Chapter IX

At eleven o'clock on July the fourth, Nance was to arrive at Tuffnell. Her boat reached Liverpool on the third; but it had been arranged that she was to spend the night on board, and take an early train to Buckinghamshire on the following morning.

At ten o' clock Clodagh, wearing a hat and veil, and drawing on her gloves, left her bedroom and descended the stairs. Taking advantage of Lady Diana's arrangement that all the guests were at liberty to breakfast in their own rooms, she had elected to avoid the family meal, at which her instinct told her Gore would be present. After last night's mental crisis, the idea of encountering his polite avoidance had seemed to her intolerable.

As she passed downstairs now, with slow and sobered steps, she half paused as the burly figure of George Tuffnell appeared at the open hall door; but her hesitation was not permitted to last, for instantly her host caught sight of her, he came forward hospitably. And a new shame woke in her, as she realised that Lady Diana Tuffnell had preserved silence even to her husband upon the subject of last night's incident--or at least upon her share in it.

"Hallo, Mrs. Milbanke!" he cried cheerfully. "Has the London atmosphere got imported with our guests? These are London hours, you know!"

He strode up to her, followed closely by a couple of dogs, and seized her hand cordially.

Clodagh gave a little embarrassed laugh; and instantly stooped to caress the dogs.

"I feel ashamed of myself," she said hurriedly. "You and Lady Diana must forgive me. But I was very tired last night."

Tuffnell waived the matter good-naturedly.

"Don't apologise! Don't mention it! But you should be thinking about the train. I was just coming to tell you that the trap is ready, whenever you are. It was Di's idea to give you the trap; she said you'd hate a big conveyance that would tempt people to offer themselves as escorts!" He laughed in his hearty, untroubled way. "One of the men will drive you over, but you can get rid of him at the station. He'll come back in the dog-cart with Miss Asshlin's luggage."

Again Clodagh bent to pat the dogs.

"How kind of Lady Diana!" she murmured. "I haven't seen my little sister for years and years, you know."

"You'll find her changed, I'll guarantee. Children do spring up!" He gave a loud, contented sigh. "But shall I order the trap round? Or do you want to see Di first?"

"I think I'll--I'll see Lady Diana later--if it will not seem ungracious."

"Ungracious! Not a bit! I'll get the trap." He turned and swung across the sunny hall, whistling to his dogs. And Clodagh, still quiet and subdued, walked slowly after him to the door.

No one was about when the small trap was brought round from the stables, followed by Tuffnell and the dogs. And as Clodagh came down the steps the two animals pressed forward with upturned, eager faces; and the friendly appeal in their faithful eyes touched her to remembrance of many grey and misty mornings, when Denis Asshlin's high, old-fashioned trap would sweep round from the Orristown stable-yard, and dogs such as these would plead passionately for a share in the impending journey. A dry, painful sensation seemed to catch her throat.

"May they come with me?" she asked softly. "I love animals. I had to send my own Irish terrier home to Ireland when I gave up my house in Italy--and nothing has ever quite taken his place. Do let them come! They would be so good."

The two dogs looked swiftly from her face to their master's.

But George Tuffnell pretended to be stern.

"No!" he said loudly--"no! Dick and Tom can't go to the station to-day!"

Instantly the two tails dropped.

"Come, Myers!" he called to the groom. "Mrs. Milbanke has no time to spare. Dick! Tom! To heel!" He winked humorously at Clodagh, as she stepped into the trap; and a moment later the groom took his seat and picked up the reins.

Then suddenly he broke into a shout of genial laughter.

"You villains!" he cried. "Off with you! Away with you!" And with a yelp of wild delight, the dogs sped down the avenue.

Clodagh scarcely noticed the details of that swift drive, for a nervous sense of excitement and trepidation banished her powers of observation. And as she stepped from the little trap and entered the small country station, she could scarcely command a steady voice in which to ask whether the train was yet due.

The train proved to be over-due by three minutes, and the knowledge brought an added qualm of apprehension.

"What if little Nance were utterly changed? What if America had spoiled her?" But her thoughts and fears were alike broken in upon by a long, shrill whistle; the expected train loomed round a curve in the line, and a moment later roared its way into the station.

There was a second of uncertainty; then somewhere in the front of the train a door was flung open, a small slight figure in a muslin dress sped down the platform, and two warm arms were thrown about Clodagh's neck, bridging in one moment the gulf of years.

The sisters held and kissed each other, regardless of the one or two country passengers who had alighted from the train, and the two grooms from Tufmell who were waiting for Nance's luggage. Then at last the younger girl drew away; and, still holding Clodagh's hand, looked at her intently.

"Oh, Clo!" she cried, "how lovely you are!"

At the old name, the old candid admiration, tears rushed suddenly to Clodagh's eyes.

"I'm not, darling! I'm not! But you are sweet--and the same, oh, the _very same_!"

She laughed with a break in her voice; then, as two porters came down the platform rolling Nance's luggage, she remembered the necessities of the moment.

"Is this yours?"

"Yes; my American clothes. Do I look very American?"

"You look sweet! Myers," she added to the groom, who had come forward, "this is Miss Asshlin's luggage. And will you, please, go back in the dog-cart. I want to drive the pony home."

Myers touched his cap.

"Very good, ma'am!"

He turned, and passed out of the station.

Nance pressed her sister's hand with one of her old shy laughs, that sounded infinitely sweet from grown-up lips.

"Clo, I can never get used to your being called 'ma'am.' Do you remember the people at San Domenico, who would call you 'signorina,' when poor James----?"

She stopped abruptly, colouring at her unconsidered mention of her brother-in-law.

"Clo, tell me all about Tuffnell Place!" she substituted, with another sympathetic pressure of her fingers. "Tell me about Lady Diana and Mr. Tuffnell! I think I should hate to be plain Mister, if my wife had a title! And all about Lady Frances Hope and Lord Deerehurst and Mr. Serracauld! I'm dying to see all the people you put in your letters. They're like characters in a book--and, of course, you are the heroine!

"Oh, I'm so happy, Clo!" she cried ecstatically--"I'm so happy! Do you care for me? Do you want me much--very much?"

Her dark blue eyes searched Clodagh's face, as they had been wont to search it long ago; for, beneath the pretty manner that time had taught her, her warm, loyal nature had remained unchanged.

And as Clodagh returned her glance, her heart suddenly sank. Until the moment of her meeting with Nance, she had been conscious of only one desire in her regard--the desire to fully confess to her appropriation of the thousand pounds. For, in the lull that had followed the previous night's crisis, she had seen this confession as the sole means of regaining self-respect. Her other follies--her gambling and her extravagances--offered no means of redress; but for this one personal act of weakness she could still do penance. And now, by her very faith, by her very love, Nance had shaken the desire.

This spontaneous, unsuspicious admiration was the sweetest experience that had come into her life. She involuntarily returned the pressure of the clinging fingers, as she drew her sister through the small gate of the station. She was glad to think that there was the drive home, the moments of arrival and of unpacking, before any mention of personal matters could break in upon the present calm.

Outside the station, Nance saw the two dogs for the first time, and insisted upon making friends with them before entering the trap.

"Did you miss Mick dreadfully, when you sent him back to Orristown?" she asked, when at last she took her seat.

"Dreadfully," Clodagh answered, taking the reins from the groom. "But I didn't know what to do with him when I left the villa. You see, I had no real plans."

"No; no, of course not. But you'll get him back soon?"

"Yes; I want to." Clodagh gathered up the reins, and the pony started forward at a swift trot. "But, do you know, Nance, I have thought of going to Orristown in a month or so. Would you like to come to Ireland?"

"Like to? Oh, Clo, I have dreamt and dreamt of our being at Orristown together--just you and me. Can you picture it? Wearing our oldest clothes--riding and walking and sailing all day long; and making Hannah cook us the most heavenly cakes for tea!"

She clasped her hands rapturously, regardless of her new white gloves.

Clodagh laughed softly and affectionately.

"Oh, you child!" she said, almost enviously.

How sweet and pretty and unaffected she was--this little sister who had suddenly stepped back into her life! An overwhelmingly tender feeling of protectiveness welled up within her--a sudden deep longing to shelter and guard her, to hedge her round with all that is sacred and fine.

"Nance!" she said impulsively, "have you ever thought that I behaved badly to you--behaved unfairly in any way?"

"Unfairly?"

"Yes."

Nance laughed.

"You're dreaming, Clo! How could _you_ behave unfairly?"

"Suppose some one were to tell you that I had?"

"I shouldn't believe, that's all."

"If I were to tell you?" Clodagh's fingers tightened on the reins.

"If you were to tell me that," Nance said, very slowly, "I think it would spoil everything in the world. I believe so--so dreadfully in you. But why talk about it, when it's nonsense?" She shook off the momentary shadow that had fallen between them. "I hate 'ifs,' unless they're very happy ones."

So Clodagh struggled no more with her conscience during the drive along the shady Buckinghamshire roads. Yielding to the spell of Nance's voice, she lulled the knowledge of impending difficulties and opened her ears to the tale of her sister's experiences--of her friends, her acquaintances, her pleasures, her occupations--all poured forth with a perfectly ingenuous egotism that was a refreshment and delight.

Though they remained together all through the morning and afternoon, the sisters had no further opportunity of a _tete-a-tete_. Immediately on their arrival at Tuffnell, Lady Diana had made Nance welcome and had introduced her to her fellow-guests; and the remainder of the day had been spent, first in tennis and croquet, later in a long coach drive, which included a call upon some neighbours of the Tuffnells. Almost immediately after dinner, however, Clodagh had pleaded that Nance was tired, and had borne her off to her own room. There she dismissed Simonetta, and, closing the door, drew forward two chairs to the open window.

"Now!" she said--"at last! What do you think of Tuffnell--and of everybody?" She sank into one of the chairs with a little sigh.

But Nance, instead of answering, tip-toed across the room; and, bending over the back of her chair, gave her a long, impulsive kiss.

"Darling!" she cried. "Clo! You are so lovely. I am so proud of you."

Clodagh pressed her cheeks against the warm lips; then drew Nance round to the side of her chair.

"Talk to me!" she said. "Tell me whether you like Tuffnell?"

Nance gave a little laugh of inconsequent happiness, and nestled down at her sister's feet.

"Tuffnell is heavenly! But there are only four nice people here."

"Four nice people? What do you mean?"

"What I say. There are only four nice people here--you, of course"--she lifted one of Clodagh's hands, and pressed it against her lips--"and Lady Diana Tuffnell--and Mr. Tuffnell--and that nice, fair man with the sunburnt face."

Clodagh withdrew her hand from her sister's.

"Sir Walter Gore?"

"Yes. Don't you think him nice?"

"I----? Oh, I--I don't know."

"But why? He likes you."

Clodagh gave a quick, unsteady laugh, and sank back into her chair.

"Dear little Nance! What a baby you are! If there is one person in the world who does not like me, it is Sir Walter Gore!"

With a sudden movement of interest Nance sat up, and looked at her sister.

"But he does, Clo," she said. "I saw him looking at you over and over again, when you were talking to other people. He likes you. Oh, he _does_ like you! And he doesn't care one bit for Lady Frances Hope, though she follows him everywhere he goes----"

But Clodagh sat suddenly upright, and with an abrupt gesture put her hand on her sister's shoulder.

"Nance," she said sharply, "you are talking about things that you don't understand. Don't talk about them! It--it annoys me!"

"But, Clo----"

For answer Clodagh stooped and kissed her almost nervously.

"When you are older, Nance, you will know that it is tactless to talk of certain things to certain people. Don't talk to me again of Sir Walter Gore. He and I have nothing to do with each other. We--we belong to different worlds."

Once more she bent and kissed Nance's startled, penitent face; and, putting her gently from her, rose and walked to the window.

For some minutes there was silence in the room; then Clodagh spoke in a completely different voice.

"Nance," she said, "there is something I want to tell you--something I should have written to you, and didn't----"

Nance, in the swift relief of her sister's altered tone, sprang to her feet; and, running across the room, threw her arms about her.

"And, Clo, there's something I ought to have written to you, only I was too shy--and had to wait till I could say it like this, with my arms round you----"

It was Clodagh's turn to look startled. She tried to hold Nance away from her, that she might see her face; but Nance only clung the closer.

"Clo, you love me? Oh, say you love me!"

"Of course I love you."

"And you won't be vexed?"

"Nance, what is it? You frighten me! What is it?"

"Oh, it's nothing frightening. It's--it's about Pierce--Pierce Estcoit----"

The words came forth with a tremendous gasp.

"What is it?"

"He--Clo, he wants to marry me. You're not vexed? Oh, Clo, you're not vexed?"

At last Nance's arms relaxed, and she looked up beseechingly into her sister's face.

In sudden nervous relief and amusement, Clodagh laughed; then her face became grave again, and she drew her sister to her with deep, impulsive tenderness.

"Vexed, darling?" she said--"vexed?"

Nance kissed her ecstatically.

"Oh, the relief of having it said!" she cried. "I have felt like a criminal, keeping it to myself. But Pierce said I could do more with one word than a dozen letters."

Clodagh looked down into the pretty, eager face, and laughed again softly, though her eyes were full of tears.

"Pierce was right," she said. "I don't think any one could say more in one word than you could. But do you love him, Nance? Do you love him? That is the great, great thing. And you are so very young." A look of keen anxiety crossed her face, and she gazed into Nance's eyes, as if striving to read her heart.

Nance returned her look with a steadfast gravity, curious in one so young.

"Next to you, Clo, he's the best person in all the world," she said.

The tears in Clodagh's eyes brimmed over.

"You put me first? Really, Nance? Really?"

Nance nodded seriously.

"And next to you, he's the very best! But, Clo"--she blushed deeply--"he wants me to marry him soon--fearfully soon--in the autumn. He's coming over with Mrs. Estcoit and Daisy in three weeks' time, to try to persuade you. Clo, you're not vexed? He has promised that we shall be together more than half every year, if you wish."

Clodagh, touched by a pang of loneliness, turned away and gazed through the open window across the sleeping country.

"And you love him? You are certain that you love him?" She turned again and laid her hands on her sister's shoulders.

Nance's gaze, wise in its very youthfulness, met hers unflinchingly.

"I care for him like I care for you, Clo. And I've cared for you always."

Clodagh drew a long breath.

"Then I am satisfied. I shall not keep you from happiness." With a quiet movement she bent forward and kissed the soft hair above Nance's forehead.

After this seal of love, both were silent for a minute or two; then Nance spoke again, her lashes lowered, her fingers twisted tightly about her sister's.

"Clo, doesn't it seem wonderful that he should care for me--he, who is so bright and clever and rich? But I've been lucky in everything, haven't I? I haven't liked to say it before, but wasn't it awfully kind--awfully good of James----?"

Clodagh half withdrew her hand. In the surprising news that Nance had given her, she had forgotten the confession she had still to make.

"Clo, wasn't it awfully kind of him?"

Clodagh did not answer at once; and when she did so, her voice was strained.

"--To leave you that money? That thousand pounds?"

"Yes; the thousand pounds. Clo, you don't know the dozens and dozens of times it has made me happy to think of that since--since Pierce has cared for me. It isn't that I like money for itself; but, when one is horribly poor, one is sensitive about marrying a millionaire. I mean, you know----" Again her fingers clung to her sister's.

"Yes?"

"One feels that one would like to come to him with everything that--well--that his sister would have, if she married. It's very silly, of course. Clodagh, do I seem very silly?"

At any other time, Clodagh would have smiled at the ingenuousness of the words; but now some feeling within herself banished amusement.

"What is it, darling?" she asked. "There's something you are trying to say."

Nance looked up into her face.

"Clo, it's all this stupid pride. Of course Pierce and Daisy and Mrs. Estcoit know that I have nothing, except my share in Orristown--which, of course, _is_ nothing. And I know that for all the rest of my life I shall be dependent on Pierce for everything. But it's just because of that, that I want to come to him with all the things--the clothes and things--that other girls have. Oh, I know it's hateful of me--it's weak and vain."

Clodagh pressed her hand suddenly.

"No, darling! I understand."

"You do? Oh, Clo! dear Clo! Then you know what the thousand pounds seems like. A thousand pounds all my own! Money of my own to buy beautiful things with--things like Daisy's--things like yours! I, who have never had a penny that really belonged to me! And Clodagh, may I have it soon? That's what I want to say. May I have it soon? I won't spend it all, of course--not half--nor quarter----" She laughed. "But may I have it soon? It--it would be heaven!"

With a swift, involuntary movement, Clodagh freed her hand.

"Clo, I have said too much! I have asked too much!"

"No, darling! No! No!"

"Then I've tired you? Clo, you're tired!" She caught Clodagh's hand again. "And _you_ wanted to tell _me_ something. Oh, I've been selfish! Won't you forgive me, and say it now?"

But Clodagh turned from her and walked to the writing-table--the table on which her father's miniature had rested the night before.

"No, I won't talk to-night, darling," she said, without looking round. "I--I think I have forgotten what I was going to say."