"I quite agree," cried Jack, "at least with most of it. But all the same I hope you will take the treasurership. Not only will you protect your own and your friends' investments, but you will protect the interests of the Gwynnes. The father apparently is no business man, the son is to be away; anything might happen. Iwould hate to see them lose out. You understand?"His brother-in-law turned his eyes upon him, gazed at him steadily for a few moments, then taking his hand, shook it warmly, exclaiming, "Perfectly, old chap, perfectly--good sort, Gwynne--good family. Girl of the finest--hope you put it off, old boy.
Madame has put me on, you know, eh, what? Jolly good thing.""Now what the deuce do you mean?" said Romayne angrily.
"All right--don't wish to intrude, don't you know. Fine girl though--quite the finest thing I've seen--could go anywhere."His brother-in-law's face flushed fiery red. "Now look here, Tom,"he said angrily, "don't be an ass. Of course I know what you mean but as the boys say here, 'Nothing doing!'""What? You mean it? Nothing doing? A fine girl like that--sweet girl--good clean stock--wonderful mother--would make a wife any man would be proud of--the real thing, you know, the real thing--I have known her these eight years--watched her grow up--rare courage--pure soul. Nothing doing? My God, man, have you eyes?" It was not often that Tom Waring-Gaunt allowed himself the luxury of passion, but this seemed to him to be an occasion in which he might indulge himself. Romayne stood listening to him with his face turned away, looking out of the window. "Don't you hear me, Jack?"said Waring-Gaunt. "Do you mean there's nothing in it, or have you burned out your heart with those fool women of London and Paris?"Swiftly his brother-in-law turned to him. "No, Tom, but I almost wish to God I had. No, I won't say that; rather do I thank God that I know now what it is to love a woman. I am not going to lie to you any longer, old chap. To love a sweet, pure woman, sweet and pure as the flowers out there, to love her with every bit of my heart, with every fibre of my soul, that is the finest thing that can come to a man. I have treated women lightly in my time, Tom.
I have made them love me, taken what they have had to give, and left them without a thought. But if any of them have suffered through me, and if they could know what I am getting now, they would pity me and say I had got enough to pay me out. To think that I should ever hear myself saying that to another man, I who have made love to women and laughed at them and laughed at the poor weak devils who fell in love with women. Do you get me? I am telling you this and yet I feel no shame, no humiliation!
Humiliation, great heaven! I am proud to say that I love this girl.
From the minute I saw her up there in the woods I have loved her.
I have cursed myself for loving her. I have called myself fool, idiot, but I cannot help it. I love her. It is hell to me or heaven, which you like. It's both." He was actually trembling, his voice hoarse and shaking.
Amazement, then pity, finally delight, succeeded each other in rapid succession across the face of his brother-in-law as he listened. "My dear chap, my dear chap," he said when Romayne had finished. "Awfully glad, you know--delighted. But why the howl?
The girl is there--go in and get her, by Jove. Why not, eh, what?""It's no use, I tell you," said Romayne. "That damned German has got her. I have seen them together too often. I have seen in her eyes the look that women get when they are ready to give themselves body and soul to a man. She loves that man. She loves him, I tell you. She has known him for years. I have come too late to have a chance. Too late, my God, too late!" He pulled himself up with an effort, then with a laugh said, "Do you recognise me, Tom? Iconfess I do not recognise myself. Well, that's out. Let it go.
That's the last you will get from me. But, Tom, this is more than I can stand. I must quit this country, and I want you to make it easy for me to go. We'll get up some yarn for Sibyl. You'll help me out, old man? God knows I need help in this.""Rot, beastly rot. Give her up to that German heel-clicking bounder--rather not. Buck up, old man--give the girl a chance anyway--play the game out, eh, what? Oh, by the way, I have made up my mind to take that treasurership--beastly nuisance, eh?
Goin'? Where?"
"Off with the dogs for a run somewhere."
"No, take the car--too beastly hot for riding, don't you know.
Take my car. Or, I say, let's go up to the mine. Must get to know more about the beastly old thing, eh, what? We'll take the guns and Sweeper--we'll be sure to see some birds and get the evening shoot coming back. But, last word, my boy, give the girl a chance to say no. Think of it, a German, good Lord! You go and get the car ready. We'll get Sybil to drive while we shoot."Tom Waring-Gaunt found his great, warm, simple heart overflowing with delight at the tremendous news that had come to him. It was more than his nature could bear that he should keep this from his wife. He found her immersed in her domestic duties and adamant against his persuasion to drive them to the mine.
