The Rocks of Valpre by Ethel May Dell (best contemporary novels .txt) 📕

any chance?"
"Not strictly," said Mordaunt.
"Nor strictly untrue either," commented Jack. "I know the sort of thing. You are always doing it. Was it a child or a woman or a monkey this time?"
"It was a man," said Mordaunt.
"A man! A friend of yours, I suppose?" Jack smiled over the phrase. He had heard it on Mordaunt's lips more than once.
"Exactly. A friend of mine." The tone of Mordaunt's reply did not encourage further inquiries.
Chris, glancing at him, saw a slight frown between his brows, and promptly changed the subject.
"It's really rather good of Aunt Philippa to let me have the boys here," she said later, when they were alone together for a moment just before he took his departure. "She never gets on with them, especially Max. Of course it's partly his fault. I hope you will like each other, Trevor."
By which sentence Trevor divined that this was her favourite brother.
"We shall get on all right," he said.
"It isn't everyone that likes Max," she said. "But he's tremendously nice really, and very clever. What time will you be here to-morrow? I must try not to keep you waiting."
But of course when the morning came she did keep him waiting. With the best intentions, Chris seldom managed to be ready for anything. And Mordaunt had nearly half an hour to wait before she joined him.
She raced down at last with airy apology. "I'm very sorry really. But it was Cinders' fault. We went to be photographed, and I couldn't get him to sit at the right angle. And then when I got back I had to dress, and everything went wrong."
She was carrying Cinders under her arm and evidently meant him to join their expedition. She did not look as if everything had gone wrong with her, neither did she look particularly penitent. She laughed up at him merrily, and he--because he could not help it--drew her to him and kissed her.
"Oh, but you should kiss Cinders too," she said. "I love kissing Cinders. He is like satin."
"If we don't start we shall never get there," observed Mordaunt.
"What an obvious remark!" laughed Chris. "Let's start at once. I hope you are going to scorch. Wouldn't it be funny if the motor broke down and we had to spend the night under a hedge? We should enjoy that, shouldn't we, Cinders? We would pretend we were gipsies or organ-grinders. Oh, Trevor, it is a sweet motor! Do let me drive!"
"While I sit behind with Cinders?" he said. "Thanks very much, but I'd rather not. Do you think we want Cinders, by the way?"
She opened her eyes wide in astonishment. Her motor-bonnet gave her a very babyish appearance. She hugged her favourite to her as she might have hugged a doll.
"Of course we want Cinders! Why, he has been looking forward to it for ever so long. Kellerton is home to him, you know."
"Oh, very well! Jump in," said Mordaunt, with resignation. "Are you going to sit beside me?"
"Of course we are. We can see better in front. Oh, Trevor, I am horrid. I quite forgot to thank you for that lovely, lovely ring. I'm wearing it round my neck, because I had to wash Cinders this morning, and I was afraid of hurting it. I've never worn a ring before. And it was so dear of you to remember that I liked turquoise and pearl. I was furious with Aunt Philippa because--" She broke off abruptly.
Mordaunt was starting the motor, but as they skimmed smoothly away he spoke. "Aunt Philippa thought it ought to have been diamonds, I suppose?"
"Well, yes," Chris admitted, turning very red. "But I--I didn't agree with her. Diamonds are not to be compared with pearls."
"You are not old enough for diamonds, dear," he said. "I will give you diamonds later."
"Oh, but I don't want any." Shyly her hand pressed his knee. "Please don't give me too much, Trevor," she said. "I shall never dare to ask for the things I really want if you do. Aunt Philippa thinks I'm getting horribly spoilt as it is."
"I don't," he said.
"How nice of you, Trevor! Do you know I'm so happy to-day, I want to sing."
"You may sing to your heart's content when we get out into the country," he said.
She laughed. "No, no! Cinders would howl. How cleverly you drive! You will teach me some day, won't you? Do you know, I dreamt I was driving your organ-grinder last night. Do tell me about him. Is he really a friend of yours?"
"Yes, really, Chris."
"How exciting!" said Chris, keenly interested. "And what are you going to do with him?"
"I haven't decided at present. He has had a pretty bad spell of starvation. I don't know yet what he is fit for."
"It must be dreadful to starve," said Chris soberly. "It's bad enough not to have any pocket-money. But to starve--Is he ill, then?"
"He has been. He is getting better."
"And you are taking care of him?"
"Yes, I'm housing him for the present."
"Trevor, it was good of you not to send him to the workhouse."
Mordaunt frowned. "It was not a case for the workhouse. He would probably have died before he came to that."
"Oh, how dreadful!" A shadow crossed her vivid face. "But--he won't die now, you think?"
"Not now, no!"
"And you won't let him go organ-grinding any more?"
"No."
"That's all right; though I don't think it would be at all bad on fine days in the country, if one had a nice little donkey to pull the organ."
"Nice little donkeys have to be fed," Mordaunt reminded her.
"Oh yes. But they eat grass and thistles and things. And they never die. Isn't that extraordinary? One would think the world would get overrun with them, wouldn't one?"
"So it is, more or less," observed Mordaunt.
"Trevor! What a disgusting insinuation!" The merry laugh pealed out. "I've a good mind to turn round and go straight back."
"If you think you could," he said.
"Of course I could!" Chris leaned forward and laid a daring hand on the wheel.
"Yes," he said. "But that won't do it, you know."
"But if I were in earnest?" she said, a quick note of pleading in her voice. "If I really wanted you to turn round?"
He kept his eyes fixed ahead. "Are you ever really in earnest, Chris?" he said.
"Of course I am!"
Mordaunt was silent. They were crossing a crowded thoroughfare, and his driving seemed to occupy his full attention.
Chris waited till he had extricated the car from the stream of traffic, then impulsively she spoke--
"Trevor, I didn't think you were like Aunt Philippa. I thought you understood."
She saw his grave face soften. "Believe me, I am not in the least like your Aunt Philippa," he said.
"No; but--"
"But, Chris?"
"I think you needn't have asked me that," she said, a little quiver in her voice. "Even Cinders knows me better than that."
"Cinders ought to know you better than anyone," remarked Mordaunt. "His opportunities are unlimited."
She laughed somewhat dubiously. "I knew you would think me horrid as soon as you began to see more of me."
He laughed also at that. "My dear, forgive me for saying so, but you are absurd--too absurd to be taken seriously, even if you are serious--which I doubt."
"But I am," she asserted. "I am. I--I am nearly always serious."
Mordaunt turned his head and looked at her with that in his eyes which she alone ever saw there, before which instinctively, almost fearfully, she veiled her own.
"You--child!" he said again softly.
And this time--perhaps because the words offered a way of escape of which she was not sorry to avail herself--Chris did not seek to contradict him. She pressed her cheek to Cinders' alert head, and said no more.


CHAPTER VII
THE SECOND WARNING

Rupert's description of Kellerton Old Park, though unflattering, was not far removed from the truth. The thistles in the drive that wound from the deserted lodge to the house itself certainly were abnormally high, so high that Mordaunt at once decided to abandon the car inside the great wrought-iron gates that had been the pride of the place for many years.
"That nice little donkey of yours would come in useful here," he observed, as he handed his _fiancee_ to the ground.
She tucked her hand engagingly inside his arm. "Ah! but isn't the park lovely? And look at all those rabbits! No, no, Cinders! You mustn't! Trevor, you do like it?"
"I like it immensely," he answered.
His eyes looked out over the wide, rough stretch of ground before him that was more like common land than private property, dwelt upon a belt of trees that crowned a distant rise, scanned the overgrown carriage-road to where it ended before a grey turret that was half-hidden by a great cedar, finally came back to the sparkling face by his side.
"So this is to be our--home, Chris?" he said.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she said proudly. "Oh, Trevor, you don't know what it means to me to feel it isn't going to be sold after all."
He smiled. "I understood it was going to be sold and presented to my wife for a wedding-gift."
She turned her face up to his. "Trevor, you don't think I'm ungrateful too, do you?"
"My darling," he said, "I think that gratitude between you and me is out of place at any time. Remember, though I give you this and a thousand other things, you are giving me--all you have."
She pressed his arm shyly. "It doesn't seem very much, does it?" she said.
He laid his hand upon hers. "You can make it much," he said very gently.
"How, Trevor?"
"By marrying me," he said.
"Oh!" Her eyes fell instantly, and he saw the hot colour rise and overspread her face. "Oh, but not yet!" she said, almost imploringly. "Please, not yet!"
His own face changed a little, hardened almost imperceptibly, but he gave no sign of impatience. "In your own time, dear," he said quietly. "Heaven knows I should be the last to persuade you against your will."
"Aunt Philippa is always worrying me about it," she told him, with a catch in her voice. "And I--I--after all, I'm only twenty-one."
"What does she worry you for?" he said, a hint of sternness in his voice.
She glanced at him nervously. "Because--because I've no money. She says--she says--"
"Well, dear, what does she say?"
"I don't want to tell you," whispered Chris.
"I think you had better," he said.
"Yes--I suppose so. She says that as I am bringing you nothing, I have no right to--to keep you waiting--that beggars can't be choosers, and--and things like that."
"My dear Chris!" he said. "And you take things like that to heart!"
"You see, they are true!" murmured Chris.
"They are not true. But all the same"--he began to smile again--"I can't for the life of me imagine why you won't marry me and get it over."
"No?" Chris suddenly looked up again; she was clinging to his arm very tightly with both hands. "It does seem rather silly, doesn't it?" she said, with resolute eyes raised to his. "Trevor, I--I'll think about it."
"Do!" he said. "Think about it quietly and sanely. And don't let yourself get frightened at nothing. As you say, it's silly."
"But you won't--press me?" she faltered. "You--you promised!"
"I keep my promises, Chris," he said.
But he was frowning slightly as he said it, and she was quick to note the fact. "Ah! don't be vexed with me," she pleaded very earnestly. "I know I'm foolish. I can't help it. It's the way I'm made."
She was on the verge