CHAPTER TEN

"Please meet me tonight six-thirty outside New Station. Mufti. Diana."

The major had already been informed that she no longer went to the office regularly, but had been seen at the leading tailor's and dressmaker's busy replenishing her wardrobe. He guessed that some fresh adventure was afoot, and was less surprised at her summons than he otherwise might have been. He accepted the windfall with grateful thanks. Thrusting the telegram into a drawer, he gave his orderly the following instructions:

"See that the place is immaculately clean and tidy. Everything must be dusted, including the tops of the cupboards, thoroughly. Fresh candles. Tea to be served. You are to go to bed at ten. Not to wake me early tomorrow morning; in fact, don't come to my room till I ring. I shall not want my mail brought in, not even if there's a wire. If any one calls, I'm not at home. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Here, take this. As soon as I'm off, get along to the florist over the way and buy some white carnations. Not red ones, or pink ones, or white roses, or wallflowers. White--Carnations. I want them arranged in those three vases, a third of the bunch in each, one on the bedside table. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

But his hopes were dashed as soon as he met her, and when she shook him in so comradely a fashion by the hand. He thought: "I'll give her champagne. They all of them succumb to its spell!"

He tried to persuade her to drive out in a car. She would not hear of it, insisting that they take a train.

"If we keep the car it will cost no end of money; I know you won't send it away, and I can't offer to share expenses. Besides, it's quicker by train, and in this wind any attempt at conversation will be impossible if we motor out."

"Have you so short a time to give me?"

"Till nine."

He knew her dislike of ceremonial and that she hated being cajoled into changing her mind. When she gave, she lavished her gifts with generous hand. So he merely said teasingly:

"You've obviously got some important conference at that hour."

"Well guessed!"

The train was full. They sat in opposite corners, silently appraising one another. He looked rather angular in his civilian suit, and his neck, which was unduly long, struck her as absurd, rising uncouthly above the linen collar. Still, she refrained from staring too pointedly at this flaw, for she knew how sensitive her friend was as to his appearance. Surely he used to be more tanned in the old days? Intellectual pursuits are always bad for the health! A white carnation in his buttonhole? Incurable sentimentalist....

The major took in her thin summer dress, and the mauve-coloured rose in her wide-brimmed, grey-green hat. When he thought he could do so unobserved, he allowed his fancy to roam over the sweets that lay beneath the folds of the frock. Memories crowded upon him, his senses were stirred, he thought of the possible return journey alone with her in a car. Yes, anything might happen. As they walked through the wood which led from the little wayside station to the restaurant, his brain was in a whirl of thoughts and desires.

A table had been reserved by her. They looked down on the unruffled waters of the lake. Not a sail was to be seen on the smooth expanse that gleamed all rosy in the evening light. Diana had ordered the menu, as had been her wont when they used to dine here; and the champagne they drank was of the old familiar brand. But he sought in vain to reawaken in her the mood of long ago by recalling past suppers in these self-same surroundings. Diana, who was looking again at a watery expanse after many weeks' starvation, could think of nothing but the lake and the boat she had run away from so recently. Very softly she began to tell her friend of the life she had led on the island, of swimming and climbing and fishing, of the swallows coming north. She was not in the least amorous this evening; indeed, so calm and collected was she that he too grew less disquieted for a time. After a while, however, his passion once more found expression in his eyes; he drew nearer, pressed his suit with ardour. She stopped him short, observing humorously:

"My dear, I no longer wear the white carnation!"

"You ought to! You must!"

"I have become another being."

"Oh, we must not let this lovely summer evening slip through our fingers. We could be so happy. You would not have wired to me if you had not been free...."

"I am leaving town in three hours from now."

He held his peace, trying to control his emotion, wincing with jealousy at the thoughts her announcement conjured up.

"You are going away?"

"Yes."

"May I ask where?"

"To the Balkans."

Like a flash came the conviction that she was travelling with Scherer, for his acquaintance with the man was too slight for him to know that such an intrigue was out of the question. With innuendo he asked:

"Wagon-lit, I wager!"

She laughed gaily as she penetrated his meaning.

"Yes, wagon-lit. Coupé séparé, for one. A conventual cell from which on arrival at my destination a nun will emerge. I shall bid a solemn farewell to sin as I quaff the last glass of this superb Cliquot!"

He could not help joining in her good humour.

"Why not bid your farewell in the arms of a captain of horse in mufti?"

"Because he has been raised to the rank of major and is a member of the general staff with weighty responsibilities on his shoulders. In addition, my train leaves at eleven."

"There's plenty of time till then. It's only eight," he exclaimed incautiously. He bit his lip in mortification, recognizing his blunder. But she chose to find his words amusing. She laughed, and rejoined with unexpected candour:

"You are forgetting the conference at nine o'clock!"

"Who is the lucky devil?"

"My brother."

The major's brows were raised ever so slightly. She instantly realized that something was amiss. With a complete change of manner, curt and cold, with masculine firmness, she demanded:

"What's up?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Please tell me. As my friend, I beg you to let me know ... Felix!"

Her tone was so earnest that he gave way.

"I am uneasy about him."

"Women?"

"Ladies--and women."

"Hm. Anything else?"

"Gambling."

"Is that all?"

"Debts of honour."

"Who pays?"

He was silent, leaving her to draw her own conclusions. Diana emptied her glass. She gazed down over the peaceful waters of the lake. The past, instead of lending wings to her spirit, weighed heavily upon her. This present moment of time seemed to her an empty, inglorious thing. Ahead of her lay duties to be performed whose attraction depended on people she did not know and whom she could not cut adrift from her life if they disappointed her expectations. She mused:

"Shall you ever be truly free, poor fluttering heart? A man who sends you to spy out the land. A friend for ever on the watch. A brother you must always keep your eye upon. I am a migratory bird. Continually on the go. Is there no coast where I can rest for awhile, alone? Why, just today, should I be so overwhelmed with a longing for solitude, just when I have decided to travel away to fresh adventures?"

She rose slowly, and turned to her companion. His face, too, was clouded. The effervescent spirits provoked by the champagne had evaporated. The major had given up all hope of carrying out his plans for the evening, and it was with perfect frankness that he said:

"We won't go back by train. Too many people."

The car took them swiftly through the twilit wood. Diana always felt more alone, weaker, in the gloaming than in the full light of day. She wanted to seek refuge, to find protection, from this sense of solitude, and leaned confidingly against her friend's shoulder. He wrapped his cloak around her, looking down at her in silence. Her eyes were closed, and round her lips a faint smile hovered. His heart was filled with infinite gratitude. Forgotten now the dreams of her physical charms. He could think of nothing but guarding her from evil. When the car ran over rough surfaces, he held her to him, trying to parry with his elbow the shock of the jolts. He played gently with the strands of hair loosened by the wind, and thought:

"Often and often she has been like a mother towards me. Tonight I feel as if she were my sister. She is always different, infinitely varied."

On reaching town, she sat up again, put her hat to rights, pulled on her gloves, and gripped his big hand in hers.

"Will you promise me something?"

"Willingly."

"Keep an eye on Sidney. Send me a wire if he needs money. Your last letter goes with me. Farewell! Thank you for the drive back, and for your good, kind hands."

She got down at the door of her modest hotel. He held both her hands in his, and kissed the right. Then he drove home. It struck nine as he entered. His man, who had not expected him back so early, was arranging the white carnations. His jaw dropped as he saw his master.

"What are you doing there?"

"The carnations, Sir..."

"Idiot! Go to bed. Call me at five. I'm going for a ride."

Sidney, punctual to the minute, greeted Diana in the hall where she had been awaiting him. She took him straight to her room, where her luggage was ready packed.

"Hallo! Are you going away?"

"Yes, tonight."

"To England?"

"No, to the south. Have you heard from Father?"

"A card from London with his address and a word or two."

"May I make a note of it?"

"Keep the card, and give me the address."

While Diana was copying the long address, Sidney's eye was caught by a picture of a dog in a little silver frame.

"Fine beast! How splendid he looks standing on the shore, staring so eagerly across the water. Is he expecting some one?"

"Yes, he's waiting for me. That's Lago Maggiore. I went for a sail every morning."

"Is he a sort of silvery grey?"

"Yes, and his eyes are blue."

"It's a strange thing, but I came across a dog just like this one quite recently in a public park...."

"Here?"

"No, in Vienna."

Diana felt uneasy.

"The dog stayed with me for a minute or two, snuffing round me, and whining, till his master called him to heel."

"His master called him?"

"Of course. The creature had a beautiful and very appropriate name--Othello."

Diana snapped her bag to, and asked airily:

"So you've just been to Vienna?"

"Last week. Are you going that way?"

"I'm taking the night train to Vienna."

"And beyond?"

"Yes. I'll write to you. Shall I send it to you care of the Political Club?"

"They will forward anything."

"Are you going away, too?"

"I'm not certain. Are you ready to start?"

"No, I've got a couple of letters to write first."

"Then I'll say good-bye. And, please do write to me this time!"

He kissed her hand. She looked fixedly at him for a moment, then kissed him on the cheek.

"Good-bye, Sidney."

"Good-bye, Diana."

For some time after his going she sat in a brown study on the edge of the bed. Then she read the postcard from her father in London, held it up to the light as if to test the authenticity of the handwriting, laid it away in her case, sat down at her desk, and wrote:

"My dear Father,

"Sidney, whom I have met during my brief stay here, has given me your card. You write that our dear old Mary has called, inquiring after me and weeping. Please tell her I should like her to join me in the Balkans as soon as possible. I enclose a cheque for her. Ask her to go to Cook's. They'll tell her how to get to ----.

"Are you never going to write to me? On all my travels a tiny packet of your letters goes with me, hardly twenty in the course of seven years. I know them by heart. I have studied each one over and over, like an orchestral score, a mystery. Will you send me a picture of yourself? Nothing could give your Diana greater pleasure. Sidney tells me your hair is quite white now.

"I had a Great Dane for a time; his coat was silver-grey. He was so fond of me that he was not jealous although his master loved me. He recognized Sidney as my brother when they met by chance in a town far away from here.

"I am starting on a journey tonight, which will take me near my old home. I am in a serious mood, and my mind is full of thoughts. I am sunburned, but Sidney is white.

"Love me as I love you. "DIANA."

BOOK TWO