Love at Second Sight by Ada Leverson

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The servant came in with tea.

CHAPTER XXIV

Just before Archie went back to school he made a remark that impressed
Edith strangely. Quite dressed and ready to start, as he was putting on
his gloves, he fell into one of his reveries. After being silent for
some time he said:

'Mother!'

'Yes, darling?'

'Why doesn't father fight?'

'I told you before, darling. Your father is not very strong.'

'Mother!'

'Yes, dear?'

'Is Aylmer older than father?'

'Yes. Aylmer's four years older. Why?'

'I don't know. I wish I had a father who could fight, like Aylmer. And
I'd like to fight too, like Teddy.'

'Aylmer hasn't any wife and children to leave. Teddy's eighteen; you're
only ten.'

'Mother!'

'Yes, dear?'

'I wish I was old enough to fight. And I wish father was stronger.... Do
you think I shall ever fight in this war?'

'Good heavens, dear! I hope it isn't going to last seven years more.'

'I wish it would,' said Archie ferociously. 'Mother!'

'Yes, darling?'

'But what's the matter with father? He seems quite well.'

'Oh, he isn't very well. He suffers from nerves.'

'Nerves! What's nerves?'

'I think, darling, it's time for us to start. Where's your coat?'

She drove him to the station. Most of the way he was very silent As she
put him in the train he said.

'Mother, give my love to Aylmer.'

'All right, dear.'

He then said:

'Mother, I wish Aylmer was my father.'

'Oh, Archie! You mustn't say that.'

* * * * *

But she never forgot the boy's remark. It had a stronger influence on
her action later than anything else. She knew Archie had always had a
great hero-worship for Aylmer. But that he should actually prefer him
to Bruce!

She didn't tell Aylmer that for a long time afterwards.

* * * * *

Before returning to the front Teddy had become so violently devoted to
Miss Clay that she was quite glad to see him go. She received his
attentions with calm and cool friendliness, but gave him not the
smallest encouragement. She was three years older, but looked younger
than her age, while Teddy looked much older, more like twenty-two. So
that when on the one or two occasions during his ten days' leave they
went out together, they didn't seem at all an ill-assorted couple. And
whenever Aylmer saw the two together, it created the greatest irritation
in him. He hardly knew which vexed him more--Dulcie for being attractive
to the boy, or the boy for being charmed by Dulcie. It was absurd--out
of place. It displeased him.

A day or two after Teddy's departure Dulcie went to see Lady Conroy, who
immediately declared that Dulcie was extraordinarily like a charming
girl she had met at Boulogne. Dulcie convinced her that she was the
same girl.

'Oh, how perfectly charming!' said Lady Conroy. 'What a coincidence!
_Too_ wonderful! Well, my dear, I can see at a glance that you're the
very person I want. Your duties will be very, _very_ light. Oh, how
light they will be! There's really hardly anything to do! I merely want
you to be a sort of walking memorandum for me,' Lady Conroy went on,
smiling. 'Just to recollect what day it is, and what's the date, and
what time my appointments are, and do my telephoning for me, and write
my letters, and take the dog out for a walk, and _sometimes_ just hear
my little girls practise, and keep my papers in order. Oh, one can
hardly say exactly--you know the sort of thing. Oh yes! and do the
flowers,' said Lady Conroy, glancing round the room. 'I always forget my
flowers, and I won't let Marie do them, and so there they are--dead in
the vases! And I do like a few live flowers about, I must say,' she
added pathetically.

Dulcie said she thought she could undertake it.

'Well, then, won't you stay now, and have your things sent straight on?
Oh, do! I do wish you would. I've got two stalls for the St James's
tonight. My husband can't come, and I can't think of anybody else to
ask. I should love to take you.'

Dulcie would have enjoyed to go. The theatre was a passion with her, as
with most naive people. She made some slight objection which Lady Conroy
at once waved away. However, Dulcie pointed out that she must go home
first, and as all terms and arrangements absolutely suited both parties,
it was decided that Dulcie should go to the play with her tonight and
come the next day to take up her duties.

She asked Lady Conroy if she might have her meals alone when there were
guests, as she was very shy. A charming little sitting-room, opening out
of the drawing-rooms, was put at her disposal.

'Oh, certainly, dear; always, of course, except when I'm alone. But
you'll come when I ask you, now and then, won't you? I thought you'd be
very useful sometimes at boring lunches, or when there were too many
men--that sort of thing. And I hear you sing. Oh, that will be
delightful! You'll sing when we have a few tedious people with us? I
adore music. We'll go to some of those all-British concerts, won't we?
We must be patriotic. Do you know it's really been my dream to have a
sweet, useful, sympathetic girl in the house. And with a memory too!
Charming!'

Dulcie went away fascinated, if slightly bewildered. It was a pang to
her to say good-bye to Aylmer, the more so as he showed, in a way that
was perfectly obvious to the girl, that he was pleased to see her go,
though he was as cordial as possible.

She had been an embarrassment to him of late. It was beginning to be what
is known as a false position, since Headley the butler could now look
after Aylmer. Except for a limp, he was practically well.

Anyone who has ever nursed a person to whom they are devoted, helped him
through weakness and danger to health again, will understand the curious
pain she felt to see him independent of her, anxious to show his
strength. Still, he had been perfect. She would always remember him with
worship. She meant never to love anyone else all her life.

When she said good-bye she said to him:

'I do hope you'll be very happy.'

He laughed, coloured a little, and said as he squeezed her hand warmly:

'You've been a brick to me, Miss Clay. I shall certainly tell you if I
ever am happy.'

She wondered what that meant, but she preferred to try to forget it.

* * * * *

When Dulcie arrived, as she had been told, at a quarter to eight,
dressed in a black evening dress (she didn't care to wear uniform at the
theatre), she found Lady Conroy, who was lying on the sofa in a
tea-gown, utterly astonished to see her.

'My dear! you've come to dine with me after all?'

'No, indeed. I've dined. You said I was to come in time to go to the
play.'

'The play? Oh! I forgot. I'm so sorry. I've sent the tickets away. I
forgot I'd anyone to go with me. I'm afraid it can't be helped now. Are
you very disappointed? Poor child. Well, dear, you'll dine with me,
anyhow, as you've come, and I can tell you all about what we shall have
to do, and everything. We'll go to the theatre some other evening.'

Dulcie was obliged to decline eating two dinners. She had not found it
possible to get through one--her last meal at Aylmer's house. However,
as she had no idea what else to do, she remained with Lady Conroy. And
she spent a very pleasant evening.

Lady Conroy told her all about herself, her husband, her children and
her friends. She told her the history of her life, occasionally
branching off on to other subjects, and referring to the angel she had
met on a boat who was in the Black Watch, and who, Dulcie gathered, was
a wounded officer. Lady Conroy described all the dresses she had at
present, many that she had had in former years, and others that she
would like to have had now. She gravely told the girl the most
inaccurate gossip about such of her friends as Dulcie might possibly
meet later. She was confidential, amusing, brilliant and inconsequent.
She appeared enchanted with Dulcie, whom she treated like an intimate
friend at sight. And Dulcie was charmed with her, though somewhat
confused at her curious memory. Indeed, they parted at about eleven the
best possible friends; Lady Conroy insisting on sending her home in
her car.

Dulcie, who had a sensitive and sensible horror of snobbishness, felt
sorry to know that her father would casually mention that his daughter
was staying with the Conroys in Carlton House Terrace, and that her
stepmother would scold her unless she recollected every dress she
happened to see there. Still, on the whole she felt cheered.

She had every reason to hope that she would be as happy as a companion,
in love without hope of a return, could be under any circumstances.

CHAPTER XXV

Madame Frabelle and Edith were sitting side by side in Edith's boudoir.
Madame Frabelle was knitting. Edith was looking at a book. It was a thin
little volume of essays, bound by Miss Coniston.

'What is the meaning of this design?' Edith said. 'It seems to me very
unsuited to Chesterton's work! Olive-green, with twirly things on it!'

'I thought it rather artistic,' answered Madame Frabelle.

'It looks like macaroni, or spaghetti. Perhaps the idea was suggested by
your showing her how to cook it,' said Edith, laughing.

Madame Frabelle looked gravely serene.

'No--I don't think that had anything to do with it.'

'How literal you are, Eglantine!'

'Am I? I think you do me injustice, Edith dear,' returned the amiable
guest with a tinge of stateliness as she rolled up her wool.

Edith smiled, put down her book, looked at the clock and rearranged the
large orange-coloured cushion behind her back. Then she took the book up
again, looked through it and again put it down.

'You're not at all--forgive me for saying so--not the least bit in the
world restless today, Edith darling, are you?' said Madame Frabelle in a
calm, clear, high voice that Edith found quite trying.

'Oh, I hope not--I think not.'

'Ah, that's well,' and Madame Frabelle, with one slight glance at her
hostess, went on knitting.

'I believe I miss Archie a good deal,' said Edith.

'Ah, yes, you must indeed. I miss the dear boy immensely myself,'
sympathetically said Madame Frabelle. But Edith thought Madame Frabelle
bore his loss with a good deal of equanimity, and she owned to herself
that it was not surprising. The lady had been very good to Archie, but
he had teased her a good deal. Like the Boy Scouts, but the other way
round, he had almost made a point of worrying her in some way or other
every day. Edith could never persuade him to change his view of her.

He said she was a fool.

Somehow, today Edith felt rather pleased with him for thinking so. All
women are subject to moods, particularly, perhaps, those who have a
visitor staying with them for a considerable time. There are moments of
injustice, of unfairness to the most charming feminine guest, from the
most gentle hostess. And also there are, undoubtedly, times when the
nicest hostess gets a little on one's nerves.

So--critical, highly strung--Madame Frabelle was feeling today. So was
Edith. Madame Frabelle was privately thinking that Edith was restless,
that she had lost her repose, that her lips were redder than they used
to be. Had she taken to using lip salve too? She was inclined to smile,
with a twinkle in her eye, at Madame Frabelle's remarks, a shade too
often. And what was Edith thinking of at this moment? She was thinking
of Archie's remarks about Madame Frabelle. That boy had genius!

But there would be a reaction, probably during, or immediately after,
tea-time, for these two women were sincerely fond of one another. The
irritating fact that Edith was eighteen years younger than her guest
made Eglantine feel sometimes a desire to guide, even to direct her, and
if she had the disadvantage in age she wanted at least the privilege of
gratifying her longing to give advice.

The desire became too strong to be resisted. The advantage of having
something to do with her hands while she spoke was too great a one not
to be taken advantage of. So Madame Frabelle said:

'Edith dear.'

'Yes?'

'I've been wanting to say something to you.'

Edith leant forward, putting her elbows on her knees and her face on her
hands, and said:

'Oh, _do_ tell me, Eglantine. What is it?'

'It is simply this,' said the other lady, calmly continuing her
knitting.... 'Very often when one's living with a person, one doesn't
notice little things a comparative stranger would observe. Is that
not so?'

'What have you observed? What's it about?'

'It is about your husband,' said Madame Frabelle.

'What! Bruce?' asked Edith.

'Naturally,' replied Madame Frabelle dryly.

'What have you observed about Bruce?'

'I have observed,' replied Madame Frabelle, putting her hand in the sock
that she was knitting, and looking at it critically, her head on one
side, 'I have observed that Bruce is not at all well.'

'Oh, I'm sorry you think that. It's true he has seemed rather what he
calls off colour lately.'

'He suffers,' said Madame Frabelle, as if announcing a great discovery,'
he suffers from Nerves.'

'I know he does, my dear. Who should know it better than I do? But--do
you think he is worse lately?'

'I do. He is terribly depressed. He says things to me sometimes
that--well, that really quite alarm me.'

'I'm sorry. But you mustn't take Bruce too seriously, you know that.'

'Indeed I don't take him too seriously! And I've done my best either to
change the subject or to make him see the silver lining to every cloud,'
Madame Frabelle answered solemnly, with a shake of her head.

'I think what Bruce complains of is the want of a silver lining to his
purse,' Edith said.

'You are jesting, Edith dear.'

'No, I'm not. He worries about money.'

'But only incidentally,' said Madame Frabelle. 'Bruce is really worried
about the war.'

'Naturally. But surely--I suppose we all are.'

'But Mr. Ottley takes it particularly to heart,' said Madame Frabelle,
with a kind of touching dignity.

Edith looked at her in a little surprise. Why did she suddenly call
Bruce 'your husband' or 'Mr. Ottley'?

'Why this distant manner, Eglantine?' said Edith, half laughing. 'I
thought you always called him Bruce.'

'I beg your pardon; yes, I forgot. Well, don't you see, Edith dear, that
what we might call his depression, his melancholy point of view, is--is
growing worse and worse?'

Edith got up, walked to the other end of the room, rearranged some
violets in a copper vase and came back to the sofa again. Madame
Frabelle followed her with her eyes. Then Edith said, picking up
the knitting:

'Take care, dear, you're losing your wool. Yes; perhaps he is worse. He
might be better if he occupied his mind more.'

'He works at the Foreign Office from ten till four every day,' said
Madame Frabelle in a tone of defence; 'he looks in at his club, where
they talk over the news of the war, and then he comes home and we
discuss it again.... Really, Edith, I scarcely see how much more he
could do!'

'Oh, my dear, but don't you see all the time he doesn't do
anything?--anything about the war, I mean. Now both you and I do our
little best to help, in one way or another. You especially, I'm sure, do
a tremendous lot; but what does Bruce do? Nothing, except talk.'

'That's just it, Edith. I doubt if your husband is in a fit state of
health to strain his mind by any more work than he does already. He's
not strong, dear; remember that.'

'Of course, I know; if he were all right he wouldn't be here,' said
Edith.' I suppose he really does suffer a great deal.'

'What was it again that prevented him joining?' asked Madame Frabelle,
with sympathetic tenderness.

'Neurotic heart,' answered Edith. Though she tried her very utmost she
could not help the tone of her voice sounding a little dry and ironical.
Of course, she did not in the least believe in Bruce's neurotic heart,
but she did not want Madame Frabelle to know that.

'Ah! ah! that must cause him a great deal of pain, but I think so far
his worst symptoms are his nervous fears. Look at last night,' continued
Madame Frabelle, and now she put down her knitting and folded it into
her work-basket.' Last night, because there was no moon, and it wasn't
raining, and fairly clear, Mr Ott--Bruce had absolutely made up his mind
there would be a Zeppelin raid. It was his own idea.'

'Not quite, dear. Young Coniston, who is a special constable, rang up
and told him that there was a chance of the Zeppelins last night.'

'Well, perhaps so. At any rate he believed it. Well, instead of being
satisfied when I told him that I had got out my mask, that I saw to the
bath being left half-filled with water, helped your husband to put two
large bags of sand outside his dressing-room--in spite of all that, do
you know what happened in the middle of the night?'

'I'm afraid I don't,' said Edith. 'Since Archie went back to school I
have had Dilly in my room, and we both slept soundly all night.'

'Did you? I fancied I saw a light in your room.'

This was quite true. Edith was writing a very long letter.

'Ah, perhaps.'

'Well, at three o'clock in the morning, fancy my surprise to hear a
knock at my door!'

'I wonder I didn't hear a knock at mine,' said Edith.

'Your husband was afraid to disturb the little girl. Most considerate, I
thought. Well, he knocked at my door and said that he was unable to
sleep, that he felt terribly miserable and melancholy, in fact was
wretched, and that he felt on the point of cutting his throat.... Don't
be frightened, dear. I don't mean that he really _meant_ it,' said
Madame Frabelle, putting her hand on Edith's.

'Poor fellow! But what a shame to disturb you.'

'I didn't mind in the least. I was only too pleased. Well, what do you
think I did? I got up and dressed, went down to the library and lighted
the fire, and sat up for half-an-hour with your husband trying to
cheer him up!'

'Did you really?' Edith smiled. 'It was very sweet of you, Eglantine.'

'Not at all; I was only too glad. I made a cup of tea, Bruce had a
whisky and soda, we had a nice talk, and I sent him back quite cheerful.
Still, it just shows, doesn't it, how terribly he takes it all?'

'Rather hard on you, Eglantine; quite improper too,' laughed Edith as
she rang the bell.

Madame Frabelle ignored this remark.

'If I could only feel at all that I've done a little good during my stay
here, I shall be quite satisfied.'

'Oh! but you mustn't dream yet of--' began Edith.

There was a ring at the bell.

'Why, here is Bruce, just in time for tea.'

Edith went to meet him in the hall. Although he came in with his key, he
invariably rang the bell, so that the maid could take his coat
and stick.

'Hallo, Edith,' he said, in a rather sober tone. 'How are you? And where
is Madame Frabelle?'

CHAPTER XXVI

Bruce came in with a rather weary air, and sat down by the fire. Madame
Frabelle was presiding at the tea-table.

'How are you feeling, Bruce?' Edith asked.

'Oh, pretty rotten. I had a very bad night. How are you, Madame
Frabelle?'

'Oh, very well. Tea?'

'Poor Bruce!' said Edith kindly. 'Oh, and poor Madame Frabelle,' she
added, with a smile.

Bruce gave Madame Frabelle a slightly reproachful look as he took a cup
of tea from her.

'I've been telling Edith,' said that lady in a quiet, dignified way.

'What about?'

'About last night,' said Madame Frabelle, passing Bruce the buttered
toast without looking at him, as if avoiding his glance.

'I'm really very much ashamed of it,' said Bruce. 'You can't think how
kind she was to me, Edith.'

'I'm sure she was,' said Edith.

'Oh, you won't have a bad night like that again,' said Madame Frabelle
cheerily.

'I'm sure I hope not.' He gave a dark, despairing look, and sighed.
'Upon my word, if it hadn't been for her I don't know what I would have
done.' He shook his head and stroked his back hair.

Suddenly Edith felt intensely bored. Madame Frabelle and Bruce were
looking at each other with such intense sympathy, and she knew they
would repeat in different words what they had said already. They were so
certain to go over the same ground again and again!... Edith felt she
was not wanted. But that didn't annoy her. She was merely thinking of an
excuse to get away from them.

'By the way, how's Aylmer, Edith?' asked Bruce.

'Getting on well. I believe he's been ordered out of town.'

'To the seaside? For God's sake don't let him go to the east coast!'

'The east coast is quite as safe as any other part of England, _I_
think.' said Madame Frabelle.

'Oh, he'll take his chance,' Edith replied.

'I expect he'll miss _you_, my dear,' said Bruce. 'You've been so jolly
good to him lately.'

'Naturally,' said Madame Frabelle, a little quickly, very smoothly, and
with what Edith thought unnecessary tact. 'Naturally. Anyone so
kind-hearted as Edith would be sure to try and cheer up the convalescence
of a wounded friend. Have a _foie-gras_ sandwich, Edith?'

Edith felt an almost irresistible desire to laugh at something in the
hospitable, almost patronising tone of her guest.

'Oh, Edith likes going to see him,' said Bruce to Madame Frabelle. 'So
do I, if it comes to that. We're all fond of old Aylmer, you know.'

'I know. I quite understand. You're great friends. Personally, I think
Mr Ross has behaved splendidly.' Madame Frabelle said this with an air
of self-control and scrupulous justice.

'You don't care very much about him, I fancy,' said Bruce with the air
of having made a subtle discovery.

She raised one eyebrow slightly. 'I won't say that. I see very excellent
points in him. I admit there's a certain coldness, a certain hard
reserve about his character that--Well, frankly, it doesn't appeal to
me. But I hope I am fair to him. He's a man I respect.... Yes, I
respect him.'

'But he doesn't amuse you--what?' said Bruce.

'The fact is, he has no sense of humour,' said Madame Frabelle.

'Fancy your finding that out now!' said Bruce, with a broad smile.
'Funny! Ha ha! Very funny! Do you know, it never occurred to me! But now
I come to think of it--yes, perhaps that's what's the matter with him.
Mind you, I call him a jolly, cheery sort of chap. Quite an optimist--a
distinct optimist. You never find Aylmer depressed.'

'No, not depressed. It isn't that. But he hasn't got--You won't either
of you be angry with me for what I say, will you?'

'Oh no, indeed.'

'You won't be cross with me, Edith? Perhaps I ought not to say it.'

'Yes, do tell us,' urged Edith.

'Well, what I consider is the defect in Aylmer Ross is that he has
brains, but no temperament.'

'Excellent!' cried Bruce. 'Perfectly true. Temperament! That's what he
wants!'

Edith remembered hearing that phrase used in her presence to Madame
Frabelle--not about Aylmer, but about someone else. It was very
characteristic of Madame Frabelle to catch up an idea or a phrase,
misapply it, and then firmly regard it as her own.

Bruce shook his head. 'Brains, but no temperament! Excellent!'

'Mind you, that doesn't prevent him being an excellent soldier,' went on
Madame Frabelle.

'Oh dear, no. He's done jolly well,' said Bruce. 'I think I know what
she means--don't you, Edith?'

'I'm sure _she_ does,' said Edith, who had her doubts. 'I don't know
that I do quite know what people mean when they say other people haven't
got temperament. The question is--what _is_ temperament?'

'Oh, my dear, it's a sort of--a something--an atmosphere--a sympathy.
What I might call the magnetism of personality!'

'That's right!' said Bruce, passing his cup for another cup of tea.
'Aylmer's hard, hard as nails.'

'Hasn't he got the name of being rather warm-hearted and impulsive,
though?' suggested Edith.

'Oh, he's good-natured enough,' said Bruce. 'Very generous. I've known
him to do ever so many kind things and never let a soul except the
fellow he'd helped know anything about it.'

'You don't understand me,' said Madame Frabelle. 'I don't doubt that for
a moment. He's a generous man, because he has a sense of duty and of the
claims of others. But he has the effect on me--'

'Go on, Eglantine.'

'Frankly, he chills me,' said Madame Frabelle. 'When I went to see him
with Edith, I felt more tired after a quarter of an hour's talk with him
than I would--' She glanced at Bruce.

'Than you would after hours with Landi, or Bruce, or Byrne Fraser, or
young Coniston,' suggested Edith.

'That's what I mean. He's difficult to talk to.'

'I have no doubt you're right,' said Edith.

'Well, she generally is,' said Bruce. 'The only thing is she's so
infernally deep sometimes, she sees things in people that nobody else
would suspect. Oh, you do, you know!'

'Oh, do I?' said Madame Frabelle modestly.

'Yes, I think you do,' said Edith, who by this time felt inclined to
throw the tea-tray at her guest. The last fortnight Edith's nerves had
certainly not been quite calm. Formerly she would have been amused at
the stupidity of the conversation. Now she felt irritated, bored and
worried, except when she was with Aylmer.

There was a moment's silence. Bruce leant back and half shut his eyes.
Madame Frabelle softly put a cushion behind his shoulder, putting a
finger on her lip as she looked at Edith.

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