An Unknown Lover by Mrs George de Horne Vaizey (books for students to read .TXT) 📕

The next morning Katrine slept late. Physically she felt tired and spent; mentally, despite the shock of Vernon Keith’s tragic end, she was conscious of a feeling of relief, as though a weight had been lifted from her mind.

Reviewing the events of the day before, she flushed to think of the inconsequent manner in which she had announced the fact of her understanding with Jim Blair. How had she come to do it? What exactly had she said? Her mental condition at the time of speaking had been so deranged that she had no clear recollection of the sequence of events. She hoped there had been nothing startling or unusual about the announcement, that Captain Bedford had not thought it unnecessary and uncalled for, but even if things were different from her hopes, she was still thankful that on that wave of impulse she had spoken and confessed the truth, for from the moment of her meeting with Bedford—not the formal meeting in the saloon of the ship, but that other speechless encounter in the streets of Port Said, she had felt oppressed by a sense of disloyalty, which no amount of reasoning could dissolve. The personality of Jim Blair, as revealed through the medium of pen and ink, had become suddenly a shadowy, intangible thing when compared with the magnetism of this live man’s presence.

Not once, but a hundred times over, had Katrine regretted the little bundle of letters securely packed in a box in the hold—those tender, humorous, pre-eminently sane letters which had taken so strong a hold of her imagination. She had packed them away for security’s sake, telling herself that she would receive others at Port Said and Bombay, and that on the way out to meet the very man himself, she would have no need of written words, but the Port Said letter had proved a disappointment, and a need had arisen! It would have meant much to her during the last days to have had those written words before her eyes.

After breakfast Mrs Mannering descended, bustling and energetic.

“Now then—up with you! No use lying here, and glumping over what’s past. One man’s gone. God rest his soul, and give him a better chance than he ever had here! but there’s another one waiting for you upstairs. If you’ve any sense you’ll be up and join him.”

Katrine sat up obediently, and began drawing on her long silk stockings.

“Mrs Mannering,—what’s your religion?”

Her companion started, stared, and laughed.

“Well! any way I can tell you yours! Narrow Church!” she said chuckling. “Eh, what? Hit it at once, haven’t I now?”

Katrine settled the heel of her stocking, and raised a flushed, disquieted face.

“I suppose so. Y-es! For myself. But I don’t expect every one to think the same.”

“Then, bless your heart! you’re not so narrow after all! Believe what helps you most, but allow other people the same privilege. Them’s my sentiments, my dear, and—for the rest!—we’ll find out some day, and there’ll be some rare old shocks for the sticklers who’ve got it all cut and dried, and expect creation to chant Amen. What put you on the religious tack? The thought of that poor sinner who went out yesterday?”

“Yes. I have been thinking—wondering where he—”

“Ah!” the woman’s voice struck a deeper note. “If we knew that, my dear, life would be simpler for us all. You’ll find some wise folks who’d tell you in detail, up to the fifth and sixth stages of development. I’m not taking any myself. I prefer to wait till it’s time to move on, and find out for myself, and meantime,—well! my lights may be dim, but they’re burning, my dear, they’re burning! There are people on earth who would laugh themselves sick at the thought of Nance Mannering talking religion; your good vicar would probably give me a wide berth, but I’ve got my own principles, and, please God, I’ll keep ’em... That’s a good man, that Bedford. He carries it in his face. Going to fall in love with you all right!”

“Oh, not” contradicted Katrine sharply. She stood up, shook back her tangled mane of hair, and began to brush it in long even sweeps. Her face was hidden, but her voice was charged with eagerness. “Never! He has known me only for a few days, and besides I’ve told him that there is—some one else! I’m not engaged; please remember that, but there is something,—an understanding, between me and another man,—enough in any case to make anything else impossible, on either side. There was no need to tell Captain Bedford; we are the merest acquaintances, but it seemed wise to explain...”

“Jest so!” agreed Mrs Mannering significantly. “Since, of course, we are all aware that forbidden fruit loses its charm.” The next moment, to Katrine’s disgust, she began humming to herself a succession of nursery rhymes: “Mary had a little lamb, Its fleece was w-hite as snow... Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling—”

Chuckling she left the cabin, while Katrine tugged viciously at a knotted lock. “She can be nice enough when she likes, but sometimes I hate that woman!”

Up on the deck beneath the double white awnings the atmosphere was delightfully reassuring. A strong wind had arisen, and the water was dashing up against the sides of the vessel in powdery columns of foam. The mountains had disappeared and there was no land in sight. Katrine felt a distinct surprise; geographical studies had not prepared her to find the Red Sea so large!

By common consent the tragedy of the day before was banished from conversation, and the different little companies of friends were grouped about talking and reading after the ordinary morning fashion. Bedford came forward to greet Katrine, looking cool and big in his loose white clothes, and altogether unembarrassed and at his ease. As usual a string of children followed at his heels, foremost among them that “Jackey” who had been his devout admirer since the episode of his own defeat. They scowled at Katrine, as the cause of their hero’s defection, but he waved them away with good-natured decision, and led her forward to a corner of the deck where stood two chairs, and a small table on which was placed a mysterious cardboard box.

“You are going to be amused this morning,” he announced breezily. “Talk is forbidden, so I’ve borrowed a toy. A jig-saw in four hundred pieces. How’s that for high? You and I are going to get it out before lunch?”

Katrine’s aspect was not enthusiastic.

“Jig-saw! A puzzle, isn’t it? I have never tried. Isn’t it rather a fag?”

“You wait and see!” The brown fingers rained the wooden morsels upon the table. “You think it a fag, until you begin—then it’s a possession! There’s a man in the regiment who has ’em sent up from Bombay, and we have a sweepstake for the quickest solutions. I once sat up half the night, over three horses in a meadow; brown beggars, all of ’em, as like as three pins. Everybody’s bits belonged to everybody else, as much as to himself, and the rest was a mass of green stuff, cut in points, diabolically alike. This is a locked fellow; all the better for shipboard. It’s the dickens when they joggle. Plenty of colour, too. That’s good for a start.”

“Where is the picture?” asked Katrine innocently. She was bored at the prospect of the jig-saw, but relieved at the geniality of Bedford’s manner, and anxious to respond to his efforts towards amusement. It was a shock to hear that there was no picture, and that the mass of pieces before her were to be sorted with no clue whatever as to their meaning. “How does one begin?” was the awed question, and at that Bedford’s smile deepened.

“Cela dépend! I am rather interested to see. There are two ways, and you shall choose between them. You can look out all the edges, straight, you see, like this; study the grain of the wood, make up your frame, and gradually work towards the centre—that’s one way, and perhaps the most common. On the other hand you can abandon method, and dash for the colours, make up little blocks here and there, half a dozen at a time perhaps, and look out for a chance of fitting them together, leaving the frame to look after itself. You take your choice. Which will you do?”

Katrine bent over the pieces, turning them right side up with rapid fingers. She saw a mass of dull grey green, a second of baffling white and grey, a third of a pronounced white, and dotted among them welcome patches of blue and red.

“Colour, please!” she cried quickly. “Let’s dash for the colours, and trust to luck for the rest.”

“Right ho!” he said, sweeping the pieces towards him. Katrine had an intuition that he approved of her choice, but he made no comment, and together they bent over the detached fragments of blue and red, which appeared at this stage so dishearteningly alike. Katrine was utterly at sea, but Bedford’s greater experience soon scented a clew.

“The blue is sky, which goes on top; the light beggars are clouds. Here’s a quaint hunchback little chap. Look out for a scoop for him as a start.”

“Here’s a scoop!” cried Katrine, picking out another fragment, and wonder of wonders! it fitted,—absolutely, unmistakably fitted into every curve, so that there could be no doubt as to its right to be there. To fit a piece at the very first effort,—here was success indeed! Bedford cheered, Katrine hitched her chair nearer the table, rubbing her hands with an altogether ridiculous sense of elation. “How fine! And easy! Much easier than I imagined. Where’s the next?”

“The next is probably at the bottom of the Indian Ocean, or will pretend to be, until we’ve exhausted ourselves looking for it, and have gone on to something else, when it will jump out and,