* * *
In the evening, James was sitting by the fire in the dining-room, thinking of that one subject which occupied all his thoughts. Colonel Parsons and his wife were at the table, engaged upon the game of backgammon which invariably filled the interval between supper and prayers. The rattle of dice came to James indistinctly, as in a dream, and he imagined fantastically that unseen powers were playing for his life. He sat with his head between his hands, staring at the flames as though to find in them a solution to his difficulty; but mockingly they spoke only of Mrs. Wallace and the caress of her limpid eyes. He turned away with a gesture of impatience. The game was just finished, and Mrs. Parsons, catching the expression on his face, asked:
'What are you thinking of, Jamie?'
'I?' he answered, looking up quickly, as though afraid that his secret had been divined. 'Nothing!'
Mrs. Parsons put the backgammon board away, making up her mind to speak, for she too suffered from a shyness which made the subjects she had nearest at heart precisely those that she could least bear to talk about.
'When do you think of getting married, Jamie?'
James started.
'Why, you asked me that yesterday,' He tried to make a joke of it. 'Upon my word, you're very anxious to get rid of me.'
'I wonder if it's occurred to you that you're making Mary a little unhappy?'
James stood up and leaned against the mantelpiece, his face upon his hand.
'I should be sorry to do that, mother.'
'You've been home four days, and you've not said a word to show you love her.'
'I'm afraid I'm not very demonstrative.'
'That's what I said!' cried the Colonel, triumphantly.
'Can't you try to say a word or two to prove you care for her, Jamie? She
'Has she asked you to speak to me?' inquired James.
'No, dear. You know that she would never do anything of the kind. She would hate to think that I had said anything.'
James paused a moment.
'I will speak to her to-morrow, mother.'
'That's right!' said the Colonel, cheerfully. 'I know she's going to be in all the morning. Colonel and Mrs. Clibborn are going into Tunbridge Wells.'
'It will be a good opportunity.'
IX
In the morning Mrs. Parsons was in the hall, arranging flowers, when James passed through to get his hat.
'Are you going to see Mary now?'
'Yes, mother.'
'That's a good boy.'
She did not notice that her son's usual gravity was intensified, or that his very lips were pallid, and his eyes careworn and lustreless.
It was raining. The young fresh leaves, in the colourless day, had lost their verdure, and the massive shapes of the elm trees were obscured in the mist. The sky had so melancholy a tone that it seemed a work of man--a lifeless hue of infinite sorrow, dreary and cheerless.
James arrived at the Clibborns' house.
'Miss Mary is in the drawing-room,' he was told by a servant, who smiled on him, the accepted lover, with obtrusive friendliness.
He went in and found her seated at the piano, industriously playing scales. She wore the weather-beaten straw hat without which she never seemed comfortable.
'Oh, I'm glad you've come,' she said. 'I'm alone in the house, and I was taking the opportunity to have a good practice.' She turned round on the music-stool, and ran one hand chromatically up the piano, smiling the while with pleasure at Jamie's visit. 'Would you like to go for a walk?' she asked. 'I don't mind the rain a bit.'
'I would rather stay here, if you don't mind.'
James sat down and began playing with a paper-knife. Still he did not know how to express himself. He was torn asunder by rival emotions; he felt absolutely bound to speak, and yet could not bear the thought of the agony he must cause. He was very tender-hearted; he had never in his life consciously given pain to any living creature, and would far rather have inflicted hurt upon himself.
'I've been wanting to have a long talk with you alone ever since I came back.'
'Have you? Why didn't you tell me?'
'Because what I want to say is very difficult, Mary; and I'm afraid it must be very--distressing to both of us.'
