CHAPTER XII
A WOMAN’S LOVE
Jacob Strelitzki had vanished. He disappeared on the night of the fire, after having seen his plans ripe for consummation, and all efforts to trace him were made in vain. He was wanted for the official inquiry; but it was probably in order to escape this that he had gone away. In his absence, Horwitz was made to act as scape-goat; even the factory people themselves laying the blame on him. But he too put all the mischief down to the bad influence of his brother-in-law, Strelitzki; and, in common with his fellow-workers, escaped with a severe censure and nothing more. If Strelitzki returned he would be arrested on the charge of incendiarism; but it was not likely that he would do so, especially as his wife and child left Durlston a few weeks later, their destination unknown.
Herbert Karne made slow progress towards recovery. At first he seemed, as the doctor feared he would be, thoroughly prostrated by the shock to the system; and his convalescence was attended by a fit of nervous depression most difficult to combat. It was, no doubt, due to the discouraging fact that three out of the four pictures for the Duke of Downshire’s chapel would have to be done over again, thus entailing months of wasted labour. He greatly regretted, also, the destruction by fire of the best picture he had possessed of his and Celia’s mother, which had occupied the most prominent position in the studio. He had often imagined that this picture—the beautiful face with its coronet of bronze-gold hair so like Celia’s, the dark eyes, the smiling lips—had proved a source of inspiration to him when engaged at his work; and without it, the studio, when rebuilt, would look incomplete.
Celia was due at the Havilands’ house in St. John’s Wood the week after the fire; and although she would much have preferred to stay and nurse her brother, she found herself unable to cancel her engagement. As the time drew near she began to wish that she had not consented to become a temporary actress—for that was what it amounted to. Taking Enid Wilton’s advice, she wrote a letter to that effect to Mr. Guy Haviland, and received an answer by return. The dramatist begged her not to disappoint him; for he had quite set his heart on her filling the rôle of Mallida, the chief character in the play; and arrangements for its production had been fully planned. So there was nothing for it but to submit; and having decided to go through with the venture, Celia made up her mind to do her very best.
The Towers seemed very quiet when the two girls had gone; and its master would have felt very lonely had it not been for the kind attention of Lady Marjorie Stonor, who drove over to see him every day—sometimes twice in the day. He looked forward with eagerness to her coming, for she made a delightful companion; and being gifted with more than the average amount of tact, knew exactly how to adapt her mood to his. She could be loquacious or silent, gay or grave, flippant or thoughtful; it was all one to her so long as she amused and entertained the invalid.
Their friendship had ripened considerably since the fire. They had slipped into the habit of calling each other by their first names; he never thought of prefixing her title now. Sometimes, when she arranged the cushions in his chair—which, by the way, was not at all necessary, even if he did carry his arm in a sling—she dropped a light butterfly kiss on his forehead; and then smiled at him naïvely, like a child who has been guilty of some particularly audacious trick. And everything she did, came so naturally and sweetly from her, that there seemed nothing extraordinary in her guileless intimacy towards him.
Herbert Karne told himself over and over again, that for the sake of his honour and her happiness he ought to repel her advances, as he had done before. He knew that he and she were drifting towards a rock marked dangerous, and that shipwreck would inevitably ensue. He knew it; but he was weakened by illness: he seemed to have lost all his power of resistance. What is a man to do when a pretty woman—and a good woman—looks love at him out of baby blue eyes, and practises all the artless wiles of her sex to enslave him? When Lady Marjorie chose to be charming, she was very charming indeed. It would have needed a veritable misanthropist to have withstood her, when once she had made up her mind to conquer.
And so the days sped on—days full of poetry, romance, and love-dreams; and one afternoon the climax came. They were having a tête-à-tête tea in the drawing-room, when, as it happened, Reggie Stannard dropped in to inquire how the artist was going on. In the hall he was waylaid by young Bobbie Stonor, who wished to ask his advice about a peg-top he was endeavouring to spin. Bobbie was in the habit of roaming about the house when his mother visited Mr. Karne, for the lore of love had no interest for him. In the course of conversation, he referred to the new papa he was going to have; and, on being questioned, said that his nurse had told him that Mr. Karne would soon be his papa. So Stannard came to the conclusion that Herbert Karne must be engaged to Lady Marjorie Stonor, a conviction which was deepened when he entered the drawing-room to find the two sitting opposite each other at a small tea-table with their faces close together, conversing in low tones.
They evidently did not hear Higgins announce him; so in order to attract their attention, he coughed somewhat significantly. Lady Marjorie jumped up as if she had been shot. Herbert Karne, however, retained his equilibrium.
“Ha, Reggie, glad to see you!” he said, extending his uninjured arm. “When did you arrive? We did not hear you come in.”