Chapter XX: Cutting the Knot

NEARLY ten days had gone by, and nothing would induce Colonel Tracy to prolong his stay at the Woodlands. He enjoyed being there immensely, he avowed; and the old reconciled comrades were well-nigh inseparable. Nevertheless, the Colonel confessed to Dorothea a private craving for his town-life, his quiet room, his solitary candle and musty books. He "wasn't made to live in a crowd," he said. Dorothea could not echo his sentiments, but she acquiesced.

Edred had prolonged his stay at the Park, and Mervyn was there still, instead of taking flight with his usual speed. Both brothers now, however, talked of leaving: Edred at the same time as the Tracys—Mervyn a day or two later.

For more than a week, ever since the skating, Dolly had been upstairs, invisible. Her poor little bruised face was at first in no state to be seen: and also, she had been too unwell to leave her room. The shock of her fall had perhaps only given a finishing stroke to long previous strain. From one cause or another, she was thoroughly weak and low, disposed to tears on the slightest pretext, and unable to rally.

Dorothea had had no easy part to play. She found herself very much in request with both brothers: with Mervyn plainly for her own sake; with Edred as plainly for Dolly's sake. Edred liked to get Dorothea alone, and to hear her talk about Dolly; only nobody except Dorothea was aware of this explanation. She was very willing to talk to him of Dolly, and she was very anxious to do her duty to Dolly in keeping Mervyn at arm's length. But the latter task was by no means easy; partly because she was doing violence to her own inclinations—partly because Mervyn was of a nature not to be easily checked.

Matters had developed fast in these few days. When Dorothea first came to Craye, she liked Mervyn, and she knew that she could like him very much more. The potential had now become the positive. Dorothea not only liked him very much more, but she felt that for her, he stood alone as the man who was unlike all other men. This means something far beyond mere liking; yet for Dolly's sake Dorothea strove hard to hide what she felt, to treat him as a mere acquaintance.

Perhaps she was less successful in veiling her true feelings than she imagined. Perhaps Mervyn had a keener insight into woman's nature than Edred. The more Dorothea endeavoured to hold aloof, the more persistently he came after her. Both young men were constantly in and out of the house all through that week, and both appeared to come mainly for the purpose of talking to Dorothea. There was no appearance of jealousy between them; perhaps because the sunny-tempered Mervyn was not given to jealousy, perhaps because Edred felt too secure. So, at least, people conjectured. It might easily be thought by a looker-on that she gave encouragement to Edred. She was more at her ease with him than with Mervyn.

And poor little Dolly all this while was hors de combat, unable to fight her own battle. It did seem hard to the elder sisters; both of whom had now a pretty clear understanding of the state of Dolly's mind, and neither of whom supposed Dorothea to be fighting Dolly's battle for her—only through ignorance fighting it wrongly. Isabel and Margot had seen with pleasure Mervyn's evident fancy for Dorothea; and they would have been equally pleased to see the "fancy" returned. Attentions from Edred were another matter, and that his attentions should be apparently well received, while those of Mervyn were more or less rebuffed, exercised the sisters greatly.

"I think it is too bad—quite too bad!—and I wish they had never come to Woodlands at all," Isabel declared hotly.

Margot could have echoed the wish. "But that is hardly fair," she said. "Edred might never have cared for Dolly in any case,—and I am sure Dorothea does not know how things are."

"Then she ought to know! People ought to use their eyes," said unreasonable Isabel.

"Some people haven't the gift," remarked Margot, thinking how slow Isabel herself had been.

"Why shouldn't one give her a hint, Margot? I'll do it."

Margot shook her head. She had a great dread of interfering in such matters. Simple blundering Isabel, who had done damage before by her outspokenness, pondered the matter for a whole half-hour, and came to the conclusion that this was a case for open speech. People like Isabel who meddle in everything, do harm nine times out of ten; but the tenth time they occasionally manage to set wrong right, thereby gaining encouragement to proceed in the same course. The nine times are forgotten—the one is remembered.

Twice a day Dorothea was allowed to see Dolly for a chat. She would gladly have stayed longer than the stipulated fifteen or twenty minutes; but no encouragement to do so was given. Dorothea was keenly aware that, Dolly did not care to have her. A barrier seemed to divide them; and not all Dorothea's efforts could do away with it. "And yet we ought to be friends," she said often to herself.

Mervyn and Edred had each promised separately to look in late that last afternoon—Mervyn to say good-bye to the Tracys, Edred to say good-bye to the Erskines. "About tea-time," both had said; and there was some idea of Dolly coming down for the first time; but though perhaps well enough, she seemed to shrink from the exertion.

The matter was still undecided at four o'clock. "Will she come!" Dorothea asked eagerly, meeting Isabel on the stairs. Isabel gazed absently, with wrinkled brow, and asked "Who?"

"I mean Dolly. Margot said she might be able. Wouldn't it do her good?—to be downstairs, I mean."

Isabel was too much absorbed with one idea to have room in her mind for any other train of thought. "Yes,—no,—I am not sure. Dolly isn't sure yet, I believe," she said vaguely, moving towards the nearest open door on the next landing, with the air of one expecting to be followed. "I have been thinking that I—I—there is something I should rather like to ask you."

Dorothea walked after her into the bedroom, and waited.

Isabel carefully closed the door, and then fidgeted to the fireplace.

"Dolly seems so depressed just now, doesn't she! Has she not seemed so to you?"

"Yes; I wish she did not. But perhaps in a few days she will be better."

"She is getting over the fall. It is not only that now: at least, I believe not. I am speaking privately—I mean I shouldn't like what I say repeated to anybody—but—but—" blundered Isabel, "you see, we seem to know you pretty well now. And you have seen a great deal of the Claughtons."

"Yes, a good deal." Dorothea could not restrain a slight blush.

"And I thought I would just ask—I thought I could just put a little question. I should like so much to know whether it has struck you—whether you have an impression that either of them cares at all for Dolly,—cares very particularly, I mean."

Dorothea was silent. If she had had merely an "impression," she could have told it at once; but how could she betray Edred's confidence to Isabel?

"You see I am asking for Dolly's sake. One can't help noticing,—and I dare say you have noticed that she does seem to—well, to have a particular liking for one of them—more than just friendship."

Dorothea said "Yes" again.

"I was sure you couldn't help seeing. At one time we really thought something was coming of it,—but lately I have felt doubtful. He doesn't seem to take the same pains,—and I do believe that is why poor little Dolly is so down-hearted. Of course, one can't do anything: and, as Margot says, things must be left to take their own course. Still, I thought I might just ask you, as a friend, whether you have noticed—"

Dorothea liked to be treated as a friend, and she had noticed a great deal; but she was puzzled what response to make.

"I can't imagine for my part what has made him so stiff and cold," said Isabel, knitting her brows. "Of course, he never is very lively—still, he used not to be like this. Margot says—but I don't believe—"

Dorothea broke into the confused sentences.

"Mr. Mervyn Claughton stiff and cold!"

"Mervyn! I'm speaking of Edred, of course. You haven't supposed that I meant Mervyn all the while!"

Dorothea stood mute; her eyes unwontedly bright.

"You didn't think Dolly cared for Mervyn!" exclaimed Isabel. "You couldn't—possibly!"

"I suppose it was stupid of me, but I really did!"

Isabel stood looking with puzzled eyes. "I don't know what I have said to make you so happy," she said.

"Don't ask me anything, please," begged Dorothea in answer. "Don't say any more. Only let me see Dolly for a few minutes,—and if I can persuade her to go into the study for an hour, don't put any difficulties in the way. I have my reasons: and I must not explain."

"Dolly to go into the study!"

"Yes. It will be all right, only please just let it be so. I want to see Dolly alone. I will not repeat a word that you have said."

Two minutes later, Dorothea, vividly conscious that Isabel had cut a Gordian knot, was kneeling beside Dolly's couch.

"Dolly, I have something to propose," she said softly. "Dolly, listen to me. Margot thought you were too tired to come down among us all to-day. But I want you not to mind being tired. I want you to manage just to get to the study sofa for an hour."

"What for?" asked Dolly languidly.

"Because—" and she lowered her voice,—"Mr. Edred Claughton will be so disappointed if he cannot see you once more before he goes."

If Dorothea had any doubts remaining, the glow which leapt to Dolly's white face was enough to do away with them.

"He and I feel so guilty about this week," Dorothea went on. "It was all our fault,—your being laid up, I mean. If we had not both been so stupidly full of what we were talking about, we should have had our wits about us, and there need have been no collision."

"It can't be helped."

"I almost think you would forgive us both, if you knew what it was that interested us so much. Guess! What do you think it could be?"

"I don't know."

"It was—Dolly, of course. What else could be so engrossing?"

Dolly's cheeks became brighter still.

"I don't think I ought to say much more. I would not say so much to any one except you. But—I do know that he is longing to see you before he goes; and I thought—if you could get down to the study, that might be the best way. And, Dolly—" very softly—"darling, don't be too cold. He has been so hopeless,—and I don't think he has much pluck."

Dolly said not a word in answer. She only put both arms round Dorothea, and held her fast, as if thus cementing the friendship which was to have been, but which hardly yet had begun to be between them.

Five o'clock drew near, and Dolly was in the study. Dorothea wondered how affairs would fit in. Would Edred be too shy to use his opportunity? And would Mervyn appear at all? Her thoughts were in a whirl, but by no means on her own account only. The last few days had been an education in unselfishness.

Both Colonels were absent on a long ramble, and Mrs. Erskine had not appeared from her afternoon repose, when the two Claughtons marched in together. Isabel fled at the sound of the front door opening; Margot alone remaining with Dorothea. The latter could not guess whether this were a condition of things purposely arranged. She only knew that it was unusual. Her own face, commonly pale, had perhaps never been brighter or prettier than now when for the first time she could venture to meet Mervyn with an unchecked smile of welcome. She did not seem excited, but there was a glow in her cheeks, and the placid eyes shone softly through their glasses.

"Dolly is in the study," Margot remarked, as Edred glanced round.

Margot had evidently no intention of saying more. She seated herself, and began to talk to Mervyn, while Edred showed not the least disposition to act on his own behalf. In another moment, he too would have subsided into a chair, but Dorothea stood up, and came close to him.

"Dolly is in the study," she repeated in an undertone, not meant for the other two. "You told me yesterday that you wanted to see her."

"Well, yes," assented Edred.

"She is there on the sofa; why not go to her—now?"

"At once!" Edred seemed reluctant. "What is the use?" he asked despondingly.

"The use! Make it of use. O go, do go!"

The voice, though low, was energetic enough to reach Margot and Mervyn. Edred actually obeyed without another word; and as the door closed behind him, Dorothea turned to meet two smiling faces.

"Never was better advice given," uttered Mervyn. "I have a mind to follow it myself. Margot—be kind! All the world will buzz about our ears directly. Don't you think you ought, as a duty, to keep watch outside the study-door? Just for five minutes!"

"That would be a double kindness, I suppose! Well—just for five minutes!" and Margot too left the room.

Dorothea, occupied still with Dolly, did not see through this move, till she found herself alone with Mervyn, felt her hands imprisoned in his, and heard him say—

"We have only five minutes! Not a moment to lose! Dorothea—if anybody in the world understands me, it is yourself. Do you know me well enough—to—"

Then she knew what was coming, and she did not shrink from it. Thanks to Isabel's cutting of the tangled knot, she had no hesitation as to what answer she might or would give.

Within the specified five minutes, Dorothea had become the affianced wife of Mervyn; and within half-an-hour, Dolly was the affianced wife of the less expeditious Edred.

"Nothing could have been better managed. It really is delightful all round," declared Isabel to Margot, dallying in her room late that night. "I always knew the Claughtons would be charmed. Emmeline is hard to please, but she really does take to Dorothea. And as for Colonel Tracy, I believe he wants nothing more than to get her off his hands."

"Now, Issy!"

"You know what I mean. He is an odd man, and he can't help it, I suppose. But I am sure Dolly and Dorothea look the picture of happiness. I believe Dorothea will be the making of Mervyn. He is a nice fellow, though Emmeline underrates him to such an extent. I wonder what Edred's friend Mrs. Effingham will say?"

"She has not much to do with the matter. I often wonder she has not taken more trouble about Dorothea."

"Oh, well—people in London have no time, and she is always in a bustle. But isn't this a curious finale to the long quarrel,—that the two babies, Christened together, and then never meeting till they are nearly twenty, should marry brothers, and become almost sisters! Now, Margot, I know I often seem to you a great deal too outspoken, and perhaps I am. But just this once, don't you think I was right?"

"Just this once, Issy, I haven't a word to say," Margot answered.

THE END