'And you don't think I'd be good to the children?'

'Good? I know you would be an angel to them! But what's the use? I tell you I can't do it.'

'I won't tease you, I won't worry you any more,' he said, in a rather broken voice. 'At any rate, think what a terrible blow this is to me.

You show me the chance of heaven, then you voluntarily dash it away.

Don't you think you ought to consult someone? You have asked no-one?'

'I have consulted _you_,' she said, with a slight smile.

'You take no notice of what I say.'

'As a matter of fact, I don't wish to consult anyone. I have made my own decision. I have written my letter.'

She took it out of her bag. It was directed to Bruce, at the address he had given her in Australia.

'I suppose you won't let me read it?' he said sadly.

'I think I'd rather not,' she said.

Terribly hurt, he turned to the door.

'No--no, you shall read it!' she exclaimed. 'But don't say anything, make no remark about it. You shall read it because I trust you, because I really care for you.'

'Perhaps I oughtn't to,' he said. 'No, dear; keep it to yourself.' His delicacy had revived and he was ashamed of his jealousy.

But now she insisted on showing it to him, and he read:

'DEAR BRUCE,

'I'm not going to make any appeal to your feelings with regard to your mother and the children, because if you had thought even of me a little this would not have happened. I'm very, very sorry for it. I believe it happened from your weakness and foolishness, or you could not have behaved with such irresponsibility, but I'm trying to look at it quite calmly. I therefore propose to do nothing at all for three months. If I acted on your suggestion you might regret it ever after. If in three months you write to me again in the same strain, still desiring to be free, I will think of it, though I'm not sure that I should do it even then. But in case you change your mind I propose to tell n.o.body, not even your mother. By the time you get this letter, it will be six weeks since yours to me, and you may look at things differently. Perhaps by then you will be glad to hear that I have told your mother merely that you have been ordered away for a change, and I shall say the same to anyone else who inquires for you. If you feel after this time still responsible, and that you have a certain duty, still remember, even so, you might be very unhappy together all your lives. Excuse me, then, if I don't take you at your word.

'Another point occurs to me. In your hurry and excitement, perhaps you forgot that your father's legacy depended on the condition that you should not leave the Foreign Office before you were fifty. That is about fourteen years from now. If you are legally freed, and marry Miss Argles, you could hardly go back there. I think it would be practically impossible under those circ.u.mstances, while if you live in Australia you will have hardly any means. I merely remind you of this, in case you had forgotten.

'I shall regard it all as an unfortunate aberration; and if you regret it, and change your mind, you will be free at any time you like to come back and nothing shall be ever said about it. But I'm not begging you to do so. I may be wrong; perhaps she's the woman to make you happy.

Let me know within three months how you feel about it. No-one will suffer except myself during this time, as I shall keep it from your mother, and shall remain here during this time. Perhaps you will be very angry with me that I don't wish to take you at your word, Bruce.

At first I thought I would, but I'm doing what I think right, and one cannot do more.

'I'm not going to reproach you, for if you don't feel the claims of others on you, my words will make no difference.

'Think over what I say. Should you be unhappy and wish to separate from her without knowing how, and if it becomes a question of money, as so many things do, I would help you. I did not remind you about your father's legacy to induce you to come back. If you really find happiness in the way you expect, we could arrange it. You see, I have thought of everything, in one night. But you _won't_ be happy.

'EDITH OTTLEY.'

'Remember, whenever you like to come back, you will be welcomed, and nothing shall ever be said about it.'

Aylmer gave her back the letter. He was touched.

'You see,' she said eagerly, 'I haven't got a grain of jealousy. All that part is quite finished. That's the very reason why I can judge calmly.'

She fastened up the letter, and then said with a smile:

'And now, let's be happy the rest of the summer. Won't you?'

He answered that she was _impayable_--marvellous--that he would help her--devote himself to doing whatever she wished. On consideration he saw that there was still hope.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Bruce Returns

'Never, Edith!' exclaimed Vincy, fixing his eyegla.s.s in his eye, and opening his mouth in astonishment. 'Never! Well, I'm gormed!'

A week had pa.s.sed since the news of Bruce's elopement. The little group at Westgate didn't seem to have much been affected by it; and this was the less surprising as Aylmer and Edith had kept it to themselves. Mrs Ottley listened imperturbably to Edith's story, a somewhat incoherent concoction, but told with dash and decision, that Bruce had been ordered away for a sea-voyage for fear of a nervous breakdown. She cried a little, said nothing, kissed Edith more than usual, and took the children away for longer walks and drives. With a mother's flashlight of intuition she felt at once certain there was something wrong, but she didn't wish to probe the subject. Her confidence in Edith reached the point of superst.i.tion; she would never ask her questions. Edith had a.s.sured her that Bruce would come back all right, and that was enough. Personally, Mrs Ottley much preferred the society of Aylmer to that of her son. Aylmer was far more amusing, far more considerate to her, and to everybody else, and he didn't use his natural charm for those who amused him only, as the ordinary fascinating man does. Probably there was at the back of his attentions to Mrs Ottley a vague idea that he wanted to get her on his side--that she might be a useful ally; but he was always charming to elderly women, and inclined to be brusque with younger ones, excepting Edith; he remembered his own mother with so great a cult of devotion, and his late wife with such a depressed indifference.

Edith had asked Aylmer to try and forget what had happened--to make himself believe that Bruce had really only gone away medicinally. For the present, he did as she wished, but he was longing to begin talking to her on the subject again, both because it interested him pa.s.sionately from the psychological point of view, and far more, naturally, because he had hopes of persuading her in time. She was not bound by letter; she could change her mind. Bruce might and possibly would, insist.

There was difficulty in keeping the secret from Vincy, who was actually staying in the house, and whose wonderful nerves and whimsical mind were so sensitive to every variation of his surroundings. He had the gift of reading people's minds. But it never annoyed anyone; one felt he had no illusions; that he sympathised with one's weaknesses and follies and, in a sense, enjoyed them, from a literary point of view.

Probably his friends forgave his clear vision for the sake of his interest. Most people would far rather be seen through than not be seen at all.

One day Vincy, alone on the beach with Edith, remarked that he wondered what had happened to Mavis.

Edith told him that she had run away with a married man.

'Never, Edith!' he exclaimed. 'Who would have thought it! It seems almost too good to be true!'

'Don't say that, Vincy.'

'But how did you hear it? You know everything.'

'I heard it on good authority. I _know_ it's true.'

'And to think I was pa.s.sing the remark only the other day that I thought I ought to look her up, in a manner of speaking, or write, _or something_,' continued Vincy; 'and who _is_ the poor dear man? Do you know?'

He looked at her with a sudden vague suspicion of he knew not what.

'Bruce was always inclined to be romantic, you know,' she said steadily.

'Oh, give over!'

'Yes, that's it; I didn't want anyone to know about it. I'm so afraid of making Mrs Ottley unhappy.'

'But you're not serious, Edith?'

'I suppose I'd better show you his letter. He tells me to ask your advice.'

She gave it to him.

'There is only one word for what I feel about it,' Vincy said, as he gave it back. 'I'm gormed! Simply gormed! Gormed, Edith dear, is really the only word.'