第44章

In those days, such as had served their country travelled, as befitted Spartans, in ordinary first-class carriages, and woke in the morning at La Roche or some strange-sounding place, for paler coffee and the pale brioche.So it was with Colonel and Mrs.

Ercott and their niece, accompanied by books they did not read, viands they did not eat, and one somnolent Irishman returning from the East.In the disposition of legs there was the usual difficulty, no one quite liking to put them up, and all ultimately doing so, save Olive.More than once during that night the Colonel, lying on the seat opposite, awoke and saw her sitting, withdrawn into her corner, with eyes still open.Staring at that little head which he admired so much, upright and unmoving, in its dark straw toque against the cushion, he would become suddenly alert.Kicking the Irishman slightly in the effort, he would slip his legs down, bend across to her in the darkness, and, conscious of a faint fragrance as of violets, whisper huskily: "Anything Ican do for you, my dear?" When she had smiled and shaken her head, he would retreat, and after holding his breath to see if Dolly were asleep, would restore his feet, slightly kicking the Irishman.

After one such expedition, for full ten minutes he remained awake, wondering at her tireless immobility.For indeed she was spending this night entranced, with the feeling that Lennan was beside her, holding her hand in his.She seemed actually to feel the touch of his finger against the tiny patch of her bare palm where the glove opened.It was wonderful, this uncanny communion in the dark rushing night--she would not have slept for worlds! Never before had she felt so close to him, not even when he had kissed her that once under the olives; nor even when at the concert yesterday his arm pressed hers; and his voice whispered words she heard so thirstily.And that golden fortnight passed and passed through her on an endless band of reminiscence.Its memories were like flowers, such scent and warmth and colour in them; and of all, none perhaps quite so poignant as the memory of the moment, at the door of their carriage, when he said, so low that she just heard: "Good-bye, my darling!"

He had never before called her that.Not even his touch on her cheek under the olives equalled the simple treasure of that word.

And above the roar and clatter of the train, and the snoring of the Irishman, it kept sounding in her ears, hour after dark hour.It was perhaps not wonderful, that through all that night she never once looked the future in the face--made no plans, took no stock of her position; just yielded to memory, and to the half-dreamed sensation of his presence close beside her.Whatever might come afterwards, she was his this night.Such was the trance that gave to her the strange, soft, tireless immobility which so moved her Uncle whenever he woke up.

In Paris they drove from station to station in a vehicle unfit for three--'to stretch their legs'--as the Colonel said.Since he saw in his niece no signs of flagging, no regret, his spirits were rising, and he confided to Mrs.Ercott in the buffet at the Gare du Nord, when Olive had gone to wash, that he did not think there was much in it, after all, looking at the way she'd travelled.

But Mrs.Ercott answered:

"Haven't you ever noticed that Olive never shows what she does not want to? She has not got those eyes for nothing.""What eyes?"

"Eyes that see everything, and seem to see nothing."Conscious that something was hurting her, the Colonel tried to take her hand.

But Mrs.Ercott rose quickly, and went where he could not follow.

Thus suddenly deserted, the Colonel brooded, drumming on the little table.What now! Dolly was unjust! Poor Dolly! He was as fond of her as ever! Of course! How could he help Olive's being young--and pretty; how could he help looking after her, and wanting to save her from this mess! Thus he sat wondering, dismayed by the unreasonableness of women.It did not enter his head that Mrs.

Ercott had been almost as sleepless as his niece, watching through closed eyes every one of those little expeditions of his, and saying to herself: "Ah! He doesn't care how I travel!"She returned serene enough, concealing her 'grief,' and soon they were once more whirling towards England.