Chapter VI

"Drive nature out with a fork;--she comes running back."
HORACE.

Lilamani stood alone upon her balcony--her "House of Gods," she had named it--feeling a little lost without her private shrine dear to Hindu womanhood. And here was a shrine indeed: roofed with turquoise of heaven, paved with sapphire of the sea. The trees set about its portals were rough-cut emerald and jade; and the grey-white rocks that broke up the sapphire into foam of diamonds--what were they? Here she was at a loss. The rocks, it seemed, stoutly refused to be anything but rocks; and it pleased her whimsical fancy to set this down to the natural obstinacy of their hearts. Surely no Hindu woman--not even the queens of immemorial times when _purdah_ was not--could have possessed a House of Gods so richly jewelled; so vast, yet so intimate in its appeal alike to sense and spirit.

Here she came when the demands of her new life, or intrusive thoughts of troubles ahead, perturbed beyond measure that inner calm which broods at the core of Hindu faith. And here she came now to steady herself for the impending ordeal; accepted with joy, despite hidden tremors, because of the gift that would gladden the father she was so soon to lose--for a time; only for a time. Thought of that parting she had not yet schooled herself to face; and to-day the need of the moment eclipsed all else.

She stood very still, as always in these mystical moods of hers; that were, in truth, but a spontaneous surrender of her whole being to the strong serene influences wherewith light and colour baptize the receptive soul. To-day, from shore line to sky line, the sea's vast breadth rose and fell like the breasts of the blue goddess Durga in her sleep. The very wavelets lapping against the rocks were too lazy to laugh in foam. To her it seemed that the Gods of her pantheon blessed her decision, and reassured her tremulous spirit; stilling its nameless fears. She--a brave man's daughter--who had so boldly taken the first step toward freedom, ought by no means to shrink from the lesser penalties involved. And she would not shrink; not even in thought. Her father's willingness to grant so unorthodox a favour should suffice for his child.

The fact that this god-like young man, with threads of sunlight in his hair and the sea's changeful laughter in his eyes, was of an alien race, seemed to make possible that which could else be scarce endured. For, if publicity be thrust upon a Purdahnashin, race-distance strangely lessens the sense of impropriety. Besides, this Mr. Sinclair--she named him shyly--was Audrey's friend: almost her brother. No; most certainly she would not shrink. She would look at and speak with him straightly, even as Audrey did. She would be calm, without and within. Not so much as one foolish pulse should flutter--

Then, the door-handle turned; a man's step sounded in the room behind her; and she stood transfixed, while the hammering of her pulses--that were not even to flutter--filled all space. How should she face him, she--the courageous one--who had even now commanded the waves of the sea and believed they would obey her? What had become of Audrey, of her father, that they had left her to face--this, without them?

Then--with a glad start, she recognized her father's footsteps also. Yet could she not bring herself to turn till he came close behind her, and spoke softly in her own tongue.

"Art worshipping, child?"

"Seeking a sign, rather. And the omens be favourable!"

Her smile was a triumph of luminous serenity; and the man's last doubts were stilled. "It is well," said he; adding in English: "Come, then. Mr. Sinclair is here, and ready to begin."

Sinclair, who had busied himself, tactfully, with colour and tubes, came forward.

"I'm afraid you dislike the whole thing," he said, hoping by frank friendliness to put her at ease. "And it makes me feel rather like a dentist preparing to operate!"

"I have never seen a dentist," she answered sweetly. "And I can't tell if I will dislike it--till I've tried! But I am quite pleased to try. It is so wonderful--" her eyes dwelt thoughtfully upon the clean expanse of canvas. "Nothing there now! Yet in one week, or two, I will see my own reflection, as in a mirror----"

"I wish I could believe that!" Sinclair was squeezing paints on to his palette. "You shall see the nearest that my unpractised brush can create."

"You have the modesty of true talent," Sir Lakshman interposed. "Show my daughter the creation of your pencil."

Nevil, who had not come without his treasure, put the open book into her hands; and while she stood absorbed--fascinated as a child might be at first sight of its own image--he made a few preliminary strokes upon that blank canvas which stood for him as the possible turning-point in his life.

It was at this moment that Audrey entered, and paused in the doorway, watching her pupil with an odd contraction of the heart. Never had book or dissertation of hers brought that rapt look to Lilamani's face. Was she then, for all her brains and courage, no true pioneer student; but mere woman, such as India breeds by the thousand? At least this annoying interruption might have the merit of putting her to the proof. Here Lilamani, disturbed by the double scrutiny, looked up; and, meeting Sinclair's narrowed gaze, pulled her _sari_ forward with the petulant imperiousness of a spoilt child. Dignity and thought of her father alone saved her from ignominious flight.

"Oh, no--that's hard lines----" she heard Sinclair say; and the ring of disappointment in his tone smote her sensitiveness more sharply than rebuke.

"I am sorry. I promise not to be foolish any more," she murmured penitently, and was reassured by the support of Sir Lakshman's arm.

"Sit down, my child," he said tenderly, drawing her to a chair beside the table. "Just lean on one elbow, as in the sketch; and if you are not caring to talk, then read. Only Mr. Sinclair must be permitted to see your face!"

"Yes. That is the trouble!" she answered, flushing and smiling tremulously, as she arranged her veil. "If I may read, I will have my little 'Wisdom and Destiny,' please."

But a haunting sense of the man's concentration on her affected her like a lantern flashed in her eyes: and Nevil, keenly aware of her quivering sensibilities, contented himself with as brief a sitting as might be.

Sir Lakshman, having promised to drive with Broome, went out, leaving an abnormally studious daughter behind him; and Nevil devoted himself not unreadily to the delicate task of toning down Audrey's disapproval. It troubled his kindly nature to feel out of gear with any unit of his world; and by way of practical conciliation he suggested driving her into Cannes next day in the motor chartered by himself and Broome.

"You could leave Miss Lakshman Singh with something to prepare for you, and it will give her a nice quiet time for the deep studies I am so wantonly interrupting!" he added, with an irrepressible twinkle, and had the satisfaction of producing the double effect he hoped for. Audrey was manifestly pleased; and Miss Lakshman Singh looked up, an answering gleam in her eyes.

"Audrey knows too well that it would be Browning or Maeterlinck or Miss Sorabji the minute her back was turned!"

Nevil laughed.

"A hopeful pupil! I don't know Miss Sorabji. But there's a deal to be learnt from the other two--even if it's not physics. Three o'clock suit you, Audrey?"

"I've not accepted yet!"

"Not? Why, your eyes said 'yes' the minute I spoke."

"Pure conceit on your part! They merely said it would be nice; but, in the face of Lilamani's confession, surely--inconsistent?"

"Therefore human! Consistency is the bugbear of small minds; and I've always believed yours to be--quite the reverse!"

At that, Audrey, the self-possessed, blushed for the first time in many years; and being awkwardly aware of the fact blushed deeper still. "Really, Nevil, you are too foolish for words," was all she said.

But Nevil knew he had gained his point, and made his peace with her, for the moment at least. "Three o'clock sharp, then," he said as he covered the easel. "And for you," turning to Lilamani, "Friday at the same time?"

"Yes--yes."

Her hesitancy distressed him.

"Not unless you feel inclined, of course," he added at once. "You've only to send me word. I shall understand."

"Because you are so kind," she murmured shyly. "But I have promised not to be foolish any more; and the Wise Man, Truth-named, says that to break one's word is 'damage to Sainthood.'"

"Well said--the Wise Man! And who may he be?"

"He is my chosen Guru--since I left India. I found him in Miss Sorabji's book. Some day, if the gods are kind, I may find him in the flesh and tell him how he helped for making me be brave."

"I ought to thank him too for that. And, look here, since you're so strict about promises, will you promise me something else?"

"Ah--what?"

"Nothing very terrible! Only that you and your father will have tea in the verandah with Audrey and me when we get back, if I engage a table right at the far end. Do!"

"Oh--but----" her startled eyes begged help from Audrey--in vain.

"Try it, Lilamani," said she, "and see how it feels."

"Very well--if I must--I promise."

And so he took his leave; well pleased, and hopeful, though little enough had been achieved--on canvas.

The next afternoon's programme--motoring with Audrey, the Casino band and a turn at the tables, proved no less enjoyable to this man of catholic tastes; though an under-current of longing to be back at the picture that meant so much to him, made him a trifle _distrait_ during the drive, and disposed him to talk a good deal about "that charming child." For such was still his main view of her; and Audrey found herself singularly ready to encourage it; though, for a woman of her type, the encouragement of a fallacy was as little consistent as motoring into Cannes with a young man, when she ought to have been reading physiology with the brand snatched from the burning.

They went alone, Nevil being an accomplished driver; and Broome, with ready tact, refusing the invitation that he was clearly not meant to accept. Not that he had by any means solved his problem yet; but that he preferred to glean such crumbs of observation as Fate flung in his path. The tea-party at the end of the verandah, obviously a Fate-flung morsel, proved irresistible. Nor was he disappointed, when, after greetings and introduction he sat down opposite the "houri"; and--while talking to her father--absorbed, as through a sixth sense, the essence of her quality and charm. For to-day, she waxed "braver" than Nevil had seen her yet; and he made good the chance of watching her expressive face in motion while it was his.

So it befell that Audrey soon found herself the odd man out in the little group: a position uncongenial to all save the speculative observer, and at the moment doubly uncongenial to her. She had come back feeling very much at peace with herself and the world, for no particular reason that she knew of; except that she believed motoring to be good for the nerves. But before tea was over, the restless discomfort that had puzzled her yesterday afternoon was upon her again. Not feverishness; for her blood was cool and her pulses steady. Nor did she feel ill: merely ill at ease; though discomfort amounted to irritation when Mrs. Heath fluttered up with Miss Blakeney, and the burden of making small talk for their benefit fell mainly upon her. Even when Miss Blakeney succeeded in detaching Nevil from "the Hindu child," Lilamani--instead of helping--relapsed into shyness and monosyllables; for the which she was rated severely when the two found themselves alone again upstairs.

"It's nonsense being so shy with two women, after talking to Nevil so that I couldn't get in a word."

Her tone was sterner than need be; and Lilamani listened in wide-eyed dismay.

"Audrey--don't call it nonsense," she pleaded. "Mr. Sinclair is seeming to talk another kind of language--I can't explain. Don't you understand?"

Yes; in a measure, Audrey understood. But for the moment she was cross, even with Lilamani, whom she loved, in the repressed undemonstrative fashion that was hers. So she merely said: "Of course they're less interesting. But if you're going to be so fanciful and fastidious, we shall never get on at all."

To which Lilamani made answer quite gently: "I don't like you when you're cross, Audrey; and it's nicer having tea upstairs."

They had it upstairs next day, and all went well. Sir Lakshman left them afterwards, for a stroll with Broome; and Nevil looked to a longer sitting and fuller achievement than before. Only one item was amiss. In place of the mother-o'-pearl _sari_, she wore the primrose and gold in which he had seen her first. But not till he had begun painting and charmed away her self-consciousness did he venture any comment on the fact.

Then he said, as if by the way: "I wonder whether you realize that I wanted you to wear that grey and gold every time?"

"Yes, I did think so," she answered, smiling. "But--it seemed not to fit my mind to-day. You see, for me, colours are nearly same as people. Sometimes you are needing one, sometimes another. And if I am always wearing the one you want, by order, it is same as if you told me what words I must speak whenever you come!"

"Heaven forbid!" cried Nevil, laughter in his eyes; and she, with pretty imperiousness, tremors forgotten:

"If you were so much--_zubberdust_* as that, I would soon say 'no more picture'--even for father's sake!"

* Tyrannical.

"Then I won't be '_zubberdust_'--whatever that may be. I must have my picture now, at any price. But if I'm to achieve that _sari_, I've got to see it sometimes. Perhaps being painted will induce the mother-o'-pearl mood! What do you think?"

"I think you understand my silliness better than anyone--only father," she answered simply as a child. "And I think when I am in golden mood, or almond-blossom mood, we might have that _sari_ thrown over the sofa, to help you. Is that good?"

"Very good."

"Shall I fetch it now?"

"Oh, no--don't trouble."

"But it's not trouble."

She ran lightly out; and Audrey, who had opened a book, glanced up, frowning.

"Don't talk too much nonsense to her, Nevil. You'll turn the child's head."

Her tone had an edge to it that surprised herself as much as him; and provoked him to the retort discourteous.

"It's _you_ that are talking nonsense, Audrey. For Heaven's sake don't say anything repressive when she comes back, and spoil the pains I've taken to put her at ease."

Audrey shrugged her shoulders and went on reading; for she--who took pride in her full command of the emotions--dared not trust her own voice. A physical feeling of weight on her chest unsteadied her breathing, while the blood tingled in her veins. It was absurd--almost degrading--that a woman of her good sense and convictions should allow the tone or manner of any man so to disturb her regal equanimity. Clearly something must be wrong. If only Sir Lakshman would come back, she could go out and walk it off. Till then--what on earth was Lilamani doing? To-day everything and everyone seemed in league to set her nerves on edge.

A few seconds later the girl reappeared; and the reason of her delay was obvious.

"Oh, but I never meant you to put it all on for me!" Nevil exclaimed in such evident delight that she laughed softly and clapped her small hands without sound.

"I did not mean either. It--it simply happened!"

"Great luck--for me! The mood came?"

"Yes--in touching it, I wished suddenly to wear it; and also--I knew it would give pleasure--to you."

Her shy hesitancy added grace to the last words; and Audrey did not miss the softening of Nevil's eyes as he answered: "I can't tell you how much pleasure it gives me. But you must obey your colour-moods. I believe in them. And I'll make the most of my chances when they come."

The little incident seemed magically to affect her spirits; and Nevil drew from her by degrees a hidden store of shy, poetic intuitions as to the eloquence and significance of colour; a topic on which he found her far richer in ideas than himself.

For a while Audrey joined their talk. But the subject was too fanciful for her taste; and soon--quite without intention on their part--she found herself, as it were, edged out. Again that tingling, as of red-hot needle-points under her skin; that longing to move, to shake herself free of this nameless something that oppressed her, body and mind. If only Sir Lakshman would come back!

In the meantime she did not choose to force herself into their _tête-à-tête_; nor would she sit merely on guard, while they laughed and talked. Quietly taking up her book, she went out through the French window on to Lilamani's balcony, and stood with her back to the room, while the wind caressed her burning cheeks. Why this unwonted irritation because Nevil, her friend, had so rapidly succeeded in lifting a corner of the veil that Lilamani would always wear, figuratively, with strangers, though in fact she had cast it aside? It was so little-minded, so unlike her normal self----

At this point their voices interrupted her thoughts; and she sat down, keeping Lilamani's face in view. Nevil was urging her to cap yesterday afternoon's courage by dining downstairs; and Lilamani's gentle, decisive refusal soothed Audrey strangely. But Nevil was not the man to accept it without demur.

"You say you are interested in the people you watch from your balcony," he persisted genially. "Yet you don't want to see more of them close at hand. Why?"

The girl drew her delicate brows together. "It does seem all wrong when you say it. But it's true--both ways. I wonder--can I make you understand?"

She leaned an elbow on the table; and while she spoke Nevil's hand moved swiftly, capturing the gracious curves of head and shoulder and arm.

"I think it is really that I love only to watch them all--far away down there, and plan my own tales about them. But when they come close, they make so much noise with talk about foolish little things that my thoughts all get broken up, like water-reflections when you put your hand into the tank. From the balcony I see them coming and going. I see them talking and smiling; but their words are never reaching me. When I like some faces very much I watch for them to come again, and then ... sometimes ... you mustn't laugh!--I make mind-pictures of their souls."

"Laugh? Of course not!" The best and gentlest that was in his own soul looked out of the man's eyes. "Do we all carry them in our faces plainly to be seen?"

"Oh, no. Many do not seem to be at all. Others are small and hidden, like pools, grown upon with weeds. But there are some--oh some--they shine clear and still like lakes making mirrors for sun and sky. My father's is of that kind. Have you not seen?"

"Yes--I have seen. It is good to know men like your father, even a little. You would find a picture something like that in the eyes of my friend Broome."

Her face lit up. "That man I saw yesterday with gold in his beard? Oh, yes! But his soul is all sparkling like the sea over here."

"Good indeed! Yet you hardly spoke to him at all."

"My pictures come more clearly without speaking. I told you--it interrupts!"

"You're a white witch!" he said, laughing. "And are all your soul-pictures of water?"

"No. Some are sky and clouds. Some birds. Some walled courtyards----"

"And mine? Have you made a picture of mine? Do tell me."

Audrey--out on the balcony, frowned at the intrusion of the personal note, and contemplated a return to her post, the more so when she saw that Lilamani veiled her eyes. But curiosity gained the day.

"It is difficult," the girl said softly; and Nevil wished his picture more advanced that he might catch the veiled blush permeating the olive tint of her skin.

"Why? Because you see it like a mud-puddle with a star or two dropped into it?"

"But no--no!" The imputation unloosed her tongue. "I see it like one of those glad, quickly-moving rivers in the hills that I am reading about in books. How shall I truly paint it for you? There are rocks, and bending trees, and birds--you know----"

"Yes--I know quite well. And an aimless, chattering stream, dodging to and fro, and achieving nothing----"

"Oh, no--you are unkind! I did not mean it so----"

The tremor in her voice smote the strongest chord of his manhood.

"Of course you didn't. Forgive my nonsense," he said hastily. "I quite understand; and you couldn't have painted a truer picture. Ask Audrey."

The girl outside started; and to her relief Lilamani sprang up with a cry of joy: "Here comes my father! And--oh--there is someone else----"

As Sir Lakshman entered with Cuthbert Broome, Audrey stepped in from the balcony, determined on flight. Not that she admitted the ignominious word into her mind. Her ostensible excuse was shopping in Antibes; and before starting, she--who inveighed against stimulant, except in illness--took a dose of Lilamani's sal volatile to still the flutter of her heart. It was bad enough owning to nerves at all. But this haunting discomfort could by no means be ignored; and instinctively she sought a physical basis for most forms of mental disturbance.

The tram, with its chattering "fares" and the prosaic business of shopping shut out, for a space, the memory of those two voices that had so annoyingly perturbed her: and reduced, at last, to her normal calm, she decided to complete the cure by a brisk walk back along the coast. But she had not gone far before she discovered her mistake. Unquestionably she should have been faithful to the tram. For along this path by the sea she had walked scores of times with Nevil, in the old days; and again only four days earlier in simple, unthinking content. And now----

What folly was this that had gotten hold of her? At each turn of the road some memory waylaid her of Nevil's face, and Nevil's friendly presence; the sympathetic inflections of his voice; the smile lurking always beneath his gravest mood. Breaking wavelets whispered his name at her feet. Sun and sky shouted it overhead. Look where she would, his face smiled back at her, in imperturbable disregard of her bewilderment and distress. With a dry sob in her throat, she sank upon a rock and covered her eyes, as if the vision she would escape came from without, not from within.

But the act was instinctive, merely. She knew now--and raged against the knowledge, like a trapped beast--that she, even she, had fallen in love. Nature, careless of individual conviction, had wrenched the heart out of her body, and given it to a man, who no more needed it than she needed the pebbles at her feet: a man by no means her match in forcefulness of purpose or of will.

The thought burned in her till all her body seemed one flame. What right had he to take possession of her thus, against her will? The thing challenged her pride; her perverted spirit of antagonism against all that man stood for in the average woman's life. From earliest girlhood she had taken her stand with the advanced guard of her kind; had even presumed to despise the average woman and all her works. And now--behold her punishment! Scorn is a slippery weapon; apt to turn in the hand. It was the twisted blade of her own scorn that cut most deeply into Audrey Hammond's heart. With the inherent stoicism that was hers, she repudiated her discovery; denied it; trampled on it--to no purpose. Finally she rose on the decision that at least she could conquer it--unless----

Again that tingling of hot needle-points in her veins. Not even in thought would she complete her broken sentence.