The Dust of Conflict. Harold Bindloss
qualities essential to the man who finds it necessary to make his own way in the world, and very much in love with Violet Wayne. These considerations made for silence. Tony, however, did not discover until later that the next person Palliser sent for was the girl. It was with reluctance he did so, and he stood up leaning against the mantel when he had drawn her out a chair.
“I understand that you saw Bernard Appleby immediately before he left the house the night before last,” he said.
The girl appeared perplexed. “I do not know how you came to hear of it, but as a matter of fact I did,” she said.
“Then “—and Palliser made a little deprecatory gesture—“I feel sure, when I tell you that they are necessary, you will excuse me asking you a question or two. You met him in the corridor, I think with intent. What had he to say to you?”
A little flush crept into the girl’s face. “He asked me to give him ten pounds. This will no doubt astonish you!”
It certainly did, and had Godfrey Palliser been a little less punctilious he might have betrayed it. As it was, he said in a perfectly level voice, “May I ask you for what purpose?”
There was no hesitation about the answer, and as he met Violet Wayne’s eyes the unpleasant thoughts which momentarily obtruded themselves upon the man vanished again, and left him with a faint sense of shame.
“I had asked him to do me a favor which would entail some little expenditure,” she said. “It was, in fact, to do a kindness to somebody I wanted to benefit, and could not have any bearing on your object in making this inquiry. I know you will take my word for that.”
Godfrey Palliser was not gifted with much penetration, but the girl’s composure had its effect on him, and he made her a little respectful inclination. “It would go a long way with me, my dear, even if the testimony of my eyes were against it; and Tony never did a thing that pleased me more than when he told me he had succeeded in inducing you to marry him,” he said. “It is quite evident that you can throw no light on the affair.”
Violet Wayne left him, a little perplexed, but relieved. As he believed what she had told him implicitly, his thoughts fixed themselves upon Tony’s suggestion, and he commenced to sift what he had heard for anything that would confirm the poacher theory. He meant to do his duty as a magistrate, but he had made a fetish of the family honor, and the man who knows exactly what he is looking for has the better chance of finding it. Accordingly he almost convinced himself, and proceeded to another conference with Sergeant Stitt, who was a little more obtuse than superior.
Violet Wayne was, however, not relieved at all. Only one hypothesis suggested itself to her, and that was that the unfortunate keeper had had some hold upon Appleby, but she promptly dismissed it as wholly untenable. She felt convinced that the man who had been Tony’s loyal friend could have done nothing that he need blush for, and the fact that he had been willing to take ten pounds from her was an additional proof of his innocence rather than evidence against it. She felt absolutely convinced that he would never have abused her confidence by asking her for the money had he desired it for his own purposes. This conclusion naturally led to the supposition that he had involved himself on Tony’s behalf, but she would not harbor that thought for a moment; while Appleby, whom she believed implicitly, had told her that Tony had done nothing wrong.
Still, it was evident that Tony was in trouble, and as he did not go shooting with the rest she found him idling in an empty room when dusk was closing down. He was standing by the hearth looking down into the flickering flame; but the fashion in which he started when she gently touched his shoulder was significant.
“You might have something upon your conscience, Tony,” she said, with a little smile. “Sit down and talk to me. I have scarcely seen you to-day.”
She sank into a low chair, and the uncertain firelight forced up her face and gleaming hair against the shadowy background. The pose, wholly unstudied as it was, also suited her, and she smiled as she saw the appreciation in the eyes of her companion. Tony’s regard for her was respectfully deferential, but he was a man, and she did not disdain at times to profit by the advantages nature had endowed her with.
“I never saw you look better than you do just now,” he said, and laughed as he found a place on the stool he placed at her feet.
“Turn your head a little, Tony; I want to see you,” the girl said softly. “Now, what has made you so quiet today?”
Tony looked at her, and the effect was unfortunate. He saw the calm eyes shining with unusual tenderness, and felt the full influence of her beauty, even while he remembered that Appleby had said she would find out the story sooner or later and then it would be bad for him. He also determined, foolishly, that if the revelation must come at all it should, at least, be delayed as long as possible.
“I have my little worries, but they vanish when you appear,” he said.
Violet Wayne shook her head. “That was pretty, but not quite sincere,” she said. “In some respects I am older than you—and you are in trouble, dear. Perhaps if you told me everything I could help you.”
Tony turned his head away, and checked a groan as he stared at the fire. “I have been a little thoughtless, and one must pay for that kind of thing,” he said. “Still, it would be most unfitting to trouble you with my trifling difficulties.” He felt a little constraining touch on his shoulder, and a low voice said, “Is it money? You must not be proud, dear, for I have plenty, and it could buy me no greater pleasure than to see your cares melt away.”
Tony flushed a little. “That is out of the question, Violet, and you exaggerate,” he said. “I haven’t any real cares, you know.”
The girl smiled at him. “Only very good imitations, Tony; but perhaps you are right. I should dearly like to give you whatever you have need of, but it would not please me to see you willing to take it. Still, why did Appleby go out at eleven o’clock that night?”
It was a chance shot, but it told, and had results Violet Wayne could not have anticipated. Tony started a little.
“Why should you ask me?” he said.
Violet Wayne was not as a rule demonstrative. Indeed, her behavior that evening would have astonished those who thought they knew her best, but the touch of her hand on the man’s shoulder was caressing, and as she leaned forward nearer him there was a curious softness in her eyes.
“I want you to listen, Tony, and I am not going to find fault with you,” she said. “When you showed your preference for me people who I know are wise talked to me of you. They had very little to urge against you except one thing, which I think is true. They said you were a trifle too fond of shirking a difficulty.”
“I hope you thanked them for their kindness,” said Tony dryly.
The girl pressed his shoulder. “Tony,” she said, “shall I tell you why I liked you? Well, it was because I fancied the respect you showed me was genuine, and you were open and generous. That, at least, was one of the reasons, for I detest a cunning man. I am ready to give you everything, but I shall expect a good deal from you; and now you see why I am not pleased with your answer to my question.”
It was an unexpected opportunity, and, though the man aid not know this, the last he would have. The girl, as she had said, was willing to give him all she had to offer, of which her faith in him was not the least, but he had not the courage to put it to the test. Had he done so she would have taken his word, and believed in it against all other testimony; but the story he had to tell was not a pleasant one, and he dreaded her incredulity, in which he wronged her past forgiveness. Meanwhile, looking up at her he saw, not the love and strength which would have saved him from his weaknesses, but the calm, proud face which was tender, too, just then, the gleaming red-gold hair, and the beautifully moulded form. In place of speaking he gazed at her a moment with passion in his eyes.
“I can never understand how you came to think of me at all,” he said. “I am not fit to dust your shoes; but if I lost you now I think it would kill me.”
The girl