The Knave of Diamonds by Ethel May Dell (book recommendations for teens TXT) 📖

solicitude had bridged the gulf at least temporarily.
"This is real good of you," Lucas Errol said, as he took her arm again. "And it's a luxury I ought not to indulge in, for I can walk alone on the flat."
"Oh, it is horrid for you!" she said with vehemence. "How ever do you bear it?"
"We can all of us bear what we must," he said, smiling whimsically.
"But we don't all of us do it well," said Dot, as she opened the Rectory gate.
"I guess that's a good deal a matter of temperament," said the American. "A fellow like Nap, for instance, all hustle and quicksilver, might be expected to kick now and then. One makes allowances for a fellow like that."
"I believe you make allowances for everyone," said Dot, impetuously.
"Don't you?" he asked.
"No, I am afraid I don't."
There was a pause. The garden door was closed behind them. They stood alone.
Lucas Errol's eyes travelled over the stretch of lawn that lay between them and the house, dwelt for a few thoughtful seconds upon nothing in particular, and finally sought those of the girl at his side.
"One must be fair, Miss Waring," he said gently. "I can't imagine you being deliberately unfair to anyone."
She flushed again. There was something in his manner that she could not quite fathom, but it was something that she could not possibly resent.
"Not deliberately--of course," she said after a moment, as he waited for an answer.
"Of course not," he agreed, in his courteous, rather tired voice. "If, for instance, you were out with a friend and met a scorpion in a rage who stung you both, you'd want to take it out of the scorpion, wouldn't you, not the friend?"
She hesitated, seeing in a flash the trend of the conversation, and unwilling to commit herself too deeply.
He read her reluctance at a glance. "Please don't be afraid of me," he said, with that most winning smile of his. "I promise you on my honour that whatever you say shall not be used against you."
She smiled involuntarily. "I am not afraid of you, only--"
"Only--" he said.
"I think there are a good many scorpions about," she told him rather piteously. "I could name several, all venomous."
"I understand," said Lucas Errol. He passed his hand within her arm again and pressed it gently. "And so you are flinging away all your valuables to escape them?" he questioned. "Forgive me--is that wise?"
She did not answer.
He began to make his difficult progress towards the house.
Suddenly, without looking at her he spoke again. "I believe you're a woman of sense, Miss Waring, and you know as well as I do that there is a price to pay for everything. And the biggest things command the highest prices. If we haven't the means to pay for a big thing when it is offered us, we must just let it go. But if we have--well, I guess we'd be wise to sell out all the little things and secure it. Those same little things are so almighty small in comparison."
He ceased, but still Dot was silent. It was not the silence of embarrassment, however. He had spoken too kindly for that.
He did not look at her till they were close to the house, then for a few moments she was aware of his steady eyes searching for the answer she had withheld.
"Say, Miss Waring," he said, "you are not vexed any?"
She turned towards him instantly, her round face full of the most earnest friendliness. "I--I think you're a brick, Mr. Errol," she said.
He shook his head. "Nothing so useful, I am afraid, but I'm grateful to you all the same for thinking so. Ah! Here comes your father."
The rector was hastening after them across the grass. He joined them on the path before the house and urged his visitor to come in and rest. The orchids were in the conservatory. He believed he had one very rare specimen. If Mr. Errol would sit down in the drawing-room he would bring it for his inspection.
And so it came to pass that when Bertie entered he found his brother deep in a botanical discussion with the enthusiastic rector while Dot had disappeared. Bertie only paused to ascertain this fact before he turned round and went in quest of her.
He knew his way about the lower regions of the Rectory, and he began a systematic search forthwith. She was not, however, to be very readily found. He glanced into all the downstairs rooms without success. He was, in fact, on the point of regretfully abandoning his efforts on the supposition that she had retreated to her own room when her voice rang suddenly down the back stairs. She was calling agitatedly for help.
It was enough for Bertie. He tore up the stairs with lightning speed, boldly announcing his advent as he went.
He found her at the top of the house in an old cupboard used for storing fruit. She was mounted upon a crazy pair of steps that gave signs of imminent collapse, and to save herself from the catastrophe that this would involve she was clinging to the highest shelf with both hands.
"Be quick!" she cried to him. "Be quick! I'm slipping every second!"
The words were hardly uttered before the steps gave a sudden loud crack and fell from beneath her with a crash. But in the same instant Bertie sprang in and caught her firmly round the knees. He proceeded with much presence of mind to seat her on his shoulder.
"That's all right. I've got you," he said cheerily. "None the worse, eh? What are you trying to do? May as well finish before you come down."
Dot seemed for a moment inclined to resent the support thus jauntily given, but against her will her sense of humour prevailed.
She uttered a muffled laugh. "I'm getting apples for dessert."
"All in your Sunday clothes!" commented Bertie. "That comes of procrastination--the fatal British defect."
"I hate people who hustle," remarked Dot, hoping that her hot cheeks were not visible at that altitude.
"Meaning me?" said Bertie, settling himself for an argument.
"Oh, I suppose you can't help it," said Dot, filling her basket with feverish speed. "You Americans are all much too greedy to wait for anything. Am I very heavy?"
"Not in the least," said Bertie. "I like being sat on now and then. I admit the charge of greed but not of impatience. You misjudge me there."
At this point a large apple dropped suddenly upon his upturned face and, having struck him smartly between the eyes, fell with a thud to the ground.
Bertie said "Damn!" but luckily for Dot he did not budge an inch.
"I beg your pardon," he added a moment later.
"What for?" said Dot.
"For swearing," he replied. "I forgot you didn't like it."
"Oh!" said Dot; and after a pause, "Then I beg yours."
"Did you do it on purpose?" he asked curiously.
"I want to get down, please," said Dot.
He lowered her from his shoulder to his arms with perfect ease, set her on the ground, and held her fast.
"Dot," he said, his voice sunk almost to a whisper, "if you're going to be violent, I guess I shall be violent too."
"Let me go!" said Dot.
But still he held her. "Dot," he said again. "I won't hustle you any. I swear I won't hustle you. But--my dear, you'll marry me some day. Isn't that so?"
Dot was silent. She was straining against his arms, and yet he held her, not fiercely, not passionately, but with a mastery the greater for its very coolness.
"I'll wait for you," he said. "I'll wait three years. I shall be twenty-five then, and you'll be twenty-one. But you'll marry me then, Dot. You'll have to marry me then."
"Have to!" flashed Dot.
"Yes, have to," he repeated coolly. "You are mine."
"I'm not, Bertie!" she declared indignantly. "How--how dare you hold me against my will? And you're upsetting the apples too. Bertie, you--you're a horrid cad!"
"Yes, I know," said Bertie, an odd note of soothing in his voice. "That's what you English people always do when you're beaten. You hurl insults, and go on fighting. But it's nothing but a waste of energy, and only makes the whipping the more thorough."
"You hateful American!" gasped Dot. "As if--as if--we could be beaten!"
She had struggled vainly for some seconds and was breathless. She turned suddenly in his arms and placed her hands against his shoulders, forcing him from her. Bertie instantly changed his position, seized her wrists, drew them outward, drew them upward, drew them behind his neck.
"And yet you love me," he said. "You love yourself better, but--you love me."
His face was bent to hers, he looked closely into her eyes. And--perhaps it was something in his look that moved her--perhaps it was only the realisation of her own utter impotence--Dot suddenly hid her face upon his shoulder and began to cry.
His arms were about her in an instant. He held her against his heart.
"My dear, my dear, have I been a brute to you? I only wanted to make you understand. Say, Dot, don't cry, dear, don't cry!"
"I--I'm not!" sobbed Dot.
"Of course not," he agreed. "Anyone can see that. But still--darling--don't!"
Dot recovered herself with surprising rapidity. "Bertie, you--you're a great big donkey!" She confronted him with wet, accusing eyes. "What you said just now wasn't true, and if--if you're a gentleman you'll apologise."
"I'll let you kick me all the way downstairs if you like," said Bertie contritely. "I didn't mean to hurt you, honest. I didn't mean to make you--"
"You didn't!" broke in Dot. "But you didn't tell the truth. That's why I'm angry with you. You--told--a lie."
"I?" said Bertie.
He had taken his arms quite away from her now. He seemed in fact a little afraid of touching her. But Dot showed no disposition to beat a retreat. They faced each other in the old apple cupboard, as if it were the most appropriate place in the world for a conflict.
"Yes, you!" said Dot.
"What did I say?" asked Bertie, hastily casting back his thoughts.
She looked at him with eyes that seemed to grow more contemptuously bright every instant. "You said," she spoke with immense deliberation, "that I loved myself best."
"Well?" said Bertie.
"Well," she said, and took up her basket as one on the point of departure, "it wasn't true. There!"
"Dot!" His hand was on the basket too. He stopped her without touching her. "Dot!" he said again.
Dot's eyes began to soften, a dimple showed suddenly near the corner of her mouth. "You shouldn't tell lies, Bertie," she said.
And that was the last remark she made for several seconds, unless the smothered protests that rose against Bertie's lips could be described as such. They were certainly not emphatic enough to make any impression, and Bertie treated them with the indifference they deserved.
Driving home, he managed to steer with one hand while he thrust the other upon his brother's knee.
"Luke, old chap, I've gone dead against your wishes," he jerked out. "And--for the first time in my life--I'm not sorry. She'll have me."
"I thought she would," said Lucas. He grasped the boy's hand closely. "There are times when a man--if he is a man--must act for himself, eh, Bertie?"
Bertie laughed a little. "I don't believe it was against your wishes after all."
"Well, p'r'aps not." There was a very kindly smile in the sunken eyes. "I guess you're a little older than I thought you were, and anyway, she won't marry you for the dollars."
"She certainly won't," said Bertie warmly. "But she's horribly afraid of