She need not have been afraid; he did not even mention it, though his eyes wandered frequently to the ring which flashed almost aggressively on her finger. There was just a little constraint between them when, Karne having taken Dr. Forrest to look at some specimens of ancient art, they were left to a tête-à-tête conversation; but it soon wore off, and Celia was so glad to see his good, honest English face again. They found plenty to talk about without being personal; and passed from grave to gay, and back again to grave.
Celia was sitting on a small settee in the bay window, the light from a pink-shaded standard lamp casting quite a roseate glow on her face and form. Although she had only been away three months, Geoffrey found her changed. It may have been the cut of her London gown, but she certainly seemed to have grown taller and more graceful. She wore her hair differently too; for, instead of being done Madonna fashion as of old, it was dressed high, and had the effect of making her look quite distinguished. And there was a dreamy wistfulness about the eyes, and a little pathetic droop about the lips which had not been there before; he found out the reason for it in the course of conversation—she had begun to think.
To almost every youthful mind there comes a period of perturbation and unrest; one asks the eternal question “Why?” and strives to discern the raison d’être of things. Life, death, religion, ethics, and social inequality—all those problems which defy even the keenest penetration, crop up in overwhelming force, and one’s soul is filled with a passionate yearning to master the knowledge of the unattainable. This quickening of the mental and spiritual faculties had come to Celia now; and in her case it was primarily the consciousness of the “deep sighing of the poor.”
When the young doctor asked her opinion of London and Londoners, she told him frankly just what she thought; and his was such a congenial spirit that she forgot the barrier which had sprung up between them, forgot for the moment that there was such a person as David Salmon in existence.
But Geoffrey Milnes did not forget. That morning he had received a letter from a medical friend in Sydney, asking him to act as locum tenens for a year in his place; and he was debating as to whether he should accept the post or not. Once out in Australia he might stay there for years, and his hope of marrying Celia would have to be totally renounced. The news of her engagement had come as a great blow, but it had not entirely shattered his hopes. Herbert Karne had told him quite candidly that he was disappointed in Celia’s choice, and had also hinted that the engagement might have been the outcome of mere propinquity, not love. This made Geoffrey all the more angry that he had not been first in the field; and though his keen sense of honour forbade him to make love to another man’s fiancée, he was not altogether discouraged. A good many things could happen in three years; he would have to bide his time.
At dinner he was silent, almost moody. Celia sat next to Dr. Forrest and opposite to himself, and though a silver épergne filled with chrysanthemums partially obscured him from her view, she felt his eyes continually on her face.
The conversation between the old doctor and his host was chiefly on such topics as tithes and the agricultural outlook, and when, at the close of the meal, Celia rose and left the room, they were holding a controversy on the question of vivisection.
Geoffrey Milnes remained silent, for as he held contrary views to his partner, he deemed it wiser not to join in the discussion. He lit a cigarette, and smoked it pensively; then asked to be excused, and followed Celia into the drawing-room.
She was standing at a little table, turning over the leaves of a book, and did not hear him enter. The room was in partial darkness, for the electric light had been extinguished; and the flickering firelight, mingled with the subdued effulgence from the lamp, cast weird shadows over the walls. Above her head there hung, suspended from the chandelier, a large bunch of mistletoe.
The temptation was too much for Geoffrey. Giving way to a sudden uncontrollable impulse, he clasped her in his arms, and pressed a passionate kiss upon her brow. He could feel the throbbing of her heart near his, her warm breath upon his cheeks; then he let her go.