The Vision of Desire
"Does Robin mind my suddenly billeting myself on you like this?"
"Mind? Why, of course not! We're both delighted. And there's some one else
who is nearly bursting with excitement at the idea of seeing you
again--Maria Coombe. You haven't forgotten her?"
"Forgotten old Maria? By Jove, no! My ears tingle yet when I think of her."
And for an instant a smile of amused recollection chased away the moodiness
of his expression. "Is she with you at the Cottage, then?"
"Yes. She volunteered to come to us, and you may guess we jumped at the
idea. To have dear old Maria back smooths our path in life considerably,
bless her! And I love to listen to her Devon accent! It sounds so
homelike."
Tony seemed rather subdued on the homeward drive, but his spirits rallied
when they reached the Cottage, where Robin was waiting for them at the
gateway, with Billy Brewster hovering importantly in the middle distance.
Maria welcomed the new arrival with open arms, and the tea she had prepared
for the occasion was a rich display of what she could accomplish in the way
of cakes and pasties when she "put her mind to it." Tony did full justice
to them and chaffed her unmercifully, to her huge delight, and for the
moment one might have imagined him nothing but a big gay schoolboy, home
for the holidays.
It was not until later on, when Robin had gone out again, and he and Ann
were sitting smoking together under the latter's favourite oak, that he
unburdened his soul.
"I'm everlastingly grateful to you for answering my S.O.S. so promptly," he
said then. "Uncle Philip was simply making life unbearable at home."
Ann was swinging gently in the hammock, while Tony had flung himself down
at full length on the sun-warmed turf. Her eyes rested on him reflectively.
"How was that?" she asked.
"Oh"--impatiently--"the usual thing, of course! Money! I asked him to let
me have a hundred or two extra, and he simply went straight up in the air
over it."
"A hundred or two! Oh, Tony, have you got into debt again?"
"I haven't been running up bills, if that's what you mean. But I've had bad
luck at cards--and of course I had to square things up."
Ann suppressed a sigh. It was the same old story--that ineradicable gaming
spirit which had come down from sire to son through half a dozen
generations, and which seemed to have concentrated in full strength in the
offspring of poor Dick Brabazon.
A few questions elicited the facts. Following upon his return from
Switzerland Tony had been playing cards regularly, with, as he explained,
"the most infernal luck--I made an absolute corner in Yarboroughs night
after night." The set of people with whom he mixed played unusually high
points--Brett Forrester's set, as a matter of fact, although he himself had
cleared out of town early in order to go yachting. Then, after losing far
more than he could afford to pay, Tony had tried to recoup his fortunes by
backing a few horses, and another hundred had been added to his original
losses. Ultimately, when he and his uncle had gone down to Lorne, he had
been compelled to make a clean breast of things and ask for money with
which to settle his debts. "Debts of honour," he had termed them, and the
description acted like a red rag to a bull. Sir Philip had lost his temper
completely.
"'Debts of honour' you call 'em, you young jackanapes!" he had raged. "I
call them debts of the dirtiest dishonour you could pick up out of the
gutter!" He swept Tony's indignant remonstrances to one side. "If you call
it honourable to play for money when you haven't got it to pay with if you
lose, a sense of honour's a different thing from what it was in my young
days. Why--why--why--" he spluttered, "it's no better than stealing! You
deserve a damn good hiding, let me tell you, and it's what you'll get one
of these days if you can't keep straight, you young devil!"
The old man had stormed on for a heated half-hour or so, while Tony had
stood by and listened to him, white-faced and furious, his haughty young
head flung up and his teeth clenched to keep back the bitter answers that
fought for utterance. Finally, his hand still shaking with rage, Sir Philip
had written a cheque that would cover his nephew's losses.
"That's the last time I pay your gambling debts," he had said as he flung
down the pen. "You've an allowance of six hundred a year, and if you exceed
that again I'll fire you out of the house neck and crop, and be damned to
you!"
"I'll go now, sir--at once, if you wish!" Tony had returned with cool
insolence.
"Go? Where would you go, I'd like to know?" Sir Philip had flung at him
sneeringly. And just to prove that he could and would go if he chose, and
because he was filled with a wild spirit of revolt and anger, Tony had
despatched a telegram to Ann and had quitted Lorne the very next day.
"He was insufferable!" he declared stormily. "Great Scott! Does the man
think I'm a child to be cuffed into obedience? I warned him for his own
sake he'd better never lay a finger on me!"
"He never would, Tony," said Ann. "Of that I'm sure. He's far too fond of
you, for one thing."
"No, I don't suppose he would, really," conceded Tony. "But when he flies
into a rage, he hardly knows what he's saying or doing. He's got the
Brabazon temper all right, the same as I've got the family love of
gambling."
"Oh, Tony, I wish you'd give it all up!" exclaimed Ann impulsively. And
then the colour rushed hotly into her face as she recalled with sudden
vividness the circumstances in which he had once offered to renounce every
form of gambling.
Absorbed in the interests of the new life in which she found herself, the
recollection of that moonlit night on the steep side of Roche d'Or had
slipped into the background of her thoughts. Now it leaped abruptly into
the forefront, and she felt helpless and constrained, unable to urge her
appeal. The answer Tony could give back was so obvious.
"I haven't the least intention of giving it up," he said in a hard voice.
"It's the chief pleasure in life to me. Trailing around Lorne and harrying
his tenants happen to be Uncle Philip's pet enjoyments. I don't ask him to
give those up. And I reserve the right to amuse myself in my own way."
He switched the conversation on to another subject, and, after a decent
interval, excused himself on the plea that he must "unpack his traps."
Ann watched him stalking back to the house with gravely wistful eyes.
Neither by word nor look had he implied the slightest recollection of the
occasion when he had asked her to be his wife nor of her answer, and she
realised that with the ingrained pride of his race he chose to consider the
incident as closed. "_Then that's finished_," he had said at the time. "_I
shan't ask you again_." And he had meant every word of it. With a
headstrong determination he had accepted his dismissal and henceforward
regarded himself as free to make ducks and drakes of his life if it so
pleased him. She shrank from the knowledge. It seemed to lay a heavy sense
of responsibility upon her.
Yet she could not find it in her heart to regret her decision. She felt
deeply thankful that the mothering, protective impulse which had almost led
her into promising to marry Tony had been stayed by Lady Susan's wise
words. This hot-headed, undisciplined boy, despite his lovableness and
charm, was not the type of man who would make a woman of Ann's fine fibre
happy as his wife. Perhaps, unconsciously to herself, she was mentally
contrasting him with some one else--with a man who, stern, and embittered
though he might be, yet gave her a curious feeling of reliance, a sense of
secret reserves of strength that would never fail whatever demand life
might make upon them.
It seemed to her as if she and Eliot had drawn nearer to each other during
their talk together on the deserted railway platform--as though some
intangible barrier between them had been broken down. She could not put
into actual words the thought which flitted fugitively through her mind--it
was too vague and indeterminate. Only she was subconsciously aware that
some change had taken place--that their relation to each other was
curiously altered.
As she lay in bed that night, her mind a confused jumble of the day's
happenings, one thought rose clear above the medley--the memory of his last
words to her:
"You need never imagine you're not wanted at the Cottage. I like to think
of you there."
CHAPTER XIV
THE ETERNAL TRIANGLE
Under Brett Forrester's tutelage, Ann's progress in the art of swimming
proceeded apace. Since his arrival at White Windows, the weather had been
perfect--still, dewy mornings, veiled in mist, melting by midday into a
blaze of deep blue skies and brilliant sunshine--and every day Ann and Mrs.
Hilyard, accompanied by Forrester and very often by Robin in addition,
might have been seen descending to Berrier Cove, the favourite bathing
beach of the neighbourhood. Quite frequently, too, Lady Susan would join
them in the water--she was an excellent straight-forward swimmer, though
"without any monkey tricks," as she regretfully acknowledged. On these
occasions the Tribes of Israel would sit in a mournful row along the shore,
watching the proceedings with concerned brown eyes. They themselves,
individually and collectively, exhibited an unfeigned distaste for every
form of aquatic sport which, Brett wickedly suggested, might be due to some
subconscious atavistic emotion relative to the Red Sea episode. When they
had suffered their adored mistress's temerity in silence for as long as
canine toleration could be expected to endure, one or other of them would
lift up his voice in a long-drawn wail of protest, the others would
immediately join in, and the chorus of howls continued to make day hideous
until Lady Susan issued from the water and hurried into her tent to dress.
Punishment and persuasion proved equally futile as a corrective.
Inexplicable though it appeared, their mistress apparently derived some
obscure satisfaction out of the process of splashing about in the wet sea,
and because they loved her they bore it as long as they could. But after
the expiration of a certain time-limit nothing could quiet them except Lady
Susan's prompt emergence from the water.
Tony's arrival had added yet another member to the bathing contingent. He
seemed to have forgotten all his troubles, and entered with zest into any
and every sort of amusement which Silverquay afforded. A letter Ann had
received from Sir Philip was primarily responsible for this care-free
attitude. "Keep Tony as long as you want," the old man had written. "But
you may tell the young fool he can come home when he likes. I shan't bite
his head off." A slow, pleased smile had dawned on Tony's face as Ann read
out this particular extract from the letter. Quarrel as he and his uncle
might, they were genuinely fond of each other, and although Tony would
not for worlds have admitted it, the knowledge that Sir Philip was really
seriously annoyed with him had weighed heavily on his mind.
Since the removal of this incubus he had reverted to his usual high spirits
and, between them, he and Brett Forrester had "made things hum," as he
described it. Boating, bathing, and picnics had been the order of the day,
and the latest proposal, emanating from Forrester, was that they should all
dine one evening on board the _Sphinx_. The date had been fixed to coincide
with a night of full moon, and the invitations included both Eliot Coventry
and the two Tempests.
The former had taken but little part in the summer diversions inaugurated
by Brett and Tony. Nevertheless, he had been persuaded into joining one of
the picnics. On this occasion the hostess had been Lady Susan, and she had
simply declined to accept his refusal.