The Vision of Desire
prepared to take a first lesson in the art of swimming.
"It's really a very sensible idea," approved Lady Susan. "If you'd actually
tipped over into Lac Léman that night, you'd certainly have gone to the
bottom if you'd had to depend on your own unaided efforts."
"What happened?" asked Forrester with interest, and Lady Susan embarked on
a graphic account of Ann's adventure during the progress of the Venetian
fête at Montricheux, and of the way in which Eliot Coventry had come to her
rescue.
"Coventry? Is that the morose-looking individual who lives at Heronsmere?"
inquired Brett.
Ann glanced up in some surprise.
"Oh, have you met him already?"
"We came across him with Brian Tempest on our way here," explained Lady
Susan. "The two men are rather a study in contrasts," she added. "Brian is
really a great dear. I always think it's so clever of him to have preserved
his faith in human nature when he's condemned to live with that
oil-and-vinegar sister of his. It may be very unchristian of me"--with a
small schoolboy grin--"but I simply can't abide Caroline Tempest!"
Shortly afterwards she professed herself sufficiently rested to essay the
return journey to White Windows.
"I shall certainly come down to the Cove to-morrow and watch you disporting
yourselves in the briny," she said, as she kissed Ann good-bye. "Does Robin
bathe with you?"
"When he has time. But Cara Hilyard is sure to be there. She swims like a
fish."
"That's the lovely lady who lives at the Priory, isn't it? You'll have to
meet her, Brett."
"If she is a Mrs. Dene Hilyard, I know her already," he answered. "I used
to meet her with her husband in London sometimes--and a pretty brute he
was! I nearly ran away with her just to get her out of his clutches," he
added lightly.
"Well, she's out of them now, poor soul, for keeps," said Lady Susan.
Later, as they walked home together across the fields, accompanied by the
now jubilant Tribes of Israel, she returned to the subject.
"If you'll promise not to discredit me by running away with her, Brett,
we'll go over to see your friend at the Priory. I should have to call, in
any case, before long."
"You needn't be afraid. There's not the remotest danger of my wanting to
run off with her."
"She's rather a beautiful person," warned Lady Susan laughingly. "You'll
probably lose your heart to her within half an hour."
"I've only done such a thing once in my life," he replied coolly. "I'm not
likely to do it again."
"When was that, Brett?" she asked with some curiosity. She had never heard
of his having any serious love-affair.
"To-day," he replied unexpectedly.
Lady Susan paused and surveyed him with unfeigned astonishment.
"Ann?" she cried. "Do you mean you've fallen in love with my little
Ann--already?"
"I mean rather more than that," he said deliberately. "I mean that I'm
going to marry your little Ann."
His aunt regarded him with a gleam of amusement.
"Ann Lovell is a young woman with a very decided mind of her own," she
observed. "It's just conceivable she might refuse you."
Forrester returned her glance with eyes like blue steel.
"It wouldn't make a bit of difference if she did," he said laconically.
CHAPTER XIII
"FRIENDSHIP IMPLIES TRUST"
_"Can you put me up? Tony."_
Ann was sitting in the garden one morning, industriously occupied in
shelling peas, when the foregoing terse wire was handed to her by the
village telegraph boy. Tony's silence throughout the last few weeks had
somewhat disturbed her. She had not received a single line from him since
the day he had accompanied her to Victoria station and seen her safely on
board the train for Silverquay, and now her brows drew together rather
anxiously as she perused this unexpected message.
The telegram had been handed in at the local post office at Lorne, so it
was obvious that Tony was at home, and the only reason she could surmise
for his sudden request was that he had had a rather bigger quarrel than
usual with his uncle.
She scribbled an affirmative reply on the prepaid form which had
accompanied the wire and dispatched it by the telegraph boy, who was
waiting placidly in the sunshine--and looked as though he were prepared to
wait all day if necessary. Then, when she had slit the last fat pod in her
basket and shelled its contents, she picked up the bowl of shiny green peas
and carried it into the kitchen where Maria was busy making bread.
"Can we do with a visitor, Maria?" she asked, flapping the flimsy pink
telegram gaily in front of her. "Here's Mr. Tony Brabazon wiring to know if
we can put him up."
"Master Tony?" Maria relapsed into the familiar appellation of the days
when she had been not infrequently moved to cuff the said Master Tony's
ears with gusto, on occasions when he took nursery tea at Lovell Court and
failed to comport himself, in Maria's eyes, "as a little gentleman should."
"Why, yes, miss, us could do with Master Tony." Her face broadened into a
beaming smile. "'Twould be like the old days to have him back, scrawling
round my kitchen again and stealing the jam pasties. Do you mind his ways
when Mr. Lovell he was travelling in furrin parts an' I was cooking for you
and Master Robin? And there's not many can better my jam pasties when I put
my mind to it, though I do say it."
"Well, you'll have him 'scrawling round your kitchen' before long, I
expect," replied Ann.
Maria searched her face with kindly curiosity.
"You'm well pleased, miss, bain't you?"
Ann smiled.
"Very pleased."
Evidently the answer did not convey all that Maria had hoped for, after
kneading her dough energetically for a few moments, she threw out
negligently:
"I used to fancy at one time that you and Master Tony might be thinking of
getting married some day. I suppose I was wrong."
"Quite out of it, Maria." Ann looked preternaturally serious. "And, anyway,
I thought you hadn't a very high opinion of matrimony and didn't recommend
it?"
"Well, I will say my 'usband wasn't one to make you think a lot of it,"
acknowledged Maria, still kneading with vigour. "But there! There's a power
of difference in men, same as there is in yeast. Some starts working right
away, and when you puts it down afore the fire your bread plums up
beautiful. But I've known yeast what you couldn't get to work as it
should--stale stuff, maybe--and then the bread lies 'eavy on your stomach.
It's like that with husbands. I dare say some of 'em be good enough, but
there's some what isn't, and George Coombe, he was one of that sort. But I
don't bear him no grudge. He was a bit plaguey to live with, but he died
proper--with his face to the foe, as you may say, so I've no call to be
ashamed of him."
"I'm sure you haven't," agreed Ann warmly, and, leaving Maria to her
bread-making, she ran off to feed the poultry. Much to her delight, her
first brood of fluffy youngsters had hatched out the previous day.
A few hours later Tony wired _"Arriving 3.30 train to-morrow."_ And now
"to-morrow" had become to-day, and Ann, alone in the ralli-cart, was
sending Dick Turpin smartly along the road to the station.
The station at Silverquay, as is so often the case at a seaside town, was
more or less of a common meeting ground for the inhabitants, and it was
quite an unusual thing not to run across some one one knew there,
exchanging a library book or purchasing a paper at the bookstall. So that
it was no surprise to Ann, as she made her way on to the platform, to see
Eliot Coventry coming towards her, an unfolded newspaper under his arm.
Otherwise, the platform was deserted. The train was not yet signalled, and
neither stationmaster nor porter had emerged into view. Without absolute
discourtesy it was impossible for Eliot to avoid speaking to her, and Ann's
heart quickened its beat a little as, after one swift, almost perturbed
glance, he approached her. He looked rather tired, and there was a
restless, thwarted expression in his eyes. So might look the eyes of a man
who habitually denied himself the freedom to act as his inclinations
demanded, and Ann was conscious of a sudden impulse of compassion that
overcame the feeling of hurt pride which his recent attitude towards her
had inspired. She responded to his greeting with a small, friendly smile,
leavened with just a spice of mischief.
"So you're not going to cut me altogether, then?"
"Cut you? Why should I?" he said quickly.
She shook her head.
"I don't know why. But you've been doing the next thing to it lately,
haven't you?"
Then, as he stared moodily down, at her without answering, she continued
with the quaint, courageous candour which was a part of her:
"Will you tell me quite honestly, Mr. Coventry--would you rather that Robin
hadn't a sister living with him at the Cottage? Because, if so, I can
easily go away again. I shouldn't have any difficulty in finding a job, and
Maria Coombe is quite capable of looking after Robin!"
While she was speaking a startled look of dismay overspread his face.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed in an aghast voice. "Have I been as rude as
all that?"
"Not rude, exactly. Only when first I came you seemed quite pleased that I
should be at the Cottage. But now--lately--" She broke off lamely. It was
difficult to put the thing into words. There was nothing, actually, that he
had done or left undone. It was a matter of atmosphere--an atmosphere of
chilly indifference of which she was acutely conscious in his presence and
which made her feel unwelcome.
But he refused to help her out. His eyes were bent on her face, and it
seemed almost as though there were a certain eagerness behind their intent
gaze.
"Yes," he repeated. "And now--lately?"
"You've been--unfriendly," she answered simply.
The eagerness died out of his eyes, replaced by the old brooding
unhappiness which Ann had read in them the day she had first seen him at
the Montricheux Kursaal.
"Friendship and I have very little to say to each other." He spoke with a
quiet bitterness that was the growth of years. "Friendship implies trust."
A bell clanged somewhere, but the signal arm fell unheeded by the man and
woman whose conversation had so suddenly become charged with a strange new
kind of intimacy.
"Then you don't trust me?" There was a hurt note in Ann's voice. She was
not used to being distrusted.
Coventry smiled ironically, as though at some secret jest of which the edge
was turned against himself.
"Sometimes I almost do," he said. "But on the whole--forgive me!--I haven't
a blind faith in your sex." He paused, then added rather grimly: "A burnt
child fears the fire, and I had my lesson many years ago."
"So you really deserve your reputation?"
"My reputation?"
"Current gossip sets you down as a confirmed misogynist, you know."
"For once, then, current gossip is correct."
The whistle of the approaching train shrilled piercingly through the air
and, startled back to a realisation of the present, Ann glanced hastily up
the line.
"You're meeting some one?" asked Eliot, his eyes following the same
direction. She assented, and he turned as though to leave her. All at once
he swung round on his heel and said brusquely:
"You need never imagine you're not wanted at the Cottage. I like to think
of you there."
Without waiting for an answer he lifted his hat and strode away, and a
minute later, with a harsh grating of brakes, the train ran into the
station and Ann moved quickly towards it.
Tony sprang out on to the platform and hurried forward to greet her. He was
looking thinner than when she had last seen him. His face was a little
haggard, and the eyes beneath their long lashes were hard and bright.
"This is awfully good of you, Ann," he said, speaking a trifle awkwardly.