She placed before him her views upon the matter, and then she proceeded to shelve the subject; but Trist failed to help her in this, contrary to her expectation. He was distinctly dull during luncheon, and made no attempt to disguise his preoccupation. Mrs. Wylie nibbled a biscuit while he was removing the outer rind of his cheese with absurd care, and waited patiently for him to say that which was undoubtedly on his lips.
The maid had left the room; there was no fear of interruption. Trist continued to amuse himself for some moments with a minute morsel of Gorgonzola; then he looked up, unconsciously trying the temper of his knife upon the plate while he spoke.
“I had,” he said, “an interview with my chief this morning.”
“Ah! Sir Edward, you mean?”
“Yes,” slowly, “Sir Edward.”
Mrs. Wylie saw that she was expected to ask a question in order to keep the ball rolling.
“What about?” she inquired pleasantly.
“I informed him that I proposed burying the hatchet.”
“You are not going to give up active service!” exclaimed Mrs. Wylie in astonishment.
“I promised to go to one more campaign—the Russo-Turkish—which will come on in the spring, and after that I shall follow the paths of peace.”
Mrs. Wylie rolled up her table-napkin, and inserted it meditatively into an ancient silver ring several sizes too large for it.
“I used to think,” she murmured, “that you would never follow the ways of peace.” Then she looked across the table into his face with that indescribable contraction of the eyes which sometimes came even when her lips were smiling.
“I am not quite sure of you now, Theo,” she added gently, as she rose and led the way towards the door.
Trist reached the handle before her, and held the door open with that unostentatious politeness of his which made him different from the general run of society young men. As she passed, he smiled reassuringly, and said in his monotonous way:
“I am quite sure of myself.”
“Not too sure?” she inquired over her shoulder.
“No.”
In the drawing-room he succumbed to his hostess’s Bohemian persuasions, and lighted a cigarette. He seemed to have forgotten his own affairs.
“About Alice,” he began—“que faire?”
For some reason Mrs. Wylie avoided meeting his glance.
“I told Alfred Huston,” she replied, after a pause, “that I would communicate with Alice, and that I had hopes of their living happily together yet.”
Her tone was eminently practical and businesslike. Trist answered in the same way.
“I told Alice,” he said cheerily, “that I would ask you to communicate with Huston, with the view of coming to some definite arrangement. Hide-and-seek is a slow game after a time.”
“What sort of arrangement?”
“Well … I suggested that he should agree to leave her unmolested for a certain time, during which she could think over it.”
Mrs. Wylie’s smile was a trifle wan and uncertain.
“In fact, you made the best of it?”
“Yes. What else could I do?”
The widow looked at him keenly. It was hard to believe in disinterestedness like this; and it is a very human failing to doubt disinterestedness of any description.
“I told Alfred Huston,” she said disconnectedly, “that I trusted you to do your honest best for all concerned in this matter.”
“Which statement Huston politely declined to confirm, I should imagine.”
Mrs. Wylie shrugged her shoulders. Denial was evidently out of the question.
“Then my name was brought in?” asked Trist in a peculiar way.
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“By me. It would have been worse than useless, Theo, to have attempted ignorance of your influence over the girls.”
For a second time Trist avoided meeting his companion’s glance.
“I told Sir Edward,” he said, after a considerable space of time, “that I must be allowed to remain in England for some time to come; it seems to me that I should have done better had I asked to be sent away on active service without delay.”
“I should hardly go so far as to say that, Theo,” remarked Mrs. Wylie placidly; “but I think you must be very careful. I only want to call your attention to the light in which your help is likely to appear in the eyes of the world.”
“You have no …”—he hesitated before saying the word “man,” but his listener gave a little quick nod as if to help him—“man to help you, except me; and it seems better that there should be someone whom you can play, as it were, against Huston’s stronger cards—someone of whom he is afraid.”
“Yes,” replied the lady with an affectionate smile; “I quite understand your meaning; and I think you are right, although Alfred Huston is not an alarming person: he is very weak.”
“When he is sober,” suggested Trist significantly.
The sailor’s widow was too brave a woman to be frightened by this insinuation, of which she took absolutely no notice.
“And,” she continued, “I am convinced that this reconciliation is more likely to be brought about if it is left entirely in my hands. Your influence, however subtle, will be detected by Alfred Huston, and the result will be disastrous. Unless … unless …”
She stopped in a vague way, and moved restlessly.
“Unless what?”
“Unless you go to Alfred Huston and convince him by some means that there is no love between you and Alice.”
The laughter with which he greeted this suggestion was a masterpiece of easy nonchalance—deep, melodious, and natural; but somehow Mrs. Wylie failed to join in it.
“No,” he said; “that would not do. If Alice and I went together, and took all sorts of solemn affidavits, I doubt whether Huston would be any more satisfied than he is at present. The only method practicable is for me to hold myself in reserve, while you manage this affair.”
He had risen during this speech, and now held out his hand.
“I have an appointment at the Army and Navy,” he said, “and must ask you to excuse me if I run away.”
Mrs. Wylie was left in her own drawing-room nonplussed. She gazed at the door which had just closed behind her incomprehensible guest with mild astonishment.
“That,” she reflected, “is the first time
