He moved to the window with the words, stood a moment or two as if to give her an opportunity to call him back, then, as she remained silent, went down the steps into the garden and passed out of sight round the house.
Maud was left with a stinging sensation of discomfiture that was compounded of doubt, indignation, and shame.
She was relieved to think he had not seen the letter, but she hated the impulse that had moved her to conceal it.
CHAPTER V
REBELLION
That letter from Saltash, written in French, contained the announcement of his approaching return. It was at her urgent written request that he had gone three months before. Somehow the very thought of him at the Castle had been intolerable after what had passed between them on the day of her return to her husband. But they had corresponded ever since. She could not refuse to receive and answer his letters. Her intimacy with Charlie was like a gem with many facets. He had an adroit fashion of flashing it before her hither and thither till, dazzled, she wondered if she had ever truly grasped its full value. Sometimes it seemed to her that it had been cut from the very bedrock of friendship, and at such times the realization of the sympathy that ever pulsed between them was a pure joy to her. At other times, remembering the strange impulses of the man, his sudden gusts of passion, swift misgiving would assail her and she would tell herself that she was making a terrible mistake. And then again she would catch a glimpse of his careless, butterfly temperament, and her doubts would vanish almost in spite of her. How could she take him seriously? His gay inconsequence made the hare notion seem ridiculous. They were pals, no more. True, he had offered to help her; but, knowing him through and through as she did, he was the last man in the world to whom she would really turn for help. And since she was so sure of herself, what had she to fear? Charlie was before all things a gentleman. There was nothing coarse or brutal about him. In his own words, where women were concerned, he did not take; he offered. For that very reason he was the harder to resist.
But she knew him to be safe. That was the foundation of her confidence. She had no fear of him; he had always set her at her ease. Without virtue he might be, yet was he not without a certain code of honour. He tempted; therein lay the subtle attraction of the man; but he never compelled. He was selfish; oh yes, he was selfish, but he was also strangely, whimsically kind at heart. In all her experience of him, she had never found him merciless.
And so she did not see why she should wholly deny herself the friendship which seemed to her to be the only good thing left in her life now. She had not wanted to see him, but now that he wrote to announce his return she found that she was glad. The first meeting with him might be a little difficult, but Charlie always knew how to deal with difficulties. He understood her; it would not be really hard. They would be friends again--just friends.
She slipped the letter away with a smile. He always allowed himself a little more latitude when he wrote in French. It was but natural. It meant nothing, she knew. How could anyone take him really seriously? His soul was as elusive as thistledown. It was only in the realms of music that she ever really saw his soul.
He did not say on what day he would return. She wondered if Jake knew, wondered if she could induce Bunny to ask him without betraying any interest in the subject herself. She was a little afraid of Bunny. His shrewdness embarrassed her. It was like a microscope, discovering things that otherwise would have escaped notice. She did not want to come under that microscope very often. There were some parts of her existence that would not bear it. She suspected that Bunny was already beginning to find out. She was sure that he was aware of a lack of sympathy between herself and Jake, and she wished she could have kept it from him.