CHAPTER XXIII
I SURPRISE DOCTOR RENTON'S SECRET
Very blind, very dense, and downright stupid have I been; and being of the gender called feminine, and presumably supposed to possess the gift of scenting a love affair of even the most embryo growth, I am all the more annoyed at my own density.
Besides, Dr. Renton helped me. The scent was hot. He mentioned India; he said she had lived at Dorking, or am I imagining he said that? Anyway, the trail was good, and it was only at five o'clock this afternoon that I discovered that my medical adviser, Dr. Renton, has been in love with my old governess, Jane Fairbrother, for over ten years.
And my discovery was only made by accident. Had I been staring at Dimbie, as is my customary fashion, instead of at Dr. Renton, when I announced from the open telegram in my hand that Jane would arrive on the morrow, I should not have seen the red colour dye the Doctor's bronzed cheeks, and I should still be wondering most probably who was his long-loved and long-lost woman.
"Oh!" I said, blinded for the moment by my sudden illumination. "Oh!"
Our eyes met. He smiled, and I knew that he understood.
"Yes," he said, nodding quietly.
Dimbie was balancing a piece of cake on Jumble's nose.
"I'm so glad."
"Thank you," he said simply.
"What are you glad about?" asked Dimbie, looking around.
"That the sun is coming out for Jane and Dr. Renton after the long, long gloom."
Dimbie gazed at me.
"I don't see why you should be specially glad for them. I think we require the sun much more than they, as we are lazy people who lie about and do nothing. Besides, it has only been dull for three or four days. You can't expect this wonderful summer to go on forever. You've become exacting, captious."
"It has been more or less dull for eight years," I remarked sententiously; and Dimbie, after again staring at me, returned to Jumbles, as though cats were easier to understand than women.
The Doctor and I smiled.
"I should wear grey flannel and a soft, grey hat—grey goes so well with hair of the same colour," I observed.
"It's not very bad," he protested, putting his hand to his hair.
"Pretty bad," I laughed; "there's a little brown left, but it's mostly tinged with grey."
"And my tie?" he asked, with a funny and almost resigned expression upon his face.
I put my head on one side to consider.
"Lavender would be—too bridal. I think grey or black and white."
"Whatever are you two talking about?" asked Dimbie.
"Colours. We were just considering what would best suit a man with iron-grey hair."
"But I'm not grey," said Dimbie.
"No, dear."
"Well, what do you mean?"
"I was just considering another man for the moment. Another man's appearance for an occasion on which he is anxious to look unusually well and young."
"He must be a conceited ass!" quoth Dimbie, getting up and strolling after Jumbles, who with arched back and stately tread marched away, refusing to be turned into a common performing clown at any man's bidding.
We laughed outright.
"May I—may I talk to you about it?" I asked.
He nodded.
"When would you like to see her?"
"To-morrow evening if you'll let me."
I considered this.
"Say the day after."
"Why?"
"Because if—if she says 'Yes' she'll cease to take any further interest in me. I've grown selfish, and I should so like to have her all to myself for the first evening."
"Very well," he agreed somewhat grudgingly.
"You see, after waiting for eight years one day——"
"Will seem longer than the whole lot put together," he said despondently.
"Well, come late to-morrow night, after supper."
"No, I'll try to hold out." He smiled a little. "If she—well, if she refuses me, I shall have had all the longer blissful looking forward to meeting her again. And if she should say 'No' it will serve me right."
"I somehow don't think she'll refuse you, though, as you say, it would certainly serve you right."
"Yes, I know it would." In his eyes lay an anxious, almost wistful look, which touched me. His rugged face had softened to a semblance of youth, his voice was less gruff.
"Women don't forget easily. If she ever cared for you——" I began.
Dimbie was returning.
"Dimbie," I called, "you might climb over into the frog-pond field and bring me some marguerites."
"Aren't they over?"
"If they are bring me some loosestrife and, scabious and anything you can find. I long for some wild-flowers."
Lazily he threw a leg over the fence and disappeared.
"He'll be away some time now. Dimbie never does anything quickly; he is slow and thorough, and he will endeavour to find the largest daisies in the field."
"I suppose when I—if I were ever married my wife"—he stumbled over the words—"might ask me to pick daisies for her?"
"Perhaps. But a great deal depends upon the man. I cannot imagine my father picking flowers for mother; he would more likely throw them at her."
Dr. Renton smiled. He had known Peter as long as I.
"I wonder whether you will find Miss Fairbrother much changed? She is eight years older, you know."
"Of course," he said placidly.
"Women age as well as men."
"Naturally."
"You don't care?"
"How do you mean?"
"You don't mind if she looks older?"
"Certainly not. No man wants his wife to look old, but if she does he loves her none the less. I have not been married, but I know this is so. I have seen the most beautiful affection between quite old men and women. It is not passion, but a love that has been tried in the fire and emerged triumphant."
I gave a sigh of relief.
"Besides, I know Jane's is a face that will have become more beautiful with the years."
"Why?"
"You will remember that her mouth was firm, almost hard? Her clear eyes honest, but almost defiant?"
I shook my head.
"Well, they were. Perhaps I studied her features more carefully than you."
"Possibly," I said, a little dryly.
"She had had to fight her own battles. She had had to stand up for herself against the world. Her childhood had been sad—an invalid mother, a drunken father——"
"No?" I said.
"Yes. Once she told me all about it. We were alone, and she gave me her confidence. And—I was fool enough to let that moment pass, though every bit of my being cried out to me to speak to her, tell of my love. But I thought she wasn't ready, and then she went away. But, as I was saying, I know she will be more beautiful now, Hers was a large nature. The years will have brought her a tenderness and sympathy which will have written themselves on the lines of her face. Some lined faces, with their experience, are infinitely more attractive than the fresh, smooth faces of youth. Don't you think so?"
I nodded. For the first time in my life I was learning that the Doctor had another side to his character. He had thrown aside his cloak of reserve, his professional manner, and I feared lest a chance word of mine might cause him to withdraw into his shell.
"In some faces you will see written the history of their owners' lives, dispositions, characters, if you look carefully. Note the little lines around the eyes that star away in all directions. They mean that the person who possesses them has smiled much, laughed at misfortune, helped the world to be the brighter and better for his or her presence. I expect to see those lines around Jane's eyes, and if they are not there I shall almost be disappointed."
He fell into a reverie, and I looked at him thoughtfully. He would make Jane very happy. "Oh, I hope she'll have him, I hope she'll have him!" I whispered again and again to myself.
Dimbie appeared over the fence.
"Will those do?" he asked, putting into my hand an enormous bunch of wild-flowers.
I buried my face in their fresh sweetness.
"We will put them in Jane's room; she loves flowers."
"You will not put them in Jane's room," contradicted Dimbie crossly. "I don't gather flowers for every strange woman from India, please understand that, Marguerite."
Dr. Renton looked up in surprise.
"Yes, I have to speak like that. Marguerite will make a perfect fool of Miss Fairbrother if I let her have her way. It's Miss Fairbrother this and Miss Fairbrother that. I'm sick of the very name of the woman. I'll take jolly good care that she is out of this house in less than a fortnight. Marguerite asked her for an indefinite period, but it happens to be very definite in my mind." With which he flung himself across the lawn and into the house.
The Doctor opened his mouth.
"Don't take any notice," I said quickly, for I knew Dimbie was watching us through the drawing-room window, "it's only jealousy, nothing more; he'll be all right when she comes."
"I'll marry her at once," the Doctor pronounced, getting up from his chair.
"You forget that she may not accept you."
He blushed a little.
"Good-bye," he said gruffly.
"Good-bye," I laughed; "but you might tell me before you go whether you think I am any better or worse. You'll remember you came over to see me—perhaps?"
He couldn't help laughing too.
"I'm awfully sorry. You see, the telegram came just after my arrival."
"You needn't be, there's nothing fresh to report."
"Still tired?" he asked very gently.
"Still tired and waiting for a fresh breeze to blow. I think I shall be better then, Doctor."
"God grant that it may be so." He raised my hand to his lips. "You are a staunch friend, Marguerite."
"Take care," I said, my eyes suddenly filling, "Dimbie is watching, and he is in a bit of a temper. You will be coming on Thursday, and good luck to you."
When he had driven away Dimbie sauntered across the grass.
"What is that man kissing you for?"
"Dimbie," I said, "you are too comical for words, and I will return your question with another. What is the matter with you?"
"I don't know." He lay down on the grass and leaned his head against my couch. "I'm cross, I think, Marg."
"Yes," I returned, running my fingers through his wavy hair, "you're very cross. How long do you think you will continue to be so?"
"Till Miss Fairbrother has gone. Marg, I don't want to be a surly beast, but, oh, I do wish I had never consented to that Indian woman's coming."
"If I tell you something will you promise to keep it secret—either till the day after to-morrow, Thursday, or forever?"
"There's rather a wide difference between the two periods of time."
"Yes, but there is a reason for it. Will you promise?"
"All right."
"I mean a faithful promise. You have a rather trying habit of slipping things out. This must be an on-my-oath promise."
"On-my-oath, world-without-end promise," repeated Dimbie.
"Dr. Renton wishes to marry Jane Fairbrother."
"The deuce he does!"
"Yes," I said, enjoying his astonishment.
"But he doesn't know her."
"He has known her for years. He knew her when she lived with us, but she went to India before he could make up his mind to speak to her. Now he is coming on Thursday."
"And he will take her away just when she is going to be useful to us, selfish beast!"
I smiled behind my hand.
"Dear Dimbie," I said, "I always thought men the most contrary creatures, having lived under Peter's roof for some years, but never quite so contrary as I now find them to be."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that here you have been making yourself extremely disagreeable about Miss Fairbrother's visit, and the moment someone comes along and says he will remove the incubus you turn equally nasty."
"I don't want you to be disappointed. For myself, I am only too jolly thankful that she won't be here long."
"But she may. I am not sure that she will accept Dr. Renton."
"I am."
"Why?"
"Most women accept the first man who asks 'em."
I swelled with indignation, and I rang the tortoise to emphasise my righteous anger.
"The conversation is finished," I said.
"No, it isn't," contradicted Dimbie.
"I repeat that it is." I shut my eyes.
"You've beautiful eyelashes—look like a fringe on your cheeks, and they all curl up at the ends, Marg."
An interval of silence.
"I didn't say you would rush at a man. I meant most women."
More silence.
"Don't you think I'm right?"
"Your ignorance of women is only equalled by your colossal conceit. The conversation, I again repeat, is at an end."
"And once again I assert that it isn't. I wish to discuss the matrimonial prospects of Dr. Renton and Miss Fairbrother."
"You must discuss them with yourself."
"Can't."
"You must take back what you said."
"Shan't."
I closed my eyes tightly.
"I shall go and talk about them to Amelia."
He got up.
"You dare!"
"I shall."
"You promised. You can't break your word."
"It would be quite easy."
"Dimbie, I never thought you could descend to such meanness."
"You see how little you knew me."
"Women are always deceived."
"It's funny how they rush at marriage."
"Oh," I cried, "you are too dreadful! Go away at once."
He laughed and croodled closer to the couch.
"This is our last afternoon," he said ingratiatingly, looking up into my face.
"What do you mean?"
"Before the she-dragon comes. Be nice to me, wife."
I looked away. It is hard to resist the plead in Dimbie's eyes and the crook of his mouth. His hand stole into mine. I took no notice. The other hand stroked my hair the wrong way, and—then, after the manner of fond, foolish woman, I forgave him and was nice.