In the weeks that followed that sudden leap into intimacy, they had been such good comrades, had enjoyed so many half-playful, half-serious conversations, had played so many thrilling tennis matches, that it was small wonder she had begun to look upon him as one of her most genuine friends; and his sudden absence hurt her pride, and made her wonder whether, after all, his friendliness had been merely a pretence.
Once or twice he met her in the village, but he only saluted her and hurried on his way; while the invitations which the ever-hospitable Sir Richard insisted on sending him were refused with excuses so shallow that even the good-natured host of Greengates refrained from comment.
The contrast between this ungracious behaviour and Bruce Cheniston's open delight in her society was strongly marked; and the friendliness of the younger man brought balm to Iris' sore heart, sore with the first rebuff of her budding womanhood. When Anstice failed her, refused her invitations, and appeared indifferent to her smiles, it was undoubtedly soothing to feel that in Cheniston she had a friend who asked nothing better than to be in her company at all hours, to do her bidding, and to pay her that half-laughing, half-earnest homage which was so delicate and sincere a tribute to her charms.
Anstice had spoken truly when he said the psychological moment was at hand. Until the day when his visits to Greengates ceased abruptly Iris had been inclined, ever so unconsciously, to look upon Anstice with a slightly deeper, more genuine regard than that which she gave to the other man; and had Anstice been able to seize the moment, to follow up the impression he had made upon her, it is possible she, would have listened to him with favour, and the tiny seed of affection which undoubtedly lay in her heart would have burst into a lovely and precious blossom which would have beautified and made fragrant the rest of their lives.
But Anstice might not seize the moment; and although Bruce Cheniston had hitherto taken the second place in Iris' esteem, when once she realized that Anstice had apparently no intention of renewing their late friendship she gently put the thought of him out of her heart and turned for relief to the man who had not failed her.
So matters stood on the morning of Iris' birthday, a glorious day in mid-July, when the gardens of Greengates were all ablaze with roses and sweet-peas, with tall white lilies whose golden hearts flung sweetest incense on the soft air, with great masses of Canterbury bells and giant phlox making gorgeous splashes of colour, mauve and red and white and palest pink, against their background of velvet lawns and dark-green cedar trees.
This was the day on which Bruce Cheniston had decided to put his fortune to the test; and as he looked out of his window at Cherry Orchard and noted the misty blue haze which foretold a day of real summer heat, he told himself that on such a day as this there could be no need to fear a reverse in his present luck.
He whistled as he dressed, and when the breakfast-bell rang he went downstairs feeling at peace with himself and all the world.
"'Morning, Chloe. What a day!" He stooped and kissed his sister as he passed behind her chair, and she looked faintly amused at the unusual salutation.
"Yes. A beautiful day." Her deep voice expressed little pleasure in the morning's beauty. "Are you going anywhere particular that the fine weather fills you with such joy?"