The Safety Curten by Ethel May Dell (ebook e reader .txt) 📖

say, Mrs. Tudor, don't--don't!" he urged. "What is the matter? You're not crying because I wouldn't do as you asked me? You couldn't care all that for such a trifle?"
His voice was husky with agitation. He felt guiltily that it was all his fault, and he could have kicked himself for his clumsiness.
She did not answer him, nor did her sobs grow less. It was the pent-up misery of weeks to which she was giving vent, and, having yielded, it was no easy matter to check herself again.
Phil became desperate and knelt down by her side, almost as distressed as she.
"I say," he pleaded--"I say, Audrey, don't cry! Tell me what is wrong. Let me help you. Give me a chance, anyhow. I--I'd do anything in the world, you know. Only tell me."
He drew one of her hands away from her face and held it between his own. She did not resist him. Her need of a comforter just then was very great. Her head was bowed almost against his shoulder and it did not occur to either of them that they were transgressing the most elementary laws of conventionality.
"You can't help me," she sobbed at last. "No one can. I'm just lonely and miserable and homesick. I hate this place and everyone in it except--except you--and a few others. I wish I were back in England. I wish I'd never left it. I wish--I wish--I'd never married."
Her voice came muffled and piteous. It was the cry of a desolate child. And all the deep chivalry in Phil's soul quivered and thrilled in response. Before he knew it, tender, consoling words had sprung to his lips.
"Don't cry, dear; don't cry!" he said. "You'll feel better about it presently. We all go through it, and it's beastly, I know, I know. But it won't last. Nothing does in this chancy world. So what's the good of fretting?"
She could not tell him. Her trouble was too immense at that moment to bear discussion. But he comforted her. She liked the feel of his hand upon her shoulder; the firm, friendly grasp of his fingers about her own.
"I sometimes think I can't go on," she whispered through her tears. "It's like being in prison, and I want to run away. Only I can't--I can't. I've got to bear it all my life."
A slight sound from the open window followed this confidence, and Phil looked up sharply. Audrey had not heard it, and she did not notice his movement.
Her head was still bent; and over it Phil, glaring like a tiger, met the quiet, critical eyes of the girl's husband.
He rose to his feet the next instant, but he did not utter a word.
As for Tudor, he stood quite motionless, quite inscrutable, for the space of seconds, looking gravely in upon them. Then, to Phil's unspeakable amazement, he turned deliberately and walked away. There was thick matting on Mrs. Raleigh's veranda, and his receding footsteps made no sound.


CHAPTER VII
AN UNPLEASANT INTERVIEW

"There!" said Audrey, a few seconds later, "I've been a perfect idiot, I know; but I'm better now. Tell me, do I look as if I had been crying?"
She raised her pretty, woebegone face to his and smiled very faintly.
There was something unmistakably grim about Phil at that moment, and she wondered why.
"Of course you do," he said bluntly.
Audrey got up and peered at herself uneasily in a mirror.
"It doesn't show much," she said, after a careful inspection. "And, anyhow"--turning round to him--"I don't know what you have to be cross about. It--it was all your fault!"
Phil groaned and held his peace. She would know soon enough, he reflected.
Audrey drew nearer to him.
"Tell me what he said to Major Raleigh, Phil," she said rather tremulously.
He shrugged his shoulders and yielded.
"He only said that he wished your discretion equalled your promptitude in emergencies," he said.
"Oh," said Audrey. "Was that all? Well, I think you might have told me before."
Phil laughed grudgingly. The situation was abominable, but her utter childishness palliated it. How was Tudor going to treat the matter? he wondered. What if he--
A sudden thought flashed across Phil's brain, and his face grew set. Of course it had been his fault, since she said so. It remained therefore for him to extricate her, if he could. He turned to her.
"Look here, Mrs. Tudor," he said, in a judicious, elder-brotherly tone, "I think it's a mistake, don't you know, to let yourself get depressed over--well, little things. I know what it is to feel down on your luck. But luck turns, you know, and--and--he's a good sort--a bit stiff and difficult to get on with, but still--a good sort. You won't think me rude if I leave you now? I didn't expect Mrs. Raleigh to be so long, and I'm afraid I can't wait any longer. I've got to dress for mess."
"Goodness!" said Audrey, with a glance at the clock. "Does it take you two hours? No, don't scowl! I'm only joking, so you needn't be cross. Good-bye, then! Thank you for being kind to me."
Her hand lay in his for a moment. She was smiling at him rather sadly, notwithstanding her half-bantering words.
Phil paused a second.
"I'm confoundedly sorry!" he said impulsively. "Don't cry any more."
She shook her head and withdrew her hand.
"Who says I've been crying?" she said lightly. "Go away, and don't be silly!"
He took her at her word and departed.
At the gate of the compound he met Mrs. Raleigh, but he refused to turn back with her.
"I really must go; I've got an engagement," he said. "But Mrs. Tudor is waiting for you. Keep her as long as you can. I believe she's a bit down--homesick, you know." And he hurried away, breaking into a run as soon as he reached the road.
He went straight to the Tudor's bungalow without giving himself time to flinch from the interview that he had made up his mind he must have.
The major _sahib_ was in, the _khitmutgar_ told him and Phil scribbled an urgent message on his card and sent it to him. Two minutes later he was shown into his superior officer's presence, and he realised that he stood committed to the gravest task he had ever undertaken.
Major Tudor was sitting unoccupied before the writing-table in his smoking-room, but he rose as Phil entered. His face was composed as usual.
"Well, Mr. Turner?" he said, as Phil came heavily forward.
Phil, more nervous than he had ever been before, halted in front of him.
"I came to speak to you, sir," he said with an effort, "to--to explain--"
Tudor was standing with his back to the light. He made no attempt to help him out of his difficulties.
Phil came to an abrupt pause; then, as if some inner force had suddenly come to his assistance, he straightened himself and tackled the matter afresh.
"I came to tell you, sir," he said, meeting Tudor's eyes squarely, "that I have nothing to be ashamed of. In case"--he paused momentarily--"you should misunderstand what you saw half an hour ago, I thought it better to speak at once."
"Very prudent," said Tudor. "But--it is quite unnecessary. I do not misunderstand."
He spoke deliberately and coldly. But Phil clenched his hands. The words cut him like a whip.
"You refuse to believe me?" he said.
Tudor did not answer.
"I must trouble you for an answer," Phil said, forcing himself to speak quietly.
"As you please," said Tudor, in the same cold tone. "I have a question to put first. Had I not chanced to see what took place, would you have sought this interview?"
The blood rose in a hot wave to Phil's head, but he did not wince or hesitate.
"Of course I shouldn't," he said.
Tudor made a curt gesture as of dismissal.
"Out of your own mouth--" he said, and turned contemptuously away.
Phil stood quite still for the space of ten seconds, then the young blood in him suddenly mounted to fever pitch. He strode up to his major, and seized him fiercely by the shoulder.
"I won't bear this from any man," he said between his teeth. "I am as honourable as you are! If you say--or insinuate--otherwise, I--by Heaven--I'll kill you!"
The passionate words ceased, and there followed a silence more terrible than any speech. Tudor stood absolutely motionless, facing the young subaltern who towered over him, without a sign of either anger or dismay.
Then at last, very slowly and quietly, he spoke:
"You have made a mistake. Take your hand away."
Phil's hand dropped to his side. He was white to the lips. Yet he would not relinquish his purpose at a word.
"It hasn't been for my own sake," he said, his voice still shaking with the anger he could not subdue.
Tudor made no response. He stood with his eyes fixed steadily upon Phil's agitated face. And, as if compelled by that searching gaze, Phil reiterated the assertion.
"If I had only had myself to consider," he said, "I shouldn't have--stooped--to offer an explanation."
"Let me remind you," Tudor said quietly, "that I have not asked for one."
"You prefer to misunderstand?" said Phil quickly.
"I prefer to take my own view," amended Tudor. "If you are wise--you will be satisfied to leave it so."
It was final, and, though far from satisfied, Phil felt the futility of further discussion. He turned to the door.
"Very well, sir," he said briefly, and went out, holding his head high.
As for Tudor, he sat down again before his writing-table with an unmoved countenance, and after a short interval took up his correspondence. There was no anger in his eyes.


CHAPTER VIII
AT THE DANCE

Audrey saw no more of Phil Turner for some days. She did not enjoy much of her husband's society, either. He appeared to be too busy to think of her, and she in consequence spent most of her time with Mrs. Raleigh. But Phil, who had been one of the latter's most constant visitors, did not show himself there.
It did not occur to Audrey that he absented himself on her account, and she was disappointed not to meet him. Next perhaps to the surgeon's wife, she had begun to regard him as her greatest friend. Certainly the tie of obligation that bound them together was one that seemed to warrant an intimate friendship. Moreover, Phil had been exceptionally kind to her in distress, kinder far than Eustace had ever been.
She was growing away from her husband very rapidly, and she knew it, mourned over it even in softer moments; but she felt powerless to remedy the evil. It seemed so obvious to her that he did not care.
So she spent more and more of her hours away from the bungalow that had been made so dainty for her presence, and Eustace never seemed to notice that she was absent from his side.
He accompanied her always when she went out in the evening, but he no longer intruded his guardianship upon her, and deep in her inmost heart this thing hurt his young wife as nothing had ever hurt her before. She had her own way in all matters, but it gave her no pleasure; and the feeling that, though he might not approve of what she did, he would never remonstrate, grew and festered within her till she sometimes marvelled that he did not read her misery in her eyes.
She met Phil Turner again at length at a regimental dance. As usual her card was quickly filled, but she reserved a waltz for him, and after a while he came across and asked her for one.
"You were very nearly