Star of India by Alice Perrin (new reading .TXT) 📖

could never love the girl as a man should love the woman he married; if it[Pg 304] became necessary he must tell her the truth, and put an end to all thought of anything but friendship....

"You are very glum to-night," she remarked, gazing at him through a cloud of smoke. "What is the matter?"

"Probably the usual curse of the Anglo-Indian—liver!" he replied, with an effort to speak lightly. "I've been eating and drinking too much ever since I got home. It's time I went in for the simple life, somewhere out of all this. It doesn't suit my peculiar constitution!"

"It doesn't suit me either," she said reflectively.

"You seem to thrive on it, anyway!"

"Oh! I am one of those chameleon people who can adapt themselves to any surroundings. I could be happy anywhere, on a desert island, in the Indian jungle—more particularly in the Indian jungle, provided——"

She paused and flicked some cigarette ash on to the carpet.

He took a little china saucer from the mantelpiece and placed it on a table beside her. "You must learn to be tidy wherever you are!" he said with mock severity, and added: "What was it you had to tell me?"

"A secret! Such a nice one, though soon it will be a secret no longer."

"Oh! Are you going to be married in spite of your contempt for my sex?"

She drew in her breath sharply, as though something had hurt her. "Why do you remind me of my[Pg 305] silly ideas? Don't you think I have the sense to see when I have been wrong?"

He evaded reply to the question. "Well, out with this wonderful secret. Don't keep me in suspense."

"It's this—you are to have the C.S.I.!" she told him triumphantly. "The Star of India! Doesn't it sound splendid—glittering, glorious, grand!"

He stared at her stupidly, stammered: "How—how do you know?"

"Pater told me to-night, just as I was starting to come here," and she added naïvely: "to come and meet you. Good old Pater, he is arranging it all. Now, what do you say to that for a piece of news?"

"It is extremely kind of him, but I don't want it, I don't deserve it!" he cried in desperation. "You must tell him—it must be stopped——"

"What on earth are you talking about? If you don't deserve it, who does? Anyway, it's to be yours, whether you feel you deserve it or not, and I can't tell you how proud I feel that in a kind of way you will have got it through me!"

Through her! and through her, if he chose to say the word, he could have all that, to the world, would appear to make life well worth the living. For the moment the temptation was strong, almost overwhelming. Here, for the asking, was the devotion of a clever, capable girl who had the makings of a true comrade, who would revive his ambitions, enter wholeheartedly into his career; he saw himself honoured,[Pg 306] successful, beyond his dreams; a power in the country that he loved to serve, with every advantage, officially and socially, in his grasp. Why should he hesitate? Here was his chance! he stood at the turning-point of his existence that meant "fortune" without struggle or delay if he went boldly forward....

Then, all at once, sweeping aside the temptation, the brilliant outlook, came the thought of Stella, the true Star of his life and his heart; and dimly he felt that to barter the memory of that other star, however far from his reach, for tangible gain would be infamous, contemptible. The shadow was more to him than the substance; he could not do this thing and feel that his purpose was clean!

"I suppose you will think I am mad," he said slowly, with difficulty, "but there is something—something that stands in the way——"

The girl paled, dropped the end of her cigarette into the saucer, and he saw her hands grip the arms of the chair. "Is it—is it because——" she lost her self-control. "Oh! don't look at me like that! Can't you see—what does anything matter! Don't be so proud. Nothing can be too good for you—Philip!"

She rose, held her hands out to him, firm, square hands; he took them gently, reverently, and she swayed as she recognised the lack of passion in his touch.

Haltingly, as best he could, he tried to tell her the truth, but it all sounded so elusive, so unsubstantial, he felt he could hardly expect her to comprehend.[Pg 307] Silence fell between them; he turned from her in painful regret.

She laid her hand on his shoulder. "Philip, don't you trust me? Do you think I can't know how you feel? If I can't help you in one way I can in another perhaps, by giving you all my sympathy and understanding. I hope if I had been placed as you are that I should have done exactly the same. I see—I realise——" she faltered pitifully, "that as things are you can't take the Star, you can't owe it to me in the least degree. I will explain somehow to my father; leave it to me, it isn't too late, and some day you will have it—earn it yourself entirely—and—it may be the other one too, I hope so, I do indeed! if she is worthy of you. But oh! how could she, how could she leave your letter unanswered! There may have been some mistake, it may come all right, don't give up hope. The most wonderful things happen. And I—I shall always be your friend——"

She stopped, breathing fast; she had spoken so rapidly, under such stress of emotion. As he met her strained, wide-open eyes she looked almost unreal. A mist clouded his vision; he felt choked as he tried to answer, to thank her; speech seemed so futile; for him the whole thing was beyond words; he knew he was failing hopelessly to express himself.

She gave a tremulous laugh that was half a sob. "It's all right, don't say anything, don't try. We both know. Let's get back to the crowd," and moving to the door she turned out the lights. Quickly she[Pg 308] went before him, down the steps and along the narrow passage. He saw her mingle with the throng, her head held high, talking and laughing, a bright, conspicuous figure, a brave, noble-hearted girl! He wished honestly that he could have loved her; wished it quite apart from the solid advantages she could have brought him as his wife.

[Pg 309]

CHAPTER XI

A day or two later when Philip, preparatory to his departure from London, was choosing a fishing-rod in a well-known shop devoted to the requirements of anglers, a little lady dressed in the height of fashion rustled over to him from the farther end of the showroom where she had been standing in company with an elderly, distinguished-looking man.

"Is it Mr. Flint?" she inquired gaily; and as he looked at her in puzzled politeness a vague memory returned to him of someone trigged out in sequins and tinsel, with a tambourine....

"You don't remember me? This time I'm not pretending. We really have met before! My name is Matthews—Maud Verrall, you know, Stella Crayfield's friend. How history repeats itself. Fancy my having to introduce myself again, and all among fishing-rods and tackle and things, instead of in a ball-room full of dressed-up idiots in India!"

"Why, of course—of course, how are you?" he said, gathering his wits together, battling with an impulse to attack her on the spot as to Stella's whereabouts, to ask her all about her. If anyone knew it would be this wonderfully garbed little person, who now proceeded to beckon to her deserted companion.

"Here's another old friend of Stella's, Sir George Rolt; you saw him at that horrible ball, if you remember——"

[Pg 310]

The shop assistant stood by in patient resentment as the male customers neglected their object, and the lady chattered of everything but fishing-rods.

"I'm taking Sir George down with me to my old home in the country to-morrow for a visit," she told Mr. Flint; "he and my husband are going to fish from morning till night. So dull for me! but I shall have Stella to talk to, and she will be thankful. She's at The Chestnuts, you know. 'Grandmamma and the Aunts'," she added with a mischievous "moue," then she sighed "Poor Stella!" and she looked at him searchingly. "That was a terrible business, wasn't it?"

Philip composed himself with an effort. "Her husband's death, you mean? Yes, I suppose it was. I have heard nothing of her since it happened. I hope she is well, have you seen her lately?"

"Quite lately; I've only been in town for a flying visit, just to get clothes."

There was an awkward pause. Philip became aware that Sir George was regarding him with particular attention. Was the man Stella's future husband? The possibility filled him with helpless rage.

Mrs. Matthews coughed artificially and glanced from one man to the other. "Sir George, dear," she said sweetly, "you'd better go back to that kind gentleman who was giving you such good advice about fishing-rods, or someone else will snap him up. I want to talk secrets with Mr. Flint, if he's not in too great a hurry."

[Pg 311]

Sir George smiled and moved away compliantly. Mrs. Matthews apologised to Philip's assistant. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I haven't seen this friend of mine for such ages. Presently he will buy heaps of things, don't wait for him now if you are busy. I will see that he doesn't run away!"

The young man succumbed to her blandishments, and Mrs. Matthews piloted Philip to a corner of the shop where she annexed a couple of chairs.

"This is a funny place for a private conversation!" she remarked, "but I'm not going to lose such a chance now I've got it. Fancy our meeting like this; what a piece of luck! Now listen to me and answer my questions." She scrutinised him closely. "You look struck all of a heap!"

"I feel it," said Philip briefly.

"Why? because you want to hear news of Stella, or because you don't?"

"Because it's the one thing in the world I wish for," he answered, his heart beating fast.

Her face cleared. "That's all right; one step forward! Now tell me—do you know why Stella never answered your letter?"

"There could be only one reason. I told her in my letter that if I did not hear from her I should understand." He fixed his eyes on a stuffed salmon in a glass case, he could not bring himself to meet Mrs. Matthews' inquisitive gaze.

"You silly fool!" said Stella's friend vigorously. "Couldn't you have guessed that she must have had some desperate reason?"

[Pg 312]

"I thought——"

"You thought everything that was wrong, of course. Men always do. Sir George Rolt thinks he is devoted to me at present, dear old thing, and that I am equally 'gone' on him, but he's mistaken, though it's great fun for us both while it lasts. Can you stand a shock, Mr. Philip Flint?"

"I can stand anything," said Philip doggedly, "except——"

"I know what you were going to say—except to hear that Stella never wants to see you again?"

"Exactly."

"Would it make any difference if you found her altered in another way?"

"How do you mean?" he asked, mystified.

Then Mrs. Matthews 'set to' as she would herself have expressed it, and for the space of five minutes she talked breathlessly, uninterrupted by Philip, who listened to her in greedy silence.

"There," she concluded at last. "Now, do you see?"

"Not altogether, I must confess. I don't see why Stella should have concluded that her appearance would have made the smallest difference to me, after my letter. It was very unfair to me!"

"Don't talk such trash. It was perfectly natural. She was too hideous for words until she got home; we came home together, and I made her put herself into the hands of an expert. Massage and treatment did wonders, but, all the same, poor dear, she will never be beautiful again!"

[Pg 313]

"Good heavens, as if that would matter to me. Whatever she looks like——" he paused, overcome by his feelings.

"Well, I will believe you, though one never knows! Anyway she's not so bad, it's only one side of her face."

"Mrs. Matthews, for goodness' sake don't talk like this; I can't bear it. Just tell me, once for all—does Stella care for me still?"

"Yes, darling, she does; and the best thing you can do is to come down with me and Sir George to-morrow, fishing-rods and all, to The Court, and make her tell you so herself. Will you?"

"Will I?" he scoffed ecstatically. "Mrs. Matthews, you are