Chapter XXXIV

“But what if I fail in my purposes here?
It is but to keep the nerves at a strain
To dry one’s eyes and laugh at a fall,
And baffled get up and begin again,
So the chase takes up one’s life, that’s all.”

ROBERT BROWNING.

Daphne felt almost a passion of relief as she caught sight of her face in a mirror. The world had just turned upside down, but, thank God, she was still beautiful! She stood in the babble of the gilded room, and watched the swarm of well-dressed men and women around her. She had, at that moment, a strange, psychological experience; even as she watched them, the noise of the room ceased, and instead of the figures and colours of the brilliant gathering, she saw the long stretch of the ward at night. The faces in shadow of the sick, pain-stricken men, some of them sleeping restlessly, and some with wide eyes watching the hours as they passed. She seemed to feel the heat of the long night, and to see again at dawn the bustle of returning life and day. She was on night duty at present which explained her presence at the ball. Once a month the night nurses had a day and a night off which they generally spent in sleep, but to Daphne the old life formed a greater recreation.

The tiny jewelled watch she wore told her it was three o’clock, so many of them die at three o’clock! The band was playing one of those half-divine, and passionately human waltzes that seem to strike on all the chords of love and pain. Daphne drew a deep breath and the vision of the ward faded. When she looked before her again, something seemed to have past away from the glow and beauty of the brilliant scene. The women appeared a little tawdry, and the flowers drooped, under the flare of the electric light.

“Do you know what anything real means?” Daphne asked herself. Vera came up to her on the arm of a fine, soldierly-looking man, whom she introduced to her as Colonel Dalgeny. He began at once to speak to her about Katherine; he took her down to supper, and she found that she liked him very much.

“My wife wants to talk to you,” he said; “but you look very tired, will you wait here till I bring her to you?” He placed her in a curtained alcove by an open window, a portière marked it off from the rest of the hall. Daphne assented thankfully, and leaning back closed her eyes and waited.

“David,” said a voice close to her, “do you know you have not spoken to me for a hundred years?”

“I haven’t wanted to, Lady Cheston.”

“Ah, poor boy—poor boy,” said Lady Cheston. “Have you felt so badly about it as that?” There was a silence and Daphne felt subtly conscious that David could be made not to mean what he had said. She could not see them, but she almost felt the summoning power of Lady Cheston’s large grey eyes. Reggie’s eyes were like them, only they did not say the same things.

“But she did quite right, you know,” Lady Cheston went on; “she never in the least understood you, and you behaved very badly, my poor boy.”

“Well—she didn’t care for me,” said David miserably.

“No, she didn’t care for you,” repeated Lady Cheston.

“No one does,” he muttered sulkily. “I might as well go to the devil.” There was a long, breathless pause, a pause in which the blood runs riot, and pulses tell tales. That something passed between the two, Daphne felt sure, she thought that Lady Cheston had put out her hand.

“Oh, no! no! David, that’s not true!” she said at last, “somebody cares.” Daphne rose to her feet and, with a quick movement, gained the hall. Behind her she heard a startled exclamation, and a low laugh. The angry colour rushed into her face, the Colonel returned opportunely with Mrs. Dalgeny on his arm.

“My dear child,” she said, softly catching hold of Daphne’s hands, “tell me about my girl?”

Daphne could hardly believe it was Mrs. Linton who stood before her, she was dressed so beautifully, and she looked so happy. Then, looking at the Colonel, she understood, the tragedy was still there, but now it was in his face. She withdrew her hands from Mrs. Linton and told her briefly about Katherine. “She signed on yesterday for two years, and I go up to-morrow,” she said.

“Are you going to sign on?” the Colonel asked her. Daphne hesitated.

“No,” she said, “I am not.”

“Perhaps Miss Fordington is going to sign a different _kind_ of contract?” suggested Mrs. Dalgeny in her cooing voice. Daphne threw back her head.

“I am not going to be married, if that is what you mean,” she said shortly. Mrs. Dalgeny smiled sweetly.

“That is what young girls always say until they are asked,” said Mrs. Dalgeny; she was not very fond of Daphne.

“Or until they have answered,” said the girl with ready assurance. They parted still smiling, and the Colonel suppressed a chuckle.

It was four o’clock and Daphne stood at a little table in the supper-room drinking lemonade. Looking up, she met Arthur Field’s eyes, he was standing at the opposite side of the room. She turned to the man who was with her, and asked him to fetch her an ice, then she looked back at Arthur Field. A moment later he reached her side, and for awhile they were silent.

“Which is your wife?” Daphne asked finally, glancing over the little supper-tables.

“She is with Sir Henry Middleton,” said Arthur. Daphne’s eyes found her.

“I did not know she was so pretty,” she murmured, and Arthur fancied her lips quivered. He wanted immensely to know how much she minded, and if she thought he had done right.

Then he saw that by Rosamonde’s side was a glass of champagne. She was talking and smiling to her companion, but her hand went out towards the glass. Arthur crossed the room, and stood by them.

“Is this your handkerchief, Rosamonde?” he asked, holding out a dainty lace trifle in his hand. Rosamonde looked up startled, and Arthur Field stupidly overturned her glass. He apologized profusely and went to fetch her another, he brought it back more carefully this time. It was filled with lemonade. When he looked back at Daphne her partner had rejoined her. “I think it is time for us to go, Rosamonde,” he said to his wife.

“Where did you find the handkerchief, Arthur?” Rosamonde asked angrily as they drove back.

“In your room,” said her husband; “I brought it with me in case you might want another one.” Rosamonde bit her lips, and they drove home in silence.