Abington Abbey: A Novel

by Archibald Marshall

"Don't want to come home yet. Please let me stay. Am writing much love."

This angered him. It was a defiance; or so it struck him. He went down to the Post-Office himself, and sent another wire.

"Come up by morning train will meet you in London."

The rain had ceased. As he walked back over the muddy path that led through the park, the evening sun shone through a rift in the clouds, and most of the sky was already clear again. How he would have enjoyed this renewal of life and sunshine the evening before! But his mind was as dark now as the sky had been all day, and the relenting of nature brought it no relief.

Barbara and Bunting were out in the park with their mashies and putters, on the little practice course he had laid out. He kept the church between himself and them as he neared the house. They already knew that there was something amiss, and were puzzled and disturbed about it. In his life that had gone so smoothly there had never been anything to make him shun the company of his children, or to spoil their pleasure in his society, because of annoyance that he could not hide from them. He must tell them something—or perhaps Caroline had better—or Miss Waterhouse. He didn't want to tell them himself. It would make too much of it. Beatrix was going to be brought home; but not in disgrace. He didn't want that. She would be disappointed at first; but she would get over it, and they would all be as happy together as before. His thoughts did lighten a little as they dwelt for a moment on that.

He called for Caroline when he got into the house. He felt some compunction about her. He had taken her into his confidence, and then he had seemed to withdraw it, though he had not meant to do so. Of course he couldn't have told her the grounds of his objections to Lassigny as he had told them to Worthing, but he owed it to her to say at least what he was going to do. She had been very sweet to him at tea-time, trying her best to keep up the usual bright conversation, and to hide from the children that there was anything wrong with him, which he had not taken much trouble to hide himself. And she had put her hand on his knee under the table, to show him that she loved him and had sympathy with him. He had been immersed in his dark thoughts and had not returned her soft caress; and this troubled him a little, though he knew he could make it all right.

She came out to him at once from the morning-room, with some needlework in her hand. He took her face between his hands and kissed it. "I've sent B another wire to say she must come to London to-morrow," he said, "and I'll meet her."

She smiled up at him, with her eyes moist. "That will be the best way, Daddy," she said. "It will be all right when you talk to one another."

He put his arm round her, and they went into the morning-room. Miss Waterhouse was there, also with needlework in her hands. "I've told the Dragon," said Caroline in a lighter tone. "You didn't tell me not to tell anybody, Dad."

He sat down by the window and lit a cigarette. "You'd better tell Barbara and Bunting too," he said. "B ought not to have engaged herself without asking me first. Anyhow, she's much too young yet. I can't allow any engagement, for at least a year. I shall bring her down here, and we'll all be happy together."