Peter sighed in his sleep.
A clock in the hall chimed the quarter after six.
The doctor looked steadily into the fire. He seemed to find speech difficult.
At last he said, in a voice which shook slightly: “Dear Lady Ingleby, he did not—he does not—think you so.”
“No, no!” she cried, sitting forward again. “He thinks of me nothing but what is kind and right. But he never expected me to be more than a nice, affectionate, good-looking dog; and I—I have not known how to be better than his expectations. But, although he is so patient, he sometimes grows unutterably tired of being with me. All other pet creatures are dumb; but I love talking, and I constantly say silly things, which do not sound silly, until I have said them. He goes off to Norway, fishing; to the Engadine, mountain-climbing; to this horrid war, risking his precious life. Anywhere to get away alone; anywhere to——”
“Hush,” said the doctor, and laid a firm brown hand, for a moment, on the white fluttering fingers. “You are overwrought by the suspense of these past weeks. You know perfectly well that Lord Ingleby volunteered for this border war because he was so keen on experimenting with his new explosives, and on trying these ideas for using electricity in modern warfare, at which he has worked so long.”
“Oh, yes, I know,” said Myra, smiling wistfully. “Tiresome things, which keep him hours in his laboratory. And he has some very clever plan for long distance signalling from fort to fort—hieroglyphics in the sky, isn’t it? you know what I mean. But the fact that he volunteered into all this danger, merely to do experimenting, makes it harder to bear than if he had been at the head of his old regiment, and gone at the imperative call of duty. However—nothing matters so long as he comes home safely. And now you—you, Sir Deryck—must help me to become a real helpmeet to Michael. Tell me how you helped—oh, very well, we will not mention names. But give me wise advice. Give me hope; give me courage. Make me strong.”
The doctor looked at the clock; and, even as he looked, the chimes in the hall rang out the half-hour.
“You have not yet told me,” he said, speaking very slowly, as if listening for some other sound; “you have not yet told me, your second reason for leaving town.”
“Ah,” said Lady Ingleby, and her voice held a deeper, older, tone—a note bordering on tragedy. “Ah! I left town, Sir Deryck, because other people were teaching me love-lessons, and I did not want to learn them apart from Michael. I stayed with Jane Dalmain and her blind husband, before they went back to Gleneesh. You remember? They were in town for the production of his symphony. I saw that ideal wedded life, and I realised something of what a perfect mating of souls could mean. And then—well, there were others; people who did not understand how wholly I am Michael’s; nothing actually wrong; but not so fresh and youthful as Billy’s innocent adoration; and I feared I should accidentally learn what only Michael must teach. Therefore I fled away! Oh, doctor; if I ever learned from another man, that which I have failed to learn from my own husband, I should lie at Michael’s feet and implore him to kill me!”