The Knave of Diamonds by Ethel May Dell (inspirational books for students txt) 📕

without a very decided prejudice in favour of her own way, literally gasped in astonishment at his methods. She would have liked to defy him openly a dozen times in a day, but Nap simply would not be defied. He looked over her head with disconcerting arrogance, and Dot found herself defeated and impotent. Dot had been selected for an important part, and it was not very long before she came bitterly to regret the fact. He did not bully her, but he gave her no peace. Over and over again he sent her back to the same place; and over and over again he found some fresh fault, till there came at length a day when Dot, weary and exasperated, subsided suddenly in the midst of rehearsal into indignant tears.
Nap merely raised his eyebrows and turned his attention elsewhere, while Anne drew the sobbing girl away, and tried to soothe her back to composure in privacy.
But it was some time before Dot would be comforted. Her grievance against Nap was very deeply rooted, and it needed but this additional provocation to break its bounds. It was not long before, clinging very tightly to Anne, the whole story came out; how she and Bertie loved each other "better than best," how no one was to know of it and they scarcely dared to exchange a glance in public in consequence, how there could never, never be any engagement, all because that horrid, horrid Nap had dared to hint that she was pursuing Bertie for his money.
"I hate him!" sobbed Dot. "I do hate him! He's cruel and malicious and vindictive. I know he means to prevent our ever being happy together. And--and I know Bertie's afraid of him--and so am I!"
To all of which Anne listened with grave sympathy and such words of comfort as seemed most likely to induce in Dot a calmer and more reasonable state of mind.
But Dot was not to be reassured quickly. It was very seldom that her equanimity was disturbed, only in fact when her deepest feelings were concerned, and this made her breakdown the more complete. She apologised tearfully for her foolishness at rehearsal, which she set down to bodily fatigue. She had been to see poor Squinny that morning, and she thought he really was dying at last. He had cried so, and she hadn't known how to comfort him, and then when she had got home there had been no time for luncheon, so she had just changed and come away without it. And oh,--this with her arms tightly about Anne's neck--she did wish she had a mother to help her. Poor Dad was very sweet, but he didn't understand a bit.
Anne sat with her for the greater part of an hour, comforting her with a grave tenderness that Dot found infinitely soothing. It might have been half a lifetime instead of a brief seven years that stretched between them. For Anne had been a woman long before her time, and Dot for all her self-reliance was still but a child.
She grew calm at last, and presently reverted to the theatricals. Did Lady Carfax think she might withdraw? Nap made her so nervous. She was sure she could never be successful under his management.
Anne strongly advised her not to think of such a thing. In consideration of the fact that Dot had been the moving spirit of the whole scheme such a proceeding would be little short of disastrous. No doubt a substitute could be found, but it would mean an open breach with Nap. Bertie would quarrel with him in consequence, and Lucas would be grievously disappointed.
"We mustn't hurt Lucas," Anne urged. "He has so much to bear already. And--and he has been so much happier about Nap lately."
"Does Nap worry him too, then?" asked Dot, quickly. "Isn't he hateful? He upsets everybody."
"No--no!" Anne said. "Nap would do anything for Lucas. It is his one solid virtue."
It was at this point that the door opened with a noiseless swing, and Nap himself entered. He advanced with the assured air of one whose welcome is secure.
"Give the devil his due, Lady Carfax!" he drawled. "He has one other anyway."
Even Anne was for the moment disconcerted by the abruptness of his entrance. Dot sprang to her feet with burning cheeks. It was her evident intention to escape, but he intercepted her.
"My business is with you," he said, "not with Lady Carfax. Do you mind waiting a minute?"
Dot waited, striving for dignity. Nap was looking at her narrowly.
In the pause that ensued, Anne rose and passed her arm reassuringly through Dot's.
Nap glanced at her. "That's rather shabby of you," he declared. "I was just going to ask for your support myself."
She smiled at him faintly. "I think you can manage without it. Dot will not refuse her forgiveness if you ask for it properly."
"Won't she?" said Nap, still keenly watching the girl's half-averted face. "I should if I were Dot. You see our feud is of very long standing. We always cut each other when we meet in the street--very pointedly so that no one could possibly imagine for a moment that we were strangers. We don't like doing it in the least, but we are both so infernally proud that there is no alternative. And so we have got to keep it up all our days, long after the primary reason for it all has sunk into oblivion. By the way, I have forgotten already what the primary reason was."
"I--haven't," said Dot, in a very low voice. Her lower lip was quivering. She bit it desperately.
"No?" said Nap.
"No!" Dot turned her flushed face suddenly upon him. "You never meant me to forget," she said, in a voice that shook beyond control.
"It must have been something very venomous," he said.
"It was!" she answered, fighting with, herself. "You--you know it was!"
"It's not worth crying about anyway," said Nap. "My sting may be poisonous, but it has never yet proved fatal. Tell me where the mischief is, and p'r'aps I can remove it."
He was smiling as he made the suggestion, smiling without malice, and, though Dot could not bring herself to smile in return, she was none the less mollified.
"What was it?" he persisted, pressing his advantage. "Something beastly I said or looked or did? I often do, you know. It's just my way. Do you know what it was, Lady Carfax?"
She nodded. "And I think you do too," she said.
"I don't," he asserted, "on my honour."
Dot looked incredulous. "Don't you remember that day in February," she said, "the first day I ever came here--the day you accused me of--of running after Bertie for--his money?"
"Great Christopher!" said Nap. "You don't say you took me seriously?"
"Of course I did," she said, on the verge of tears. "You--you were serious too."
"Ye gods!" said Nap. "And I've been wondering why on earth you and Bertie couldn't make up your minds! So I've been the obstacle, have I? And that's why you have been hating me so badly all this time--as if I were the arch-fiend himself! By Jove!" He swung round on his heel. "We'll put this right at once. Where's Bertie?"
"Oh, no!" Dot said nervously. "No! Don't call him! He'll see I've been crying. Nap--please!"
She disengaged herself from Anne, and sprang after him, seizing him impetuously by the arm.
"I mean--Mr. Errol!" she substituted in confusion.
He clapped his hand upon hers and wheeled. "You can call me anything under the sun that occurs to you as suitable," he said. "You may kick me also if you like--which is a privilege I don't accord to everybody. You won't believe me, I daresay. Few people do. But I'm sorry I was a beast to you that day. I don't deal in excuses, but when I tell you that I was rather badly up against something, p'r'aps you'll be magnanimous enough to forgive me. Will you?"
He looked her straight in the face with the words. There was little of humility about him notwithstanding them, but there was something of melancholy that touched her warm heart.
"Of course I will!" she said impulsively. "Let's be friends, shall we?"
He gripped her hand till she felt the bones crack. "Suppose we go and get some tea," he said. "Are you coming, Lady Carfax?"
"I'm not fit to be seen," objected Dot, hanging back.
He drew her on, her hand still fast in his. "Don't be shy, my dear girl! You look all right. Will you lead the way, Lady Carfax? In the hall, you know."
Very reluctantly Dot submitted. She had not the faintest inkling of his intentions or her docility would have vanished on the instant. As it was, fortified by Anne's presence, she yielded to his insistence.
The hall was full of people to whom Mrs. Errol was dispensing tea, assisted by Bertie, who had emerged from his den for the purpose. Bertie's studies did not permit him to take any part in the theatricals. Possibly Nap's position at the head of affairs had assisted his resolution in this respect.
He was sitting on the arm of Lucas's chair, hastily gulping some tea in an interval snatched from his ministrations, when Anne entered, closely followed by Dot and his brother. Some instinct moved him to turn and look, for in the general buzz of talk and laughter around him he could have heard nothing of their approach. He looked, then stared, finally stood up and set down his cup abruptly.
As Nap came towards him, still holding Dot by the hand, he turned white to the lips and moved forward.
A sudden silence fell as they met. They were the centre of the crowd, the centre of observation, the centre of an unseen whirlpool of emotions that threatened to be overwhelming.
And then with a smile Nap put an end to a tension of expectancy that had become painful.
"Hullo, Bertie!" he said, and smote him on the shoulder with a vigorous hand. "I've just been hearing about your engagement, my dear fellow. Congratulations! May you and Dot have the best of everything all your lives!"
Poor Dot would have fled had that been possible, but she was hedged in too closely for that. Moreover, Nap had transferred her hand to Bertie's, and the boy's warm grasp renewed her fainting courage. She knew he was as amazed as she was herself at Nap's sudden move, and she determined that she would stand by him at whatever cost.
And after all, the difficult moment passed very quickly. People crowded round them with kindly words, shook hands with them, chaffed them both, and seemed to be genuinely pleased with the turn of events. Mrs. Errol came forward in her hearty way and kissed them; and in the end Dot found herself in Bertie's vacated place on the arm of Lucas's chair, with his steady hand holding hers, and his quiet, sincere voice telling her that he was "real glad that the thing was fixed up at last."
Later Bertie took her home in the motor, and explained the situation to the rector, who was mildly bewildered but raised no definite objection to the announcement of the engagement. He was something of a philosopher, and Bertie had always been a favourite of his. Nap in fact was the only member of the Errol family for whom he did not entertain the most sincere esteem; but, as Dot remarked that night, Nap was a puzzle to everybody. It seemed highly probable after all that he carried a kind heart behind his cynical exterior. She was sure that Lady Carfax thought so, since she invariably treated him as an intimate friend.
The rector admitted that she might be right, but after Dot had gone to bed he