THE SUMMONS
Nick's fit of virtue evaporated with his third letter, and he got up, feeling that he had spent an unprofitable afternoon. He also discovered that he was thirsty, and while quenching his thirst he debated with himself whether he would after all stroll round to the Musgraves. He and Will were old school-fellows, and the friendship between them was of the sort that wears forever. He was moreover dissatisfied with regard to Daisy's appearance, and he wanted to know the doctor's verdict.
He had just decided to chance his welcome and go, when a note was brought to him which proved to be from Will himself.
"DEAR OLD NICK," it ran,—"I have been wanting to shake your hand ever since I heard of your gallant return from the jaws of death. Well done, old chap, if it isn't a stale sentiment!
"Will you come and dine with us? Do thy diligence, for though we are neither of us the best of company, we both want you. The doctor has ordered Daisy and the youngster home. They are to leave before the chota-bursat. Damn the chota-bursat, and the whole beastly show!—Yours ever,
"WILL"
Nick considered this outburst with a sympathetic frown, and at once despatched an answer in the affirmative. He had almost expected the news. It had been quite plain to him that Daisy was not making any progress towards the recovery of her strength. Her quick temperament would not allow her to be listless, but he had not been deceived. And he was glad that Will had come up at length to see for himself.
It was horribly unlucky for them both, he reflected, for he knew that Will could not accompany his wife to England. And the thought presently flashed across him,—How would it go with him if he ever had to part with Muriel in that way? Having once possessed her, could he ever bear to let her go again? Would he not rather relinquish his profession for her sake, dear though it was to him? He had made her his own by sheer dogged effort. He had planned for her, fought for her, suffered for her,—almost he had died for her. Now that she was his at last, he knew that he could never let her go.
He turned impetuously to a calendar on his writing-table, and ticked off another day. There were only six left before his wedding-day. He counted them with almost savage exultation. Finally he tossed down the pencil with a sudden, quivering laugh, and stood up with wide-flung arms. She was his—his—his! No power or force of circumstance could ever come between them now. He would trample every obstacle underfoot.
But there were no obstacles left. He had overcome them all. He had won her fairly; and the reward of patience was very near.