The Rocks of Valpre by Ethel May Dell (best short books to read txt) 📖

Philippa says so. I can't bear asking her for money. In fact, I--I--"
She hesitated, avoiding his eyes. "Shall I tell you something, Trevor?" she said in a whisper. "It's something I haven't told anyone else!"
"Of course tell me!" He took her two hands into his, holding them up against his heart.
"Well--it's a secret, you know--I--I--" She raised her face in sudden pleading. "Promise you won't be cross, Trevor."
"I promise, dear," he answered gravely.
"Well, I'm afraid it's rather bad of me. I haven't been paying for things lately. I simply couldn't. London is a dreadful place for spending money, isn't it? It's all quite little things, but they mount up shockingly. And--and--Aunt Philippa is bound to give me some money presently for my--my trousseau. So I thought--I thought--" She came nearer to him; she laid her cheek coaxingly against his breast. "Trevor, you said you wouldn't be cross."
He put his hand on her bright hair. "I am not cross, dear. I am only sorry."
Chris was inclined to be a little tearful. She did not quite know what had led her to tell him--it had been the impulse of a moment--but it was a vast relief to feel he knew.
"I'm not a very good manager, I'm afraid," she said. "But there are certain things one must have, and they do add up so. I believe it's the odd halfpennies and farthings that do it. Don't you ever find that?"
"I can quite imagine it," he said.
"Yes, they're so deceptive. I wonder why two-and-elevenpence three-farthings sound so much less than three shillings. It's a snare and a delusion. I don't think it ought to be allowed." She raised her head with her April smile. "I'm very glad I told you, Trevor. You're very nice about things. I was afraid you would be like Aunt Philippa, but you are not in the least."
"Thank you, Chris. Now I want to say something very serious to you. Will you listen--and take it seriously?"
She gave a little sigh. "I know exactly what it is."
"No, you don't know." Mordaunt looked at her with eyes that were gravely kind. "You are not to jump to conclusions where I am concerned," he said. "You don't know me well enough. What I have to say is this. I can't have you in difficulties for want of a little money. Those debts of yours must be settled at once."
"But, Trevor, Aunt Philippa--"
"Never mind Aunt Philippa. It has nothing to do with her. It is a matter between you and me. We will settle it without her assistance."
"Oh, Trevor, but--"
"There is no 'but,' Chris," he said, interrupting her almost sternly. "I am nearer to you than your aunt. Tell me--as nearly as you can--what those debts amount to."
Chris was looking a little startled. "But I--I don't know," she said.
"Well, find out and tell me." He smiled at her again. "It's all right, dear. Don't be afraid of me. I know it's hard to keep within bounds when there is a shortage of means. But I don't like debts. You won't run up any more?"
Chris still looked at him somewhat doubtfully. "I won't if I can help it," she said.
"You will be able to help it," he rejoined.
"Yes, but, Trevor, please let me say it. I don't think you ought to--to give me money before--before--Oh, do understand!" she broke off helplessly. "You generally do."
"I quite understand," he said, his hand on her shoulder. "But, my child, I think, considering all things, that you need not let that scruple trouble you. Since we are to be married in six weeks--"
"In six weeks, Trevor!" Again that startled look that was almost one of consternation.
"In six weeks," he repeated, with quiet emphasis. "Your cousin will probably be back from her honeymoon, and it will be the end of the season. Since, then, our marriage is to take place in six weeks, and that I shall then be responsible for you, I do not think you need be troubled about letting me help you out of this difficulty now. No one will know of it. It will set your mind at rest--and mine also."
"Ah, but, Trevor--" Chris spoke somewhat breathlessly--she was rubbing her hand nervously up and down his sleeve--"I'm not quite sure that--that it will set my mind at rest. I'm not sure that--that I want you to do it, or that I ought to let you even if I did, because, you see, because--"
"Because--?" he said.
She turned her head aside, avoiding his direct look. "Don't be angry, will you? But just--just supposing something happened, and--and--and we didn't get married after all?"
She ended rather desperately, in an undertone. But for the quiet hand on her shoulder she would have moved away from him; she might even have been tempted to flee altogether. As it was, she stood still, trembling a little, wondering if she had outrun his patience at last or if he had it in him still to bear with her.
He did not speak at once. She waited with a beating heart.
"Well?" he said, and at the sound of his voice she thrilled with relief. "It's as well to look all round a thing, I admit. We will consider that supposition if you like. Say something happens to prevent our marriage. What then? Is it to put an end to our friendship also?"
She turned slightly towards him. "I might never be able to repay you," she murmured.
"I see. And that would trouble you--even though we remained friends?"
She was silent.
"It has always been a puzzle to me," he said, "why money--which is the most ordinary thing in life--is the one thing that friends scruple to accept from each other. Gifts of any other description, all sorts of sacrifices, down to life itself, are offered and taken with no scruple of pride. But when it comes to money, which is of very small value in comparison, people begin to worry. Why, Chris, what are pounds, shillings, and pence between you and me? Surely we have climbed above that sort of thing, haven't we?"
The tenderness of his tone moved her, in a fashion compelled her. She went into his arms impulsively, she clung about his neck. Yet even then her scruples were not quite laid to rest.
"But--Trevor dear--just supposing we quarrelled? We might, you know, about Cinders or anything. And then--and then--"
"My dear," he said, "we certainly shall not quarrel about Cinders. I can't for the life of me picture myself quarrelling with you under any circumstances whatsoever. And even if we did, I don't think you would hate me so badly as to grudge me the satisfaction of knowing that I had been of use to you at an awkward moment. Don't you think we are getting rather morbid, Chris?"
"I don't know," she said, clinging closer. "I only know that you are miles and miles too good for me. And whatever makes you want me I can't think."
He put his hand under her chin, and turned her face up to his own. "I'll tell you another time. At the present moment I want to talk about--getting married."
He spoke the last two words very softly, holding her close lest she should shrink away.
But Chris, with her eyes on his, kept still and silent in his arms. Only she turned rather white.
He continued with the utmost gentleness. "Your cousin is going to be married on the fifteenth of this month. Can't we arrange our wedding for the fifteenth of next?"
"The fifteenth!" said Chris. "Isn't that St. Swithin's Day?"
She spoke so briskly that even Mordaunt was for the moment taken by surprise.
"St. Swithin's Day!" he echoed. "Well, what of it?"
She broke into her gay laugh. "Oh, please not St. Swithin's Day! Just imagine if it rained!"
"Chris!" he said. "You're incorrigible!"
His arms had slackened, and she drew away from him, breathing rather quickly.
"No, but really, wouldn't it be tragic? I shouldn't like a wet honeymoon, should you? Hadn't we better wait till August? Or shall you be wanting to go to Scotland?"
"No," he said. "I am not going to Scotland this year."
His eyes were still upon her, gravely watchful, but they expressed nothing of impatience or exasperation. Very quietly he waited.
"Shall we say August, then?" said Chris, in a small, shy voice, not looking at him.
"Will your aunt remain in town for August?" he asked.
"But we are not obliged to be married in town," she pointed out.
"Nor are we obliged to have a honeymoon, Chris," he said. "Shall we say St. Swithin's Day, and forego the honeymoon--if it rains?"
"Go straight home, you mean?" She turned back to him eagerly. "Oh, Trevor, I should like that! I do want to superintend everything there. Yes, let's do that, shall we? I always did think honeymoons were rather silly, didn't you?"
He smiled in spite of himself. "I daresay they are--from some points of view. It is settled, then--St. Swithin's Day?"
She nodded. "Yes. And we will go straight to Kellerton afterwards, and work--like niggers. It won't matter a bit then whether it rains or not. And Noel can spend his holidays with us and help. How busy we shall be!"
She laughed up at him, all shining eyes and dimples.
Again--in spite of himself--he laughed back, pinching her cheek. "Will that please you, my little Chris?"
"Oh, ever so!" said Chris.
He stooped and lightly kissed her hair. "Then--so let it be!"


CHAPTER X
A SURPRISE VISIT

It was raining--one of those sudden, pelting showers that descend from June thunder-clouds, brief but drenching. It was also very dark, and Bertrand had switched on the light. He was seated at Mordaunt's writing-table, his black head bent over a pile of letters. The pen he held moved busily, but not very quickly. He was writing with extreme care. It was evident that he meant his first day's work to be a success. He scarcely noticed the heavy downpour, being profoundly intent upon the work he had in hand. Only at a sharp clap of thunder did he glance up momentarily and shrug his shoulders. But he was at once immersed again in his occupation, so deeply immersed that at the opening of the door he did not turn his head.
Holmes paused just inside the room. "If you please, sir--"
"Ah, put it down, put it down!" said the Frenchman impatiently. "I am busy."
But Holmes, being empty-handed, did not comply with the request. He remained hesitating, obviously doubtful, till with a sharp jerk de Montville turned in his chair.
"What is it, then? I have told you--I am busy."
Holmes looked apologetic. He found the abrupt ways of the new secretary somewhat disconcerting. "It's a young lady, sir," he explained rather diffidently. "It's Miss Wyndham. She run in here for shelter, and, seeing as Mr. Mordaunt be out, I didn't know whether you would wish me to show her up or not, sir."
Bertrand was on his feet in a moment. "A young lady! Miss Wyndham! Who is--Miss Wyndham?"
"It's the young lady as Mr. Mordaunt is a-going to marry," said Holmes, dropping his voice confidentially. "I told her as Mr. Mordaunt weren't in, and she said as she'd like to wait. Didn't know quite what to do, sir. Would you like me to show her up?"
"But certainly!" De Montville's eyebrows had gone up an inch, but he lowered them hastily and smiled. Doubtless it was an English custom, this; he must not display surprise. "Beg her to ascend," he said. "Mr. Mordaunt may return at any moment. He would not wish his _fiancee_ to remain below."
"Very good, sir." Holmes withdrew, leaving the door ajar.
Bertrand remained upon his feet, watching it expectantly.
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