CHAPTER XIII
IN BLACK AND WHITE
Mayne, an early riser, was generally the first to appear at chotah hazri; and when, with an impressive gesture, Francis laid Nancy's letter on the table beside him, he instantly recognized the writing, and felt a premonition that there was something in the wind! With admirably concealed impatience, he waited until the servant had retired, to open this, the first communication from his wife. He read it standing; then he sat down with a sudden plunge, and went slowly over it again, whilst a curious, rather grim expression stole across his face. Nancy's strange attitude was here most fully, and frankly explained. Her look of cold dislike, her frigid silence, and pointed avoidance, were amply accounted for, by the fact that she hated the man, whom in her heart she accused of being the cause of her father's death. Her love for him, was so absolute and overwhelming, that it had changed her kindly liking for Mayne, into horror, and detestation, and she spurned what she termed his "payment." The information was before his eyes in clear black and white—the girl wrote a good, legible hand—she had shot her bolt and fled. So after all his anxious heart-searchings, stifled reluctance, and sincere good-will, Nancy had deserted him, and gone her own way, to live her own life!
His feelings were an extraordinary mixture; various and unusual sensations, in turn swept over him; anger, humiliation, astonishment—then finally, relief. It was a relief, to be free from the desperate embarrassment of being married to a girl, a mere playfellow, with whom he had never exchanged a word of love, nor for whom he had ever felt the smallest touch of passion; yet on the other hand, Nancy was his legal wife, and—in spite of her ignorant confidence, and offer of release—to the best of his belief, it was impossible to sever the bond between them. Also, he was in the position of being sole executor of her father's will, and scanty personal estate.
The actual fact of the marriage was known to few. He could now rejoin his regiment as a bachelor; and the distasteful vision, of presenting himself at Cananore, in company with a stony-faced, abjectly miserable bride, faded away into the background. He would still continue to live at the Mess, and if later, there were any awkward developments—"sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof!"
Mayne paused in his tramp to and fro, and was about to pour himself out a cup of tea, when he beheld the shiny, copper-coloured face of Teddy Dawson, appearing above the steps.
"So I hear you are off this afternoon," he began, "and I have just looked in to know if I can do anything to help? I was the first to welcome you, and I should like to be the last to speed you, from this part of the world."
"You have come at an opportune moment," said Mayne, holding out his hand; "the very fellow I particularly want to see. But first let me get you a cup of tea."
"All right, I don't mind," said Ted, tossing down his battered topee, and taking a seat at the table. "How is Nancy?"