Captain Desmond, V.C.. Diver Maud
may as well hold your tongue."
And once again he closed his eyes, as if in self-defence against further argument or upbraiding.
His wife stood watching him with a puzzled frown, while Honor, a keenly interested observer, wondered what would happen next.
Her sympathy, as always, inclined to the man's point of view. But a passionate justness, very rare in women, forced her to acknowledge that Evelyn's remonstrance, if injudicious, was not unjustifiable. The girl saw clearly that the sheer love of danger for its own sake, which Frontier life breeds in men of daring spirit, had impelled Desmond to needless and inconsiderate risk; saw also that his own perception of the fact added fire to his sharp retort.
He stirred at length, with an uneasy shifting of the damaged shoulder.
"This bandage is hideously uncomfortable," he said in a changed tone. "Could you manage to untie it and fix it up more firmly till Mackay comes?"
Thus directly appealed to, Evelyn cast a nervous glance at Honor. The girl made neither sign nor movement, though her hands ached to relieve the discomfort of the wounded man; and after a perceptible moment of hesitation, Evelyn went to Desmond's side, her heart fluttering like the heart of a prisoned bird.
With tremulous fingers she unfastened the knot behind his shoulder, and, having done so, rested her hand inadvertently on the broken bone. It yielded beneath her touch, and she dropped the end of the bandage with a little cry.
"Oh, Theo, it moved! I can't touch it again! It's … it's horrible!"
Her husband stifled an exclamation of pain and annoyance.
"Could you do it for me, Honor?" he asked. "It can hardly be left like this?"
She came to him at once, and righted the bandage with deft, unshrinking fingers, rolling part of the long scarf into a pad under his arm to ease the aching shoulder.
"Thank you," he said. "That's first-rate."
And as he shouted for a much-needed "peg," Honor passed quietly out of the room.
Evelyn remained standing a little apart, watching her husband with speculative eyes. Then she came and stood near him, on the side farthest from the alarming bone that moved at a touch.
"I'm sorry, Theo. Are you very cross with me?"
Her lips quivered a little, and the pallor of her face caught at his heart.
"No, no. We won't make mountains out of molehills, eh, Ladybird? Kiss and be friends! like a good child, and get to bed as fast as possible. Mackay will be here soon, and you'll be best out of the way."
He drew her down and kissed her forehead. Then, as she slipped silently away through his study, and on into the bedroom beyond, he lay back with a sigh in which relief and weariness were oddly mingled. He was devoutly thankful when the arrival of James Mackay dispelled his disturbing train of thought.
CHAPTER VIII.
STICK TO THE FRONTIER
"We know our motives least in their confused beginning."
Honor sat alone in the drawing-room, a basket of socks and stockings at her elbow, her thoughts working as busily as her needle. This girl had reduced the prosaic necessity of darning to a fine art; and since Evelyn's efforts in that direction bore an odd resemblance to ill-constructed lattice windows, Honor had taken pity on the maltreated garments very early in the day.
Evelyn herself was at the tennis-courts, with the Kresneys and Harry Denvil, a state of things that had become increasingly frequent of late; and a ceaseless murmur of two deep voices came to Honor's ears through the open door of the study, where Desmond was talking and reading Persian with his friend Rajinder Singh.
Honor enjoyed working to the accompaniment of that sound. It had grown pleasantly familiar during the past week, in which Desmond had been cut off from outdoor activities. When the Persian lesson was over, he would come in to her for a talk. Then there would be music, and possibly a game of chess; for Desmond was an enthusiastic player. They had spent one or two afternoons in this fashion already, since the night of the fire; and their intimacy bid fair to ripen into a very satisfying friendship.
To the end of time, writers and thinkers will continue to insist upon the impossibility of such friendships; and to the end of time, men and women will persist in playing with this form of fire. For it is precisely the possibility of fire under the surface which lends its peculiar fascination to an experiment old as the Pyramids, yet eternally fresh as the first leaf-bud of spring.
In the past five years Honor had established two genuine friendships with men of widely different temperaments; and she saw herself now – not without a certain quickening of heart and pulse – in a fair way to establishing a third.
The hum of voices ceased; there were footsteps in the hall; a few hearty words of leave-taking from the Englishman, and two minutes later he stood before her, his left sleeve hanging limp and empty; the arm and shoulder strapped tightly into place beneath the flap of his coat.
"Not gone out yet?" he said, a ring of satisfaction in his tone. "Going to join Ladybird at the club later on?"
"No. As she had this engagement I stayed at home in case you might be glad to have some one to 'play with' after your long lesson was over."
"Just like you!" he declared, with a touch of brotherly frankness, which was peculiarly pleasing to this brother-loving girl. "I've been rather overdoing the Persian this week. You must give me some Beethoven presently. And if you really mean to 'play with' me you must also leave off looking so aggressively industrious."
His eyes rested, in speaking, on the rapid movement of her needle, and he became suddenly aware of the nature of her work.
"Look here, Honor," he exclaimed. "I draw the line at that! Ladybird ought not to allow it. We've no right to turn you into a domestic drudge."
"Ladybird – as you so delightfully call her – knows me far too well to try and stop me when she sees I mean to have my own way! Shall you mind if I go shares in your special name for her? It suits her even better than her own."
"Yes, it seems to express her, somehow – doesn't it?"
An unconscious tenderness invaded his tone, and his glance turned upon a panel photograph of his wife in her wedding-dress that stood near him on the mantelpiece. Watching it thus, he fell into a thoughtful silence, which Honor made no attempt to break. Speaking or silent his companionship was equally acceptable to her: and while she awaited his pleasure a great hole, made by the removal of one of Evelyn's "lattice windows," filled up apace.
Of a sudden he turned from the picture, and, drawing up a low chair, sat down before her, leaning a little forward, his elbow resting on his knee. The urgency and gravity of his bearing made her at once lay down her work.
"Honor," he began, "I'm bothered … about Ladybird, … that's the truth. I wonder if I can speak without fear of your misunderstanding me?"
"Try me! I am only too glad to help her in any way."
His intense look softened to a smile.
"You've made that clear enough already. I begin to wonder what she will do when John comes back to claim you again. You so thoroughly understand her, and thoroughly – love her."
"She is a creature born to be loved."
"And to be kept happy," he added very quietly. "But the vital question is whether that is at all possible in Kohat, or in any other of our stations; for Kohat is by no means the worst. She hates the place, doesn't she? She's counting the days to get away to the Hills. You know you can't look me straight in the face and say she is happy here."
The unexpected attack struck Honor into momentary silence. Desmond was fatally quick to perceive the shadow of hesitation, transient as a breath upon glass; and when she would have spoken he silenced her with a peremptory hand.
"Don't perjure yourself, Honor. Your eyes have told me all I wanted to know."
Distress gave her a courage that surprised herself.
"Indeed