A Bachelor Husband Read online

  THERE followed a terribly dull week, during which Marie hardly wentout. Miss Chester believed in seven days' unbroken mourning, andshe kept the girl to it rigorously.

  Christopher came and went. He seemed very busy, and was constantlyshut up in the library with men whom Miss Chester said were"lawyers."

  "There are a great many things to settle, you know," she toldMarie. "Your father had large properties and much money to leave."

  Marie said, "Oh, had he?" and lost interest. As yet money had notmuch significance for her, but she watched the closed library doorwith anxious eyes. Would it never open?

  It was quite late that evening before she saw Chris again, and thenhe came into the drawing-room, where she was trying to read andtrying not to listen for his step, and, crossing to where she sat,stood looking down at her.

  It was getting dark--the June evening was drawing to a close--andshe could not see his face very distinctly, though she felt in somecurious way that there was a different note in his voice when hespoke to her.

  "How old are you, Marie?"

  She looked up amazed. Surely he ought to know her age when they hadgrown up together? But she answered at once: "I was eighteen lastMay."

  "And a kid for your age, too," he said abruptly.

  She closed her book, a faint sense of hurt dignity in her heart.

  "I knew a girl who was married at eighteen," she said.

  Christopher laughed. "I can't imagine you married, all the same."he said.

  "Why not? I don't see why not," she objected, offendedly.

  He stood for a moment looking down at her. She could feel his eyesupon her. Then he said, irrelevantly, it seemed: "After all, we'veknown each other most of our lives, haven't we?"

  "Yes." She was mystified. She could not understand him.

  "And got on well--eh?" he pursued.

  She smiled ever so faintly. "Oh, yes," she said, with heartfeltfervor.

  Chris laughed. "Well--I'll take you for a ride in the car to-morrow,if you like," he said, casually.

  Marie could not have explained why, but she felt sure that this wasnot what he had originally intended to say to her, but she answeredat once: "Yes, I should love it!"

  It was the first ride of many, the first of many blissful days thatfollowed, for Christopher no longer went out and about with hisfriends. He stayed at home with Marie and Miss Chester.

  Sometimes he seemed a little restless and impatient, Marie thought.Often she caught him yawning and looking at the clock as if he wereanxiously waiting for something, or for time to pass, but she wastoo happy to be critical. He was with her often, and that was allthat mattered.

  And then--quite suddenly--the miracle happened!

  It was one Sunday evening--a golden Sunday in June, when Londonseemed sunbaked and breathless, and one instinctively longed forthe sea or the country.

  Miss Chester had had friends to tea, but they had gone now, and Chriswas prowling round the drawing-room, with its heavy, old-fashionedfurniture, hands in pockets, as if he did not know what to do withhimself.

  Half a dozen times he looked at Marie--half a dozen times he took astep towards the door and came back again. There was an oddlynervous expression in his blue eyes, and his careless lips nolonger smiled.

  Miss Chester had been very silent, too, since the visitors left,and presently, with a little murmured excuse, she gathered up herwork and went out of the room.

  Chris swallowed hard and ran a finger round his collar, as if hesuddenly found it too tight, and his voice sounded all strangledand jerky, when suddenly he said:

  "Put on your hat and come out, Marie Celeste! I can't breathe--it'sstifling indoors."

  He had always called Marie "Marie Celeste" since their childhood.It had been his boy's way of pretending to scorn her French name,but Marie liked it, as she liked everything he chose to do or say.

  She rose now with alacrity. She was ready in a few minutes, andthey went out together into the deserted streets.

  It was very hot still, and Chris suggested they should go down tothe Embankment.

  "There'll be a breeze," he said.

  It was a very silent walk, though Marie did not notice it She wasperfectly happy; she was sure that every woman they passed must beenvying her for walking with such a companion. Now and then shelooked up at him with adoring eyes.

  They walked along the Embankment, and away from it towardsWestminster Abbey. There was a service going on inside, and throughthe open doors they could hear the wonderful strains of the organ.

  Marie stopped to listen--she loved music, and Chris stopped, too,though he fidgeted restlessly, and drew patterns with his stick onthe dusty path at his feet.

  When they walked on again he said abruptly:

  "We've got on very well since you came home--eh, Marie Celeste?"

  Her dark eyes were raised to his face.

  "Oh, Chris! Of course!"

  He frowned a little.

  "I mean--do you think we should always get on as well?" he asked,with an effort.

  She was miles away from understanding his meaning, but something inhis voice set her heart beating fast. When she tried to answer, hervoice died away helplessly.

  Christopher looked down at her, then he said with a rush: "The factis--I mean--will you marry me?"

  Marie stopped dead. All power of movement had deserted her. A waveof crimson surged over her face, rushing away again and leaving heras white as the little rose which she wore in her black frock.

  Chris slipped a hand through her arm. He was afraid that she wasgoing to faint. He was feeling pretty bad himself.

  "Well, is it so dreadful to think about?" he asked with a mirthlesslaugh.

  "Dreadful!" She found her voice with a gasp. The sudden rapturethat flooded her heart was almost unbearable. But for his arm inhers, she was sure she would have fallen.

  There was a seat close by, and Chris made her sit down. He satbeside her and stared at his feet while she recovered a little,then he looked up with a strained smile.

  "Well, do you think you could put up with me for the rest of yourlife?" he asked.

  Marie's face was radiant. Nobody could ever have said then that shewas not pretty. Her eyes were like stars. She seemed to haveblossomed all at once into perfect womanhood.

  She wanted to say so many things to him, but no words would come.She just gave him her hand, and his fingers closed hard about it.

  For a little they sat without speaking, while through the opendoors of the cathedral came the wonderful strains of the organ.Then suddenly it ceased, and Chris took his hand away as if thespell that had been laid upon them was broken.

  He rose to his feet, looking a little abashed.

  "Well, then--we can tell Aunt Madge that we're engaged?" he said.

  "Yes."

  But even then she could not believe it She dreaded lest with everymoment she would wake and find it all a dream.

  But it was still a reality when they got back home, and Aunt Madgepretended to be surprised, and cried and kissed them both, and saidshe had never been so glad about anything.

  She wanted them to have a glass of wine to celebrate the occasion,though, as a rule, she was a staunch teetotaler, but Chris said no,he could not stay--he had an appointment. He went off in a greathurry, hardly saying good-night, and promising to be round early inthe morning.

  At the doorway he stopped and looked back at the two women.

  "I'll--er--you must have a ring, Marie Celeste," he said. "I'll--er--I'll tell them to send some round," and he was gone.

  It was a strange wooing altogether, but to Marie there was nothingamiss. She was in the seventh heaven of happiness. When she went tobed she looked out at the starry sky, and wished she were cleverenough to write a poem about this most wonderful of nights.

  She saw nothing wrong with the days that followed either. To beawkwardly kissed by Chris--even on the cheek--was a delirioushappiness; to wear his ring, joy unspeakable; to be out and aboutwith him, all that she asked
of life.

  The wedding was to be soon. There was nothing to wait for, so Chrisand Aunt Madge agreed. They also agreed that it must of necessitybe quiet, owing to their mourning. Marie Celeste agreed toeverything--she was still living in the clouds. She could hardlycome down to earth sufficiently to choose frocks and look atpetticoats and silk stockings.

  Aston Knight, a friend of Christopher's, was to be best man, andMarie's special school chum, Dorothy Webber, was to be maid ofhonor.

  "I hope you won't mind such a quiet wedding, my dear child." MissChester said anxiously to Marie. "But if one starts to invitepeople, Chris has so many friends, it will be difficult to knowwhere to stop. So I thought if Mr. Knight and Dorothy came, andjust your father's lawyer and myself . . ."

  "I don't mind--arrange it as you like," Marie said. She would nothave minded going off with Chris alone to church in her oldestfrock if it had to come to that. There was not a cloud in her sky.

  The wedding was fixed for a Friday.

  "Oh, not Friday," Miss Chester demurred. "It's such an unlucky day!Surely Thursday will do just as well."

  "I'm not superstitious," Chris answered. "Are you, Marie Celeste? Ithink Friday is a good day. We can get away then for the week-end."

  Marie laughed. She thought Friday was the best day in all the weekshe said--of course, she was not superstitious!

  But his Friday proved unkind, for, though it was the end of July,it rained hard when Marie woke in the morning and there was a chillwind blowing.

  She sat up in bed and stared at the window, down which theraindrops were pouring, with incredulous eyes.

  How could the weather possibly be so bad on such a day! It was thefirst faint shadow across her happiness.

  The second came in the shape of a wire from Dorothy Webber, to sayshe could not possibly come after all. Her mother was ill, and shewas wanted at home. Marie was bitterly disappointed, but she wasyoung and in love; the world lay at her feet, and long before shewas dressed to go to church her spirits had risen again and she wasready to laugh at Aunt Madge, who showed signs of tears.

  "If you cry I shall take it as a bad omen," she told the old lady,kissing her. "What is there to cry for, when I am going to be sohappy?"

  Miss Chester put her arms round the girl and looked into her facewith misty eyes.

  "Darling--are you sure, quite sure, that you love Chris?"

  "Do I love him?" The brown eyes opened wide with amazement. "Why, Ihave always loved him," she said simply.

  But she held Miss Chester's hand very tightly as they drove tochurch in the closed car, and for the first time her child's facewas a little grave. Perhaps it was the dismal day that oppressedher, or perhaps at last she was beginning to realize that she wastaking a serious step by her marriage with Chris.

  "It's for all your life, remember," a little warning voice seemedto whisper, and she raised her head proudly a her heart madeanswer: "I know--and there could be no greater happiness."

  It was raining still when they reached the church, and thechauffeur held an umbrella over Marie as she stepped from the carinto the porch. She wore a little traveling frock of palest gray,and little gray shoes and stockings, and a wide-brimmed hat with asweeping feather.

  Though she had never felt more grown-up in her life, she had neverlooked such a child, and for a moment a queer pang touched theheart of young Lawless as he turned at the chancel steps and lookedat her as she came up the aisle with Miss Chester.

  But Marie's face was quite happy beneath the wide-brimmed hat, andher brown eyes met his with such complete love and trust that for amoment he wavered, and the color rushed to his cheeks.

  But the parson was already there, and the service had begun, and inless than ten minutes little Marie Celeste was the wife of the manshe had adored all her life, and was signing her maiden name forthe last time with a trembling hand.

  And then they were driving away together in the car, to which AstonKnight, with a sentimental remembrance of other weddings, had tiedan old shoe, and it flopped and dangled dejectedly in the mud andrain behind as the car sped homewards.

  And Christopher looked at his wife and said:

  "Well, we couldn't have had a worse day, could we?"

  Marie smiled. "What does it matter about the Weather?"

  Christopher thought it mattered the deuce of a lot, but then he wasa man, and a man--even a bridegroom--never sees things through thesame rose-colored glasses as a woman.

  It was such a little way from the church to the house that therewas no time to say much more, and then they were home, and MissChester, who had followed hard on their heels in another car, wascrying over Marie and kissing her again, and Marie woke to the factthat she was really a married woman!

  There was a sumptuous lunch, to which nobody but Aston Knightand the lawyer did justice, and then Marie went upstairs andchanged her frock, because it was still pouring with rain, andwrapped her small self into a warm coat, and there were many kissesand good-byes, and at last it was all over and she and Chris werespeeding away together.

  Perhaps it is sometimes a merciful dispensation of Providence thatthe eyes of love are blind, for Marie never saw the strained lookon Christopher's face or the way in which his eyes avoided hers.She never thought it odd when in the train he provided her with aheap of magazines and the largest box of chocolates she had everseen in her life, and unfolded a newspaper for his own amusement.

  She ate a chocolate and looked at him with shy adoration. He washer husband--she was to live with him for the rest of her life!

  There would be no more partings--no more dreary months and weeksduring which she would never see him. He was her very own--forever!

  He seemed conscious of her gaze, for he looked up.

  "Tired?" he asked

  "No."

  "Hungry, then? You ate no lunch."

  "Oh, I did. I had ever such a lot."

  "We'll have a good dinner to-night, and some champagne." he said.

  "Yes." Marie had never tasted champagne until her wedding lunchto-day, and she did not like it, but to please Chris she would havedrunk a whole bottleful uncomplainingly.

  For their honeymoon they were going to a seaside town on the EastCoast.

  "Wouldn't it be nicer in Devonshire or at the lakes, Chris?" MissChester had asked timidly, but Chris had answered:

  "Good lord, no! There's nothing to do there. We must go somewherelively."

  So he had chosen the liveliest town on the East Coast and theliveliest hotel in the town--a hotel at which he had stayed manytimes before, and was well known.

  He was the kind of man who knew scores of people wherever he went,and in his heart he was hoping that he would meet scores of themnow.

  He gave an unconscious sigh of relief when, later, he saw Mariecarried up to her room in the lift in the company of an attentivechambermaid, who knew that they were newly married. He went off tothe buffet and ordered himself the strongest brandy he could get;while upstairs Marie was looking out her prettiest dinner frock andtrembling with excitement at the thought of this new life intowhich she had so suddenly been plunged.

  She was just ready when Chris came knocking at her door. He hadchanged into evening clothes, and was very immaculate altogether.

  "Ready?" he asked. His blue eyes wandered over her dainty person.

  "You look like a fairy," he said.

  "Do I?" she smiled happily. "Do you like my frock?"

  She turned and twisted for his admiration.

  Chris said it was topping. They went downstairs together, the bestof friends.

  "I met some fellows just now that I know," he said, as they satdown to table. "I'll introduce you later. They're stopping here."

  She flushed sensitively. "Did you? Did they know you were married?"she asked.

  "I told them."

  "Were they very surprised?"

  "Well, they were--rather," he admitted, and frowned, recalling thevery downright criticism which he had received from at least one ofthem.
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br />   At dinner Marie obediently drank one glass of champagne, and got aheadache. She was rather glad to be left to herself for a littleafterwards in the coolness of the lounge outside, while Chris wentin search of his friends. She chose a chair that was not prominent,and sat down with closed eyes.

  She had never stayed in a hotel before, and the noise and bustle ofit all rather confused her. She was wondering how she would everfind her way through all the corridors to her room again, when shecaught the mention of her husband's name.

  It was spoken in a man's voice and spoken with a little laugh thatsounded rather contemptuous, she thought.

  She sat up instantly, headache forgotten. Probably this was one ofthe friends of whom Chris had spoken to her before dinner. Sheleaned a little forward, trying to see the speaker, but a group ofornamental palms and flowers successfully obscured him.

  The man, whoever he was, was talking to another, for presentlyMarie heard a laugh and a second voice say: "Chris Lawless! Oh,yes, I know him! Is he really married?"

  "Yes--married a girl he's known all his life. Quite a child, sothey say."

  "How romantic!"

  "Romantic!" The man echoed the word rather cynically. "There's notmuch romance in it from all accounts--just a business arrangement,I should call it."

  Marie sat quite still. She was not conscious of listening, butthere seemed no other sound in all the world than this man's ratherhard voice as he went on:

  "Lawless was old Chester's adopted son, you know, and the girl wasChester's daughter. There was a stack of money to leave, it seems,and when the old man died he left it in his will that they were tohave half each on condition they married--but if they didn't, thewhole lot went to the girl! Well, you know what Lawless is? Hewasn't going to let a good thing like that escape him, you bet! Sohe just made up to the girl and married her. They're down here ontheir honeymoon."

  "You mean--he's not keen on the girl?"

  "Of course he's not! He's not the sort. Never cared for women! Haveyou ever heard of him being mixed up with one? I never have! Ofcourse, I don't know what the girl's like--I'm rather curious tomeet her, I admit--but from what I know of Chris, and his way ofliving, I'm dashed sorry for her! She'll find she's married abachelor husband, and no mistake."

  Marie sat perfectly still, her eyes fixed on her white slippers asif she saw them now for the first time; her hands loosely claspedin her lap, her new wedding ring shining in the light above herhead.

  It was strange that she never for one moment questioned the truthof what that voice had said. In her heart she knew that she hadalways thought her happiness too great to last. She drew a long,hard breath, as if it hurt her. The end had come sooner than shehad expected, that was all!

  "Don't think I'm running him down, you know," the voice went onemphatically. "I think he's the best old chap in the world; butsome men are made like that, you know! Born bachelors."

  Marie smiled faintly. Poor old Chris! What an awful position forhim. She shut her eyes tightly with a quick feeling of giddiness.

  What could she do now? What could she say to him? Ought she to tellhim?

  She tried to think, but somehow her brain felt woolly and would notwork. There was a queer little pain in her hand, and looking downblankly, she saw that her nails had cut deeply into her flesh,their clasp of one another had been so cruel.

  "The money was left between them on condition they married--otherwise she got it all."

  The words beat against her brain as if daring her to forget them.

  Poor Chris! He had always been fond of money. He had never hadenough to spend! She could remember when he first went to Oxford,how often he wrote home for extra money.

  It had never been refused, either. She knew that her father hadalways preferred him to herself, strange as it might seem, and hadencouraged him in his extravagances.

  Incidents out of the past flitted before her like panoramicpictures; Chris as a long-legged schoolboy as she had first seenhim, Chris in cricketing flannels, making her do all the bowlingand fielding while he had the bat, Chris in his first silk hat,daring her to laugh at him--and, last of all, Chris as he hadlooked at her that day outside Westminster Abbey when he asked herto marry him.

  She could remember that he had said, "Well, is the idea toodreadful?" and she supposed now he had said that because the ideahad been dreadful to him.

  A bachelor husband! It seemed so completely to sum up thesituation, and before her eyes rose a dreadful picture of thefuture in which Chris would be nothing more to her than he had beenduring the past five years.

  He would never want to be with her. He would still go his own way.He would make his own friends and his own amusements, and she--whatcould she do with the rest of her life?

  "He's on his honeymoon here, you know," the voice went on with justa shade of amusement in it. "Fancy a honeymoon in this hotel! Hedidn't mean to be dull, did he? I suppose he knew he was morallycertain to meet half his pals down here."

  Marie's hands were tearing a little lace handkerchief she carried--it had been her wedding handkerchief--Aunt Madge had given it toher just before they started for church, and had told her that hermother had carried it at her wedding.

  "But I hope you will be much, much happier than your mother,darling child," so Aunt Madge had said as she kissed her.

  Poor Aunt Madge! And poor mother! Maria knew that her mother'smarriage had been anything but happy, and she was glad when she sawthat unconsciously she had torn the little lace handkerchief torags. At least now it could not be handed on to any other poorlittle bride as an omen of ill-luck.

  "What about that game of billiards?" the voice asked with a yawn,and there was a movement on the other side of the bank of fernswhich hid the speaker from Marie.

  She could not see him as he moved away, and she sat on, numbed andcold, until presently Chris came looking for her and found her out.

  "Here you are then! I thought you were in the drawing-room. I wantto introduce you to Dakers, Marie Celeste!" He seemed conscious allat once of her pallor. "Don't you feel well?" he asked.

  She rose to her feet, forcing a smile.

  "My head aches a little. I think it was the champagne."

  Chris laughed.

  "Silly kid! It will do you good."

  He slipped a careless hand through her arm and led her across thelounge to where a group of men stood chatting and laughingtogether.

  He touched one of them on the shoulder.

  "Dakers--I want to introduce you to my wife----"

  He rushed the last two words nervously. "Marie, this is Dakers--otherwise Feathers. I hope you'll be friends."

  Marie gave him her hand. Was this the man who had brought hercastle tumbling down? she wondered and her brown eyes were full ofunconscious pathos as she raised them to his face.

  What an ugly man, she thought, with a sudden feeling of aversion,with blunt, roughly-cut features, and a skin burnt almost black byconstant exposure to wind and weather, but his face when he smiledwas kindly, and involuntarily she returned the pressure of hisfingers.

  And then he spoke, and she recognized his voice instantly as thevoice of the man who, with careless indifference, had blasted herhappiness.

  "Delighted to meet you," he said. "I know your old rascal of ahusband well, Mrs. Lawless. Many a good time we've had together inthe past."

  "And shall have in the future," Chris struck in casually. "Don'tput it so definitely in the past."

  He turned to a boyish-looking youth who had been standing lookingon rather sheepishly. "Marie, this is Atkins."

  The boy blushed and grinned. He gripped Marie's hand with bearlikefervency.

  "Awfully pleased to meet you," he said. "Shall we go and look on?Chris and Feathers are going to play pills."

  Marie raised dazed eyes to him.

  "Feathers--who is Feathers?" she asked helplessly.

  "I'm Feathers," Dakers explained casually. "So-called on account ofmy hair--which invariably stands up on end. You may have notic
ed."

  He passed a big hand over his shaggy head, and Marie smiled.

  "Anyway, I don't know what the game of pills is," she said.

  The boy Atkins began to explain.

  "It's billiards. They're rotten players, both of them, and we shallget some fun out of watching them. I'll find you a good seat."

  Chris looked at his wife dubiously.

  "If you're tired--if you'd rather I didn't play," he begandiffidently, but the girl shook her head.

  "Oh, no, please! I should love to watch."

  Whatever he had done, she never for one moment lost sight of thefact that she loved him--that he was everything in the world toher, and though as yet she could not realize the full enormity ofwhat she had just discovered, her one dread was lest she shouldstill further alienate him. She knew that Chris was so easily boredand annoyed; she knew that he hated headachy people. He liked awoman to be a pal to him--that was, when he considered the sex atall.

  It was odd that during the last half-hour the relationship whichshe had imagined had existed between them since the moment when heasked her to marry him had been utterly wiped out of her mind. Hewas once again just the Chris whom she had always blindly adored,without hope of reciprocity; the Chris who occasionallycondescended to be kind to her--as a man might occasionally be kindto a lost dog which has attached itself to him.

  She went with young Atkins to the billiard room and sat beside himon a high leather couch, and tried to listen while he explained thegame, but it all sounded like double Dutch. The smoke of the manycigars and cigarettes of the men around her made her eyes smart,and the subdued light made her feel giddy. She did her best to beinterested, but it was difficult.

  Chris had taken off his coat to be more free to play, and he lookeda fine figure of a man in his shirt-sleeves, she thought, as hestood chalking his cue and laughing with Feathers.

  He never once glanced at his wife. She supposed he thought that shewas quite happy and entertained by young Atkins.

  And this was the first night of her honeymoon? She realized it in apitying sort of way, as if she were considering the case of somegirl other than herself. It seemed dreadfully sad, she thought, andthen smiled, realizing that she was the little wife whom she waspitying, and that the tall man over the other side of the room, soengrossed in his game, was her husband.

  What other wife in the world had spent the first evening of hermarried life watching a game of billiards she wondered? And alittle helpless laugh escaped her.

  Young Atkins looked down quickly.

  "I beg your pardon. What did you say?"

  "Nothing--I only laughed."

  She bit her lip to prevent the laugh from coming again. How stupidshe was, because nothing amusing had happened.

  Only once Chris came across to her.

  "Would you like some coffee?" he asked.

  "No, thank you."

  "Do your head good." he said, but without looking at her. His eyeswere watching the table the whole time, and without waiting for herto speak again he went off back to the game.

  "Chris really plays a thumping good game," Atkins confided to her."I always tell him he's a rotten player, but he isn't a rottenplayer at anything, really! Fine sportsman, you know."

  Marie nodded. She knew everything there was to know about Chris. Athome she had a scrapbook, her most treasured possession, carefullypasted up with every little newspaper cutting that had ever beenprinted about him, from the first long jump he had won at a localschool to an account of a wedding a few months back at which he hadbeen best man.

  She had whispered to Aunt Madge as they kissed good-by, to be sureto cut the announcement of their wedding from the newspapers sothat she could add it to her collection, and Aunt Madge hadpromised. Somehow it made her feel sick now to think of it! Such afarcical wedding--no real wedding at all! No wonder they had wantedit quiet!

  Though she hardly looked at the table before her she seemed to seenothing but those smooth, ivory balls, and the only sound in theworld was their monotonous click, click!

  Chris was winning, young Atkins whispered to her. Poor old Featherswas not in the running at all. He bent a little closer to her.

  "Have you seen Chris play tennis?" he asked. "Gad! He can serve! Asgood as any Wimbledon 'pro'! I'll bet my boots . . . I say, what'sthe matter? Here, Chris!"

  He called sharply across the room to Chris, but it was too late,for Marie had slipped fainting from the high leather couch.

  CHAPTER III

  ". . . the leaves are curled apart. Still red as from the broken heart, And here's the naked stem of thorns."