Greatheart - Ethel May Dell (the lemonade war series TXT) 📗

little while. Isabel was generally present, and their conversation was in consequence of a strictly commonplace order; but the keen blue eyes told Dinah more than the proud lips ever uttered. She came to watch for that look which she could not meet, and though at times it sent a wild dart of fear through her, yet it filled her also with a rapture indefinable but unspeakably precious. She felt sure that he had never turned that look on Rose or any other girl. It was kept exclusively for her, and its fiery intensity thrilled her soul. It was the sign of a secret understanding between them which she believed none other suspected.
It was a somewhat terrible joy, for the man's strength had startled her more than once, but in moments of dread she reassured herself with the memory of his reiterated declaration that the magic bond that existed between them was no bond at all in reality--only a game without consequences. She would not look forward to the time when that game should be over. She was not looking forward at all, so sublimely happy was she in the present. The period of convalescence which to most patients is the hardest of all to bear was to her a dream of delight.
A week after the departure of the de Vignes she was well enough to be moved into Isabel's sitting-room, and here on that first day both Sir Eustace and Scott joined them at tea.
The weather had cleared again, and Sir Eustace came in from an afternoon's ski-ing attired in the white sweater in which Dinah always loved to see him. She lay on her couch and watched him with shining eyes, telling herself that no prince had ever looked more royal.
It was Scott who waited upon her, but she was scarcely aware of his presence. Even Isabel seemed to have faded into the background. She could think only of Eustace lounging near her in careless magnificence, talking in his deep voice of the day's sport.
"There are several new people arrived," he said, "both ancient and modern. The place was getting empty, but it has filled up again. There is to be a dance to-night," his eyes sought Dinah's. "I am going down presently to see if any of the new-comers have any talents worth cultivating."
She met his look with a flash of daring. "I wish you luck," she said.
He made her a bow. "You are very generous. But I scarcely expect any. My star has not been in the ascendant for a long time."
Scott uttered a laugh that sounded faintly derisive. "You'll have to make the best of the second best for once, my dear chap," he said. "You can't always have your cake iced."
Eustace glanced at him momentarily. "I am not you, Stumpy," he said. "The philosophy of the second best is only for those who have never tasted the best."
There was in his tone a touch of malice that caught Dinah very oddly, like the flick of a lash intended for another. She awoke very suddenly to the realization of Scott sitting near Isabel with the light shining on his pale face and small, colourless beard. How insignificant he looked! And yet the narrow shoulders had an independent set about them as though they were not without a certain strength.
The smile still lingered about his lips as he made quiet rejoinder. "It sometimes needs a philosopher to tell what is the best."
Eustace gave an impatient shrug. "The philosopher is not always a wise man," he observed briefly.
"But seldom an utter fool," returned Scott.
The elder brother's face was contemptuous as he said, "A philosopher may recognize what is best, but it is seldom within his reach."
"And so, being a philosopher, he does without it." Scott spoke thoughtfully; he was gazing straight before him.
Isabel suddenly leaned forward. "He is not always the loser, Stumpy," she said.
He looked at her. "Certainly a man can't lose what he has never had," he said.
"Every man has his chance once," she insisted.
"And--if he's a philosopher--he doesn't take it," laughed Eustace. "Don't you know, my dear Isabel, that that is the very cream and essence of philosophy?"
She gave him a swift look that was an open challenge. "What do you know of philosophy and the greater things of life?" she said.
He looked momentarily surprised. Dinah saw the ready frown gather on his handsome face; but before he could speak Scott intervened.
"How on earth did we get onto this abstruse subject?" he said easily. "Miss Bathurst will vote us all a party of bores, and with reason. What were we talking about before? Iced cake, wasn't it? Are you a cook Miss Bathurst?"
"I can make some kinds of cakes," Dinah said modestly, "but I like making pastry best. I often make sausage-rolls for Dad to take hunting."
"That sounds more amusing for him than for you," observed Eustace.
"Oh no, I love making them," she assured him. "And he always says he likes mine better than anyone's. But I'm not a particularly good cook really. Mother generally does that part, and I do all the rest."
"All?" said Isabel.
"Yes. You see, we can't afford to keep a servant," said Dinah. "And I groom Rupert--that's the hunter--too, when Billy isn't at home. I like doing that. He's such a beauty."
"Do you ever ride him?" asked Eustace.
She shook her head. "No. I'd love to, of course, but there's never any time. I can't spend as long as I like over grooming him because there are so many other things. But he generally looks very nice," she spoke with pride; "quite as nice as any of the de Vignes's horses."
"You must have a very busy time of it," said Scott.
"Yes." Dinah's bright face clouded a little. "I often wish I had more time for other things; but it's no good wishing. Anyway, I've had my time out here, and I shall never forget it."
"You must come out again with us," said Isabel.
Dinah beamed. "Oh, how I should love it!" she said. "But--" her face fell again--"I don't believe mother will ever spare me a second time."
"All right. I'll run away with you in the yacht," said Eustace. "Come for a trip in the summer!"
She looked at him with shining eyes. "It's not a bit of good thinking about it," she said. "But oh, how lovely it would be!"
He laughed, looking at her with that gleam in his eyes that she had come to know as exclusively her own. "Where there's a will, there's a way," he said. "If you have the will, you can leave the way to me."
She drew a quick breath. Her heart was beating rather fast. "All right," she said. "I'll come."
"Is it a promise?" said Eustace.
She shook her head instantly. "No. I never make promises. They have a way of spoiling things so."
"Exactly my own idea," he said. "Never turn a pleasure into a duty, or it becomes a burden at once. Well, I must go and make myself pretty for this evening's show. If I'm very bored, I shall come and sit out with you."
"Not to-night," said Isabel with quick decision. "Dinah is going to bed very soon."
"Really?" He stood by Dinah's couch, looking down at her with his faint supercilious smile. "Do you submit to that sort of tyranny?" he said.
She held up her hand to him. "It isn't tyranny. It is the very dearest kindness in the world. Don't you know the difference?"
He held the little, confiding hand a moment or two, and she felt his fingers close around it with a strength that seemed as if it encompassed her very soul. "There are two ways of looking at everything," he said. "But I shouldn't be too docile if I were you; not, that is, if you want to get any fun out of life. Remember, life is short."
He let her go with the words, straightened himself to his full, splendid height, and sauntered with regal arrogance to the door.
"I want you, Stumpy," he said, in passing. "There are one or two letters for you to deal with. You can come to my room while I dress."
"In that case, I had better say good night too," said Scott, rising.
"Oh no," said Dinah, with her quick smile. "You can come in and say good night to me afterwards--when I'm in bed. Can't he, Isabel?"
She had fallen into the habit of calling Isabel by her Christian name from hearing Scott use it. It had begun almost in delirium, and now it came so naturally that she never dreamed of reverting to the more formal mode of address.
Scott smiled in his quiet fashion, and turned to join his brother. "I will with pleasure," he said.
Eustace threw a mocking glance backwards. "It seems that philosophers rush in where mere ordinary males fear to tread," he observed. "Stumpy, allow me to congratulate you on your privileges!"
"Thanks, old chap!" Scott made answer in his tired voice. "But there is no occasion for the ordinary male to envy me my compensations."
"What did he mean by that?" said Dinah, as the door closed.
Isabel moved to her side and sat down on the edge of the couch. "Scott is very lonely, little one," she said.
"Is he?" said Dinah, wonderingly. "But--surely he must have lots of friends. He's such a dear."
Isabel smiled at her rather sadly. "Yes, everyone who knows him thinks that."
"Everyone must love him," protested Dinah. "Who could help it?"
"I wonder," said Isabel slowly, "if he will ever meet anyone who will love him best of all."
Dinah was suddenly conscious of a rush of blood to her face. She knew not wherefore, but she felt it beat in her temples and sing in her ears. "Oh, surely--surely!" she stammered in confusion.
Isabel looked beyond her. "You know, Dinah," she said, her voice very low, "Scott is a man with an almost infinite greatness of soul. I don't know if you realize it. I have thought sometimes that you did. But there are very few--very few--who do."
"I know he is great," whispered Dinah. "I told him so almost--almost the first time I saw him."
Isabel's smile was very tender. She stooped and gathered Dinah to her bosom. "Oh, my dear," she murmured, "never prefer the tinsel to the true gold! He is far, far the greatest man I know. And you--you will never meet a greater."
Dinah clung to her in quick responsiveness. Her strange agitation was subsiding, but she could feel the blood yet pulsing in her veins. "I know it," she whispered. "I am sure of it. He is very much to you, dear, isn't he?"
"For years he has been my all," Isabel said. "Listen a moment! I will tell you something. In the first dreadful days of my illness, I was crazy with trouble, and--and they bound me to keep me from violence. I have never forgotten it. I never shall. Then--he came. He was very young at that time, only twenty-three. He had his life before him, and mine--mine was practically over. Yet he gave up everything--everything for my sake. He took command; he banished all the horrible people who had taken possession of me. He gave me freedom, and he set himself to safe-guard me. He brought me home. He was with me night and day, or if not actually with me, within call. He and Biddy between them brought me back. They watched me, nursed me, cared for me. Whenever my trouble was greater than I could bear, he was always there to help me. He never left me; and gradually he became so necessary to me that I couldn't contemplate life without him. I