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"Yes, really!" Chris was emphatic. "And I am sure there is nothing much the matter with you, Bertie; now, is there?" He scarcely responded. "It will pass," he said. "And so you have arranged to make visits this afternoon?" "Yes. Isn't it a bother?" Chris's brow wrinkled. "Noel wanted me to go and fish with him, but Trevor says I must go and see Mrs. Pouncefort, so I suppose I must.
She was unhappy at home, for Aunt Kate was grave and silent, Rose wrapped in the all-absorbing question of the tiny Catherine's meals, and Wolf neither came nor wrote on Saturday night. But in Chris's devotion she was feverishly and breathlessly happy, their meetings always in public places, and without a visible evidence of their emotion were hours of the most stimulating delight.
He went down the shady path that led to Chris's retreat at a speed that left him breathless. He paused with his hand to his heart as he reached the yew-tree before plunging into the gloom beneath its great, drooping branches. He was living too fast, and he knew it, could almost feel his life running out like the sand in an hour-glass. But a great recklessness possessed him.
Then again the voice pealed, and Sir James faced round and stared into Chris's eyes. But neither spoke a word. Dom Anthony, who was standing a yard or two in front, turned presently as the sound of splintering began to be mingled with the reverberations, and came towards them. His square, full face was steady and alert, and he spoke with a sharp decision.
Chris's attitude, which had at first been one of indifference, had gradually developed into one of passive resistance. She was, as a matter of fact, too preoccupied just then to turn her attention to active opposition; but she did not pretend to enjoy the tutelage thus ruthlessly pressed upon her.
The mate, whose post was aboard, was out with the boats, having temporarily taken Chris's place as boat-steerer. When good weather and good sport came together, the boats were accustomed to range far and wide, and often did not return to the schooner until long after dark. But for all that it was a perfect hunting day, Chris noted a growing anxiety on the part of the sailing-master.
He had sprained it in rescuing a little companion from drowning, the child of a drunkard who had unfeelingly thrown his offspring down a well. This episode had been an example to Chris which had kept him from drinking all his life, until he had fallen into his present rough company. Aunt Jane took it very hard that the Scotchman seemed quite unfeeling about Chris's wrist.
Presently she saw a hand uplifted into the belt of flame, a hand grasping for a ledge of rock, and a quickly stifled cry rose to her lips. The thumb on the hand was smashed flat, there was a tiny pink nail in the centre. Chris's heart gave one quick leap, then her senses came back to her. She needed nobody to tell her that the owner of the hand was James Merritt.
Haverford, punctually paying her dinner-call in an age which exacts dinner-calls no longer even from its bachelors who brought Natalie the news of Chris's going. Natalie, who went down to see her with a mental protest, found her at a drawing-room window, making violent signals at somebody without, and was unable to conceal her amazement. "It's Delight," explained Mrs. Haverford.
He wondered if Chris had not married, for instance, the girl at the piano, only to find she was the woman upstairs. And he wondered, too, if that were true, why he should have had to clear out. So many men married the sort Audrey had been, in Chris's little study, only to find that after all the thing they had thought they were getting was a pose, and it was the girl at the piano after all.
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