The Odds - Ethel May Dell (read full novel .TXT) 📗

surprising in this fact. Piet was, of course, too busy to have any leisure for private affairs. The whole matter slid into the past with the utmost ease. No doubt he would come home some day, but very possibly not for years, and the Colonel was quite content with this vague prospect.
As for Nan, she flicked the matter from her with the utmost nonchalance. Since her father had undertaken to explain things, she did not even trouble herself to write an answer to her husband's letter. That letter had, in fact, very deeply wounded her pride. It had been a command, and Nan was not accustomed to such treatment. Never, in all her unruly life, had she yielded obedience to any. No discipline had ever tamed her. She had been free, free as air, and she had not the vaguest intention of submitting herself to the authority of anyone. The bare idea was unthinkably repugnant to her, foreign to her whole nature.
So, with a fierce disgust, she cast from her all memory of that brief message that had come to her from the man who called himself her husband, who had actually dared to treat her as one having the right to control her actions. She could be a thousand times more arrogant than he when occasion served, and she had not the faintest intention of allowing herself to be fettered by any man's tyranny.
Swiftly the days of that splendid summer flew by. She scarcely knew how she spent them, but she was always in the open air, and almost invariably with Jerry. She missed him considerably when he returned to Oxford, but the hunting season was at hand, and soon engrossed all her thoughts. Old Squire Grimshaw was the master, and Nan and her father followed his hounds three days in every week. People had long since come to acquiesce in the absence of Nan's husband. Many of them had almost forgotten that the girl was married, since Nan herself so persistently ignored the fact. Gossip upon the subject had died down for lack of nourishment. And Nan pursued her reckless way untrammelled as of yore.
The week before Christmas saw Jerry once more at the Hall. He was as ardent a follower of the hounds as was Nan, and many were the breakneck gallops in which they indulged before a spell of frost put an end to this giddy pastime. Christmas came and went, leaving the lake frozen to a thickness of several inches, leaving Nan and the ever-faithful Jerry cutting figures of extraordinary elaboration on the ice.
The Hunt Ball had been fixed to take place on the sixth of January, and, in preparation for this event, Nan and some of her sisters were busily engaged beforehand in decking the Town Hall of the neighbourhood with evergreens and bunting. Jerry's assistance in this matter was, of course, invaluable, and when the important day arrived, he and Nan spent the whole afternoon in sliding about the floor to improve the surface.
So absorbing was this occupation that the passage of time was quite unnoticed by either of them till Nan at length discovered to her dismay that she had missed the train by which she had meant to return.
To walk back meant a trudge of five miles. To drive was out of the question, for all the carriages in the place had been requisitioned.
"What in the world shall I do?" she cried. "If I walk back, I shall never have time to dress. Oh, why haven't I got a motor?"
Jerry slapped his leg with a yell of triumph.
"My dear girl, you have! The very thing! I'll be your motor and chauffeur rolled into one. My bicycle is here. Come along, and I'll take you home on the step."
The idea was worthy of them both. Nan fell in with it with a gay chuckle. It was not the first time that she had indulged in this species of gymnastics with Jerry's co-operation, though, to be sure, some years had elapsed since the last occasion on which she had performed the feat.
She had not, however, forgotten her ancient prowess, and Jerry was delighted with his passenger. Poised on one foot, and holding firmly to his shoulders, Nan sailed down the High Street in the full glare of the lamps. It was not a dignified mode of progression, but it was very far from being ungraceful.
She wore a little white fur cap on her dark hair, and her pretty face laughed beneath it like the face of a merry child. The danger of her position was a consideration that never occurred to her. She was in her wildest mood, and enjoying herself to the utmost.
The warning hoot of a motor behind her dismayed her not at all.
"Hurry up, Jerry! Don't let them pass!" she urged.
And Jerry put his whole heart into his pedalling and bore her at the top of his speed.
It was an exciting race, but ending, as such races are bound to end, in the triumph of the motor. The great machine overtook them steadily, surely. For three seconds they were abreast, and Nan hammered her cavalier on the back with her muff in a fever of impatience. Then the motor glided ahead, leaving only the fumes of its petrol to exasperate the already heated Nan.
"Beasts!" she ejaculated tersely, while Jerry became so limp with laughter, that he nearly ceased pedalling altogether.
No further adventure befell them during the five-mile journey. The roads were in excellent condition, and the moon was high and frostily bright.
"It's been lovely," Nan declared, as they turned in at her father's gates. "And you're a brick, Jerry!"
"How many waltzes shall I get for it?" was Jerry's prompt rejoinder.
The girl's gay laugh rang silvery through the frosty air. Jerry had been asking the question at intervals all the afternoon.
"I'll give you all the extras," she laughed as she sprang lightly to the ground.
Jerry did not even dismount. His time also was limited.
"Yes?" he called over his shoulder, as he wheeled round and began to ride away. "And?"
"And as many more as I can spare," cried Nan, and with a wave of her hand turned to enter the house.
The laugh was still on her lips as she mounted the steps. The hall-door stood open, and her father's voice hailed her from within.
"Hallo, Nan, you scapegrace! What mad-cap trick will you be up to next, I wonder?"
There was a decided note of uneasiness behind the banter of his tone which her quick ear instantly detected. She looked up sharply and in a second, as if at a touch of magic, the laughter all died out of her face.
A man was standing in the glow of the lamp-light slightly behind her father, a man of medium height and immense breadth, with a clean-shaven, heavy-browed face, and sombre eyes that watched her silently.


CHAPTER VI

Nan was ever quick in all her ways, and it was very seldom that she was disconcerted. Between the moment of her reaching the top step and that in which she entered the hall, she flashed from laughing childhood to haughty womanhood. The dignity with which she offered her hand to her husband was in its way superb.
"An unexpected pleasure!" was her icy comment.
He took the hand, looking closely into her eyes. He made no attempt to draw her nearer, and Nan remained at arm's-length. Yet something in his scrutiny affected her, for a shiver went through her, proudly though she met it.
"It is cold," she said, by way of explanation. "It is freezing hard, and we came all the way by road."
"Yes," he said, in his deep, slow voice. "I saw you."
"You saw me?" Nan's eyebrows went up; she was furiously conscious that she blushed.
"I passed you in a motor," he explained.
"Oh!" She withdrew her hand, and turned to the fire with a little laugh, raging inwardly at the fate that had betrayed her.
Standing by the hearth, she pulled off her gloves, and spread her hands to the blaze. It was a mere pretence, for she was hot all over by that time, hot and quivering and fiercely resentful. There was another feeling also behind her resentment, a feeling which she would not own, that made her heart thump oddly, as it had thumped only once before in her life--when this man had touched her face with his lips.
"Well," she said, standing up after a few minutes, "I must go and dress, and so must you, dad. We are going to the Hunt Ball to-night," she added, with a brief glance in her husband's direction.
He made no reply of any sort. His eyes were fixed upon her left hand. After a moment she became aware of this, and slipped it carelessly into her pocket. Whistling softly, she turned to go.
At the foot of the stairs she heard her father's voice, and paused.
"You had better come, too," he was saying to his son-in-law.
Nan wheeled sharply, almost as if she would protest, but she checked her words unspoken.
Quietly Piet Cradock was making reply:
"Thank you, Colonel. I think I had better."
Across the hall Nan met his gaze still unwaveringly fixed upon her, and she returned it with the utmost defiance of which she was capable. Did he actually fancy that she could be coerced into joining him, she asked herself--she who had always been free as the air? Well, he would soon discover his mistake. She would begin to teach him from that moment.
With her head still held high, she turned and mounted the stairs.
Mona was waiting for her in much disturbance of spirit.
"He arrived early this afternoon," was her report. "We were all so astonished. He has come for you, Nan, and he says he must start back next week without fail. Isn't it short notice? I wish he had written to say he was coming. He sat and talked to dad all the afternoon. And then, as you didn't come, he started off in his motor to find you. He must have gone to the station first, or he would have met you sooner."
To all this Nan listened with a set face, while she raced through her dressing. She made no comment whatever. The only signs that she heard lay in her tense expression and unsteady fingers.
They did not descend till the last minute, just as the carriage containing the Colonel and three more of his daughters was driving away.
Piet was standing like a massive statue in the hall. As the two girls came down, he moved forward.
"I have kept the motor for you," he said.
Mona thanked him. Nan did not utter a word. She would not touch the hand that would have helped her in, and she kept her lips firmly closed throughout the drive.
When she entered the ballroom at length her husband was by her side, but neither by word nor look did she acknowledge his presence there.
Jerry spied her instantly, and came towards her. She went quickly to meet him.
"For goodness' sake," she whispered urgently, "help me to get away from that man!"
"Of course," said Jerry, promptly leading her away in the opposite direction till the crowd swallowed them. "Who the dickens is he?"
She looked at him with a small, piteous smile.
"His name is Piet Cradock," she said.
"Great Scotland!" ejaculated Jerry; and added fiercely: "What the devil has he come back for? What does he want?"
Nan threw back her head with a sudden wild laugh.
"Guess!" she cried.
But Jerry knew without guessing, and swore savagely under his breath.
"But you won't go with him--not yet, anyhow?" he urged. "He can't hurry you off without consulting your convenience. You won't