CHAPTER XXVI

THE END OF THE FIRST ROUND

"Go, if you will! Let continents divide us, And put the seas between, and sink the ships! What space shall sunder us, what darkness hide us, What force shall keep apart our meeting lips?"

One of Captain Brooke's first purchases when he came to England was a motor; and it had since been Carol Mayne's fate to be driven hither and thither by a driver whose want of skill at first was only equalled by his recklessness. Now he had mastered the art, as he mastered most of the things he cared to try; and it fell out that he drove Mayne and Burmester home from the Glen Royd tennis-party, the early spring air being chilly, and the ladies of the party all preferring Sir Joseph's motor, which was closed.

He took his seat at the wheel, with Mayne beside him and Lance behind, in the _tonneau_. They had not gone far before Lance brought out his secret. His people had not been told yet, he said, but these two were his very good friends, and he must make known to them the great news that he had proposed to Miss Lutwyche that afternoon and been accepted by her.

To Mayne the thing was like a bomb exploding in a non-combatant country. It was utterly unlooked for. He had seen that something was afoot, of course--had had vague fears that by the end of the summer perhaps...

And now it was suddenly all over. His champion had been knocked out in the first round. To such a man as Carol the announcement had all the effect of a hopeless finality. Melicent was betrothed; then Bert's chance was over. He almost expected to see him reel visibly under the blow. Of course the ordinary man is not openly affected by such things. We most of us in our time have to listen politely while somebody cheerfully calls upon us for congratulation upon the circumstance that is defeating our hopes. But to Bert this news meant the loss of all things. His money, his lands, his education, all he had and was, existed for Melicent....

The Bishop elect felt himself turning cold. Visions of possible tragedy had brushed his eyes with their dark wing that afternoon, and behold, already the darkness was upon them. Once before, after Bert's long patience, at the moment of fruition, Carol had stepped in and asked him to forego. He remembered the effect of brute strength in leash, the impact, almost physical, of this man's will against his own. And then he had been able to hold out hope, to say: "Wait, and try again when you have proved yourself."

But this time it was final!

What would Bert do? Would his civilisation, his Christianity, even his manhood, be proof against this stroke of Fate?

It had been better far for him to present himself avowedly to the girl, to say: "Behold the result of my long effort to be more worthy of you. Will you try to learn to love me?"

Mayne had counselled this all along; but Bert had, as usual, taken his own way.

Mayne's eyes were fixed apprehensively upon the firm hands grasping the wheel. He almost expected some explosion, some display of violent resentment, of ungoverned temper, that should shoot them all down into the ravine on their left, where the limekiln smoked blue against the dark moor beyond.

There was not even a change of colour. Bert continued to look out keenly along the road, as his manner was when driving.

"Asked Miss Lutwyche to marry you?" he said, in a preoccupied voice. "What on earth d'you do that for?"

Lance was silent for a moment, in something closely approaching stupefaction. Carol stared at Bert, in whose temples he saw a pulse visibly throbbing; no other sign of discomposure.

"Surely you've seen, Brooke, that I was hard hit in that direction?" said Lance presently, in a hurt tone.

"Saw you admired her, of course; but so do I," said Bert shortly. "Had no idea you had made up your mind."

"You must forgive our lack of warmth, Burmester," said Mayne. "It seems to me very sudden. But you know they say, 'Happy's the wooing that's not long a-doing.'"

"You don't know enough of each other," said Bert, still in that preoccupied tone, as though his mind was concentrated on the road before him.

"Well," said Lance, "but what were you saying last night in the smoking-room? One has got to take one's chances. It is true, and it was that that gave me courage to speak to-day."

Mayne saw the blood slowly overspread Bert's face. Lance, behind, could not see the sardonic grin which accompanied the manifestation.

"Well, it seems I've made myself responsible for a big order," remarked the _chauffeur_.

"Don't you think she's charming?" said Lance anxiously. "Charming in such a very unusual way? You know, lots of girls are pretty, but you feel you'd so soon get tired of 'em--run through 'em, so to speak, if Mayne will pardon the expression. But with her--" his voice broke and softened.

Bert put on power, then jammed down the brake, as an opportune cart came galloping downhill towards them; opportune, because it enabled him to say "Damn!" with expression, to violently control the rocking car, and to be occupied with it busily. When he spoke again, which was not for several minutes, during which Mayne vainly searched his own mind for a suitable remark, it was to say:

"What are you going to do about St. Petersburg?"

"Oh!" said Lance, unpleasantly reminded.

It was only a fortnight since he had been rejoicing in the offer, made to him by his newspaper, of going to Russia under very favourable conditions.

"Well," he said, after a pause, "that will have to be referred to--" Bert made his whistle hoot so noisily that the final word was lost.

When they drew up at the door of the Grange, Bert said to Mayne, upon whom he had not bestowed glance nor sign:

"Mayne, like a good chap, see if there's any post for me before I send this machine away."

Mayne went in, and sent out the servant with a bundle of correspondence, of that unclassified kind which the rich man and the buyer is always burdened withal. Brooke sat in the car, opening envelope after envelope; and after a minute, Mayne came slowly down the steps again and stood near, his eyes soft with sympathy, but no words on his tongue.

"Ha!" said the Captain at last, as though to himself. "Yes; that's what I expected. Well, I think I shall be off at once, and take my machine to Wiltshire by road."

After a moment's surprise: "A good idea," said Mayne heartily.

Bert looked at him as if he had never seen him before.

"Oh," he said, "you think so, do you?" Then turning to Sir Joseph's _chauffeur_, who waited: "Tell my man to be ready in an hour to take me to London," he said laconically, getting out of the car as he spoke. "I must go and apologise to Lady B." he remarked, with a grin, as he passed Mayne. "See you later, old man. These are my builders' estimates, and I must get on with that house of mine."

"But"--Mayne was so mystified that he followed him through the hall--"but if your architect is--what I mean to suggest is, that she may not be able to carry out--"

Brooke turned and faced him with clear grey eyes that had the effect of a locked door.

"She's signed her contract," he said, "and if she don't keep to it, I'll go to law and make her. But this is business: women aren't so unbusiness-like as you seem to suppose. Forman, where's her ladyship?"

* * * * * * * *

There is little doubt that her son's engagement would have been wholly unpleasing to Lady Burmester had it not been for one fact which, curiously enough, made her look more favourably upon it. This was nothing else than the total lack of enthusiasm with which the Helstons regarded the new idea.

The thing was sudden; on Melicent's side they had noticed no symptoms. They thought it rash and ill-considered. No doubt many young people made up a match upon equally slender acquaintance; in fact, one way and another, before Lance went abroad, he and Melicent had seen a good deal of one another. Undoubtedly, from the worldly point of view, it was an excellent match for their girl. The thing that distressed them was that they felt sure her heart was not in it.

"But in that case--why?" they asked each other blankly.

They thought they knew her too well to imagine that the social advantages weighed enough in her eyes to turn the scale. They were simply mystified, without a clue.

"Are you sure you are wise, my child?" said Brenda earnestly, when first discussing it with her adopted daughter. "You know we have always spoken out frankly to each other. Don't let us forego that habit. Tell me plainly. You care for Lance deeply? He's a charming fellow, I know, but weak. Have you realised that he is weak, Melicent?"

"I don't like strong men," said the girl, with a perceptible shudder. "There's something brutal about all strength, even moral strength. I fear it."

This speech deepened the darkness in which Brenda groped. She could not fathom it.

"Of course I understand his feeling for you," she said slowly. "You are just the woman for him, and he has penetration to see it--"

"But you won't give me the credit for like penetration? Why shouldn't I see it too? Isn't that kind of thing generally mutual?"

"Well, if you tell me it is so ... but it seems to me so rapid."

"It was unexpected to me," said Melicent thoughtfully. "I did ask him to give me time to think. But he seemed so sure. You know, mater, I don't think I should ever smile and cry and bill and coo. I'm not that kind. But I know I like Lance better than anybody else. If I find that we don't get on, I could break it off, you know."

"Lady Burmester would never forgive that."

"Oh, bother Lady Burmester!"

"There! That's the mood I distrust!" cried Brenda. "Melicent, you're behaving like a child! You will have to consider your husband's relations, and especially his mother! This is real life, remember. You are not going away to live in an enchanted castle."

"Well, it seems to me that you want me to act as if I were, and doubt me because I speak sensibly!" cried Melicent, hurt.

Brenda began to see that she had made up her mind. For the first time--the very first time since she took this orphan to her heart--she was conscious of feeling jarred. She ceased to argue, but went instead to her own room and wept.

This was early in the day. Lancelot and his parents came to lunch.

Mr. Helston was quite outspoken. He said his position briefly was that he was a man of moderate fortune, with two brothers, both with large and needy families. He could not feel justified in leaving much to his adopted daughter, as he had carefully explained to her uncle when he first took her. He had carried out his plan of giving her a first-rate education and a means of livelihood; and as long as he or his wife lived, she had a home. But she was a poor match for a prospective baronet.

Sir Joseph asked a few questions as to her birth and parentage, which Mr. Helston answered as fully as he could. Her father, Arnold Lutwyche, was a member of a reputable family which had gone to the West Indies, and there gained, and subsequently lost, a large fortune. He had no near relations, being the last of his line, and had been brought up in a luxury which, after the early death of his parents, had been found to be wholly unjustified. He had married Mr. Chetwynd-Cooper's sister, against the wish of her family, the opposition being solely on pecuniary grounds. Melicent had been sent to England on his death, her mother having predeceased him.

In his brief account of her home-coming, and Mr. Mayne's guardianship, Helston made no mention whatever of the Boer half-brothers and sisters, simply because he never thought about them. From the day of Melicent's first arrival in England, no word had come from Tante Wilma. Melicent herself never seemed to realise that the Boer woman's children were in any way akin to her. The stupor of coldness which had congealed her heart in the old days had seemingly rendered her incapable of loving anybody. Even now she loved but few; and those slowly, and, as it were, with difficulty. She repudiated her African life so wholly that Helston and his wife had hardly ever heard her speak of it.

But Brenda was urgent in recommending delay. She thought Sir Joseph ought to bring pressure to bear upon his son not to go forward in the matter at present. She owned that she was not altogether certain of Melicent's feelings. It was then that Lancelot's mother showed cold surprise. Naturally she did not find it difficult to believe that her son's attractions had proved fatal.

"Lancelot himself seems to have no doubts," she said. "It is possible he may understand the woman he loves better than you yourself, Mrs. Helston."

"That is very possible," said Brenda.

"His particular reason for wishing the engagement announced," said Sir Joseph, "is that his newspaper wishes him to go to St. Petersburg on a three months' commission. He would like to be married on his return, in the summer. His mother and I have every desire to see him settled, and he is by no means a boy who has given trouble in the way of flirtations--I mean, that I feel tolerably sure of his knowing his own mind; and that being so, I should not feel justified in putting obstacles in his way."

Brenda was aghast. She tried to say that her main objection to the engagement was the insufficient knowledge of each other possessed by the contracting couple; and that, if they were to be separated during the whole of their betrothal, and married with little chance of improving acquaintance, she felt considerable anxiety for their chances of future happiness.

It ended by Lady Burmester taking up the cudgels definitely on behalf of Romance. She naturally felt it most unlikely that, quite apart from the question of position, any girl could ever possibly repent marriage with her boy. She seemed inclined to treat Mrs. Helston's hesitation as an implied slight upon an exemplary son.

When Brenda found that Melicent herself was against her, she surrendered. The arrangement was in truth just what the girl had wished for. Her engagement would be merely nominal for the next three months while Lone Ash was in building. It would be there, an impregnable barrier against Hubert Mestaer, and in no sense a drag upon herself. The calmness with which she faced the idea of parting from her lover added the final touch to Mrs. Helston's conviction that there was something desperately wrong. She began to think she must be mistaken in her girl after all. Was her head really turned on finding herself the chosen of one of the county eligibles? It must be so. Doubtless the girl herself did not realise it. Excitement lent a glamour to the situation, and Melicent, like many another silly maid, mistook the glitter for the rainbow glory of the wings of the Love-god whom she had never seen.

Not even her husband could understand the full depth of Brenda's disappointment. It seemed to her that she would have to learn Melicent all over again. She brooded over the subject continually, searching and searching for a motive for conduct which nobody but herself found in the least unnatural.