Second String. Hope Anthony

was a problem, needing time to think over; to Wellgood she was a postulate, assumed not proved, yet assumed to be proved; to Harry she was – save for that subtle momentary feeling on the terrace by the lake – Vivien's companion. She wanted to be something other than any of these. Follow the hounds on foot? She would know what it was to ride! Know and not like – in Vivien's fashion? Andy, slowly digesting, saw her lips curve in that bitter smile again.

      From a path near by, yet secluded behind a thick trim hedge of yew, there sounded a girl's nervous flutter of a laugh, a young man's exultant merriment. Harry and Vivien, not far away, seemed the space of a world apart – to Isobel; Andy was normally conscious that they were not more than twenty yards off, and almost within hearing if they spoke. But he had been getting at Isobel's meaning – slowly and surely.

      "Being able to ride – having the opportunity – and not caring – that's pearls before – ?"

      "I congratulate you, Mr. Hayes. I can imagine you making a very good speech – after the election is over!"

      Andy laughed heartily, leaning back in his chair.

      "That's jolly good, Miss Vintry!" he said.

      "Ten minutes after the poll closed you'd begin to persuade the electors!" She spoke rather lower. "Ten minutes after a girl had taken another man, you'd – "

      "Give me time! I've never thought about myself like that," cried Andy.

      No more sounds from the path behind the yew hedge. She was impatient with Andy – would Harry never come back from that path?

      He came back the next moment – he and Vivien. Vivien's face was a confession, Harry's air a self-congratulation.

      "I hope you've been making yourself amusing, Andy?" asked Harry. His tone conveyed a touch of amusement at the idea of Andy being amusing.

      "Miss Vintry's been pitching into me like anything," said Andy, smiling broadly. "She says I'm always a day after the fair. I'm going to think it over – and try to get a move on."

      His good-nature, his simplicity, his serious intention to attempt self-improvement, tickled Harry intensely. Why, probably Isobel had wanted to flirt, and Andy had failed to play up to her! He burst into a laugh; Vivien's laugh followed as an applauding echo.

      "A lecture, was it, Miss Vintry?" Harry asked in banter.

      "I could give you one too," said Isobel, colouring a little.

      "She gives me plenty!" Vivien remarked, with a solemnly comic shake of her head.

      "It's my business in life," said Isobel.

      Just for a second Harry looked at her; an impish smile was on his lips. Did she think that, was she honest about it? Or was she provocative? It crossed Harry's mind – past experiences facilitating the transit of the idea – that she might be saying to him, "Is that all a young woman of my looks is good for? To give lectures?"

      "You shall give me one at the earliest opportunity, if you'll be so kind," he laughed, his eyes boldly conveying that he would enjoy the lesson. Vivien laughed again; it was great fun to see Harry chaffing Isobel! She liked Isobel, but was in awe of her. Had not Isobel all the difficult virtues which it was her own woeful task to learn? But Harry could chaff her – Harry could do anything.

      "If I do, I'll teach you something you don't know, Mr. Harry," Isobel said, letting her eyes meet his with a boldness equal to his own. Again that subtle feeling touched him, as it had on the terrace by the lake.

      "I'm ready to learn my lesson," he assured her, with a challenging gleam in his eye.

      She nodded rather scornfully, but accepting his challenge. There was a last bit of by-play between their eyes.

      "It's really time to go, if Mr. Wellgood has finished his game," said Isobel, rising.

      The insinuation of the words, the by-play of the eyes, had passed over Vivien's head and outside the limits of Andy's perspicacity. To both of them the bandying of words was but chaff; by both the exchange of glances went unmarked. Well, the whole thing was no more than chaff to Harry himself; such chaff as he was very good at, a practised hand – and not ignorant of why the chaff was pleasant. And Isobel? Oh yes, she knew! Harry was amused to find this knowledge in Vivien's companion – this provocation, this freemasonry of flirtation. Poor old Andy had, of course, seen none of it! Well, perhaps it needed a bit of experience – besides the temperament.

      Indoors, farewell was soon said – hours ruled early at Meriton. Soon said, yet not without some significance in the saying. Mrs. Belfield was openly affectionate to Vivien, and Belfield paternal in a courtly way; Harry very devoted to the same young lady, yet with a challenging "aside" of his eyes for Isobel; Andy brimming over with a vain effort to express adequately but without gush his thanks for the evening. Belfield, being two pounds the better of Wellgood over their bezique, was in more than his usual good-temper – it was spiced with malice, for the defeat of Wellgood (a bad loser) counted for more than the forty shillings – and gave Andy his hand and a pat on the back.

      "It's not often one has to tell a man not to undervalue himself," he remarked. "But I fancy I might say that to you. Well, I'm no prophet; but at any rate be sure you're always welcome at this house for your own sake, as well as for Harry's."

      Getting into the carriage with Isobel and her father, Vivien felt like going back to school. But in all likelihood she would see Harry's eyes again to-morrow. She did not forget to give a kindly glance to solid Andy Hayes – not exciting, nor bewildering, nor inflaming (as another was!), but somehow comforting and reassuring to think of. She sat down on the narrow seat, fronting her father and Isobel. Yes – but school wouldn't last much longer! And after school? Ineffable heaven! Being with Harry, loving Harry, being loved by – ? That vaulting imagination seemed still almost – nay, it seemed quite – impossible. Yet if your own eyes assure you of things impossible – well, there's a good case for believing your eyes, and the belief is pleasant. Wellgood sore over his two pounds, Isobel dissatisfied with fate but challenging it, sat silent. The young girl's lips curved in sweet memories and triumphant anticipations. The best thing in the world – was it actually to be hers? Almost she knew it, though she would not own to the knowledge yet.

      Happy was she in the handkerchief flung by her hero! Happy was Harry Belfield in the ready devotion, the innocent happy surrender, of one girl, and the vexed challenge of another whom he had – whom he had at least meant to ignore; he could never answer for it that he would quite ignore a woman who displayed such a challenge in the lists of sex. But there was a happier being still among those who left Halton that night. It was Andy Hayes, before whom life had opened so, who had enjoyed such a wonderful day-off, who had been told not to undervalue himself, had been reproached with being a day after the fair, had undergone (as it seemed) an initiation into a life of which he had hardly dreamt, yet of which he appeared, in that one summer's day, to have been accepted as a part.

      Yes, Andy was on the whole the happiest – happier even than Harry, to whom content, triumph, and challenge were all too habitual; happier even than Vivien, who had still some schooling to endure, still some of love's finicking doubts, some of hope's artificially prudent incredulity, to overcome; beyond doubt happier than Wellgood, who had lost two pounds, or Isobel Vintry, who had challenged and had been told that her challenge should be taken up – some day! Mrs. Belfield was intent on sleeping well, as she always did; Mr. Belfield on not coughing too much – as he generally did. They were not competitors in happiness.

      Andy walked home. Halton lay half a mile outside the town; his lodgings were at the far end of High Street. All through the long, broad, familiar street – in old days he had known who lived in well-nigh every house – his road lay. He walked home under the stars. The day had been wonderful; they who had figured in it peopled his brain – delicate dainty Vivien first; with her, brilliant Harry; that puzzling Miss Vintry; Mr. Belfield, who talked so whimsically and had told him not to undervalue himself; Wellgood, grim, hard, merciless, yet somehow with the stamp of a man about him; Mrs. Belfield serenely matching with her house, her Vandykes, her garden, and the situation to which it had pleased Heaven to call her. Soberly now – soberly now – had he ever expected to be a part of all this?

      High Street lay dark and quiet. It was eleven o'clock.