their lodgings by midnight when doors were locked,
there was no telling what would happen. Probably they'd get sent down,
which would mean that they'd miss their Finals, and would either lose
their degrees or have to wait a year before they were examined.
They were getting fidgety, pulling out and consulting their watches.
Some of them were already saying that it was too late to risk it. A horn
sounded. Peter glanced back from the road into the lodge and shouted,
“Hi, you fellows! Here he comes.”
Round the corner swung the chestnut leaders, tossing their heads and
jingling their bridles. As the wheelers followed and the coach drew into
sight, an exclamation went up, “Why, he isn't----”
They looked again to make certain. No, he wasn't. Instead, a woman sat
on the box, erect and lonely, perched high up, governing the reins with
her small, thin hands. Her trim figure was clad in a dark blue suit,
close-fitting as a riding-habit, with pale blue facings. Her hair was
caught back into a loose knot against her neck and dressed so smoothly
that it shone like metal. The effort of controlling the horses had
brought a flush to her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled with mischief at the
sensation she was creating. She reined in against the pavement, glancing
down provocatively at the group of young men. She looked a goddess,
and had the sense to know it. “Given up hoping for me,” she cried
cheerfully; “is that it?”
Peter nodded. “Pretty nearly. But where's the Faun Man and Cherry? Why
are you driving?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I'll tell you later. Scramble up.”
They scrambled up, filling the roof and joking, all their high spirits
and anticipation recovered.
“Ready.”
The guard sprang away from the leaders' heads and clambered up behind as
the coach started forward.
It was a gray day, with patches of blue gleaming through it, like light
through holes in the roof of a tent. As they passed over Magdalen Bridge
the willows shuddered and stooped above the water, prophesying that rain
was coming. The moisture in the air made colors stand out sudden and
separate. Even sounds seemed accentuated. From farmlands, near and far,
live things called plaintively. Cocks bugled shrill alarms. Cattle waded
restlessly knee-deep in summer meadows. Birds fluttered out of hedges,
as if setting out on journeys; then thought better of it and hastily
returned. Fields lay hushed. In contrast, the sky was torn and rutted.
Clouds lurched forward, black and sullen, like artillery taking up
positions. Detached wisps of mist hurried hither and thither, like
isolated bands of cavalry. Through the brooding stillness the coach
swayed onward. The horses' hoofs rattled as castanet accompaniment to
the laughter of conversation.
At the long, white inn of The Three Pigeons they changed horses, getting
ready for the climb out of the valley past Ashton Rowant. The golden
woman called to Peter to come and sit on the box beside her. She was a
pleased child, patting his hand and smiling down at him side-long as he
took his place. She treated him in public with the same affection that
she used to him in private; she had complained of the Faun Man for
treating her like that. Peter wondered.--Her eyes were immensely blue
and wide this morning. She seemed no older than on that first day when
he had seen her in the white room of the Happy Cottage. He watched her
now, as she leant out with her whip to catch the reins which the ostler
tossed up. How graceful she was, how determinedly young and buoyant!
He touched her. “You were going to tell me why Cherry and the Faun Man
didn't----.”
She broke in upon him. “Was I? Perhaps later. Can't you forget Cherry
just for once? I'm here and--and won't you be content with only me for a
little while, Peter?”
She spoke lightly, with a pretence at wounded feelings, and yet----. He
had piqued her pride. He had noticed it before, especially of late--the
same flippancy of tone and quick turning away of the head when Cherry's
name was mentioned. Harry explained it by saying that she was envious of
any affection given to another woman.
The new team was full of fire--it took all her attention. “So, girl! So!
Steady there. Steady!”
Peter knew these grays; he had heard the Faun Man speak of them,
“Nervous as cats. Take a devil of a lot of holding.” She handled them
like a veteran.
“Golden woman, you're wonderful.”
She shrugged her shoulders coquettishly, raising her brows and laughing
silently. Her eyes were between the leaders' ears on the road in front
of her. “I know. Can't help it, Peter. It's the way I was made.” And
then, “But what an awfully long while you've taken to discover it.”
“I haven't. But where was the good of my telling you? The Faun Man let's
you know it every day of your life.”
She pouted. “He does. But--but that isn't the same.” Green pasture-lands
of the valley were falling away behind. As they rose higher, woods
sprang up, standing tiptoe, drinking in the clouds. The atmosphere grew
more heavy and thunderous. The horses were walking now, scrambling for a
foothold and zigzagging from side to side as they took the steep ascent.
The men dropped off the coach to lighten it and went ahead.
Harry caught hold of Peter's arm. “Where's Lorie? Did she tell you?”
“No. When I ask her, she says, 'Later, perhaps.' Can't get another word
out of her.”
Then Harry saw a great light. “I bet you I've guessed. Something
happened at the last minute to delay him. He's coming over from
Tree-Tops to join us at High Wycombe. He'll be there with Cherry for
lunch. It's because of Cherry, to give you a surprise, that she won't
tell you.” At the top of the hill Peter took his place again beside the
golden woman. He understood her air of mystery now and played up to it.
In an instant all his world had changed. He was going to see Cherry. A
new sparkle came into his eyes. The golden woman noticed it. “Hulloa!
Wakened? What's happened?”
“_You've_ happened,” he said. “You're a topper. You don't mind my saying
it, do you? You're most awfully kind.”
She looked at him curiously. “Am I? What makes you say that?”
“I know what's happened to the Faun Man and Cherry. You can keep your
secret; but I had to thank you.”
“Thank me!” She fell silent.
He talked on in high spirits; it must have been the horses that
suggested Mr. Grace. “He hasn't been so bloomin' prosp'rous
lately--that's his way of putting it--not since Cat's Meat died. He has
to hire his horse and cab now, and doesn't seem to make much profit
out of it. 'Bloodsuckers!' he says. 'I 'as ter give 'em back all I
earns--and that's wot they calls 'iring. Bloodsuckers!'”
As they came down the hill by Dashwood's into High Wycombe, he ceased
talking, casting his eyes ahead. He thought it just possible that Cherry
and the Faun Man might have walked out to meet them. The guard was
sounding his horn in long flourishes. They were in the town now, passing
by the Market-place. Now the coach was drawing up before the hotel. No
one was there to watch them descend except the ostler and some idlers.
He hung about while the horses were taken out; every now and then he
stepped into the road, trying to make himself believe that, if he waited
long enough, he would see the girl with the red lips and gray eyes
hurrying down the street toward him.
Harry came out. “Guessed wrong that time, didn't I? Come along in. We're
having lunch.”
It was absurd, this anxiety that he felt--all out of proportion. And
yet it was always like that when he was going to meet her--it was always
like the first time. He never lost the thrill of choking gladness and
surprise. Each time he discovered something new in her of sweetness,
leaving him amazed at his former blindness.
Harry was speaking to the golden woman. “So they're not coming?”
She crouched her chin against her shoulder, gazing at him innocently and
wide-eyed. “Who?”
“Why, my brother and Cherry. What's the secret? Look here, Eve, you
ought to tell us. I'm certain he sent a message--some sort of an
explanation.”
“Are you?” She gave him a tantalizing smile; then turned to Peter.