The Tidal Wave - Ethel May Dell (top books to read TXT) 📗

a man.
Raising his head, he encountered Mrs. Perceval's direct look. She bowed to him with that regal air of hers that for all its graciousness yet managed to impart a sense of remoteness to the man she thus honoured.
"I have been admiring your luck, Major Hone," she said. "I am told you are always lucky."
He smiled courteously.
"Sure, Mrs. Perceval, you can hardly expect me to plead guilty to that."
"Anyway, you deserved your luck, Pat," declared Duncombe. "You played superbly."
"Major Hone excels in all games, I believe," said Mrs. Perceval. "He seems to possess the secret of success."
She spoke with obvious indifference; yet an odd look flashed across Hone's brown face at the words. He almost winced.
But he was quick to reply. "The secret of success," he said, "is to know how to make the best of a beating."
He was still smiling as he spoke. He met Mrs. Perceval's eyes with baffling good-humour.
"You speak from experience, of course?" she said. "You have proved it?"
"Faith, that is another story," laughed Hone, hitching his pony's bridle on his arm. "We live and learn, Mrs. Perceval. I have learnt it."
And with that he bowed and passed on, every inch a soldier and to his finger-tips a gentleman.


II

"Hullo, Pat!"
Teddy Duncombe, airily clad in pyjamas, stood a moment on the verandah to peer in upon his major, then stepped into the room with the assurance of one who had never yet found himself unwelcome.
"Hullo, my son!" responded Hone, who, clad still more airily, was exercising his great muscles with dumb-bells before plunging into his morning tub.
Duncombe seated himself to watch the operations with eyes of keen appreciation.
"By Jove," he said admiringly at length, "you are a mighty specimen! I believe you'll live for ever."
"Not on this plaguey little planet, let us trust!" said Hone, speaking through his teeth by reason of his exertions.
"You ought to marry," said Duncombe, still intently observant. "Giants like you have no right to remain single in these degenerate days."
"Faith!" scoffed Hone. "It's an age of feather-weights, and I'm out of date entirely."
He thumped down his dumb-bells, and stood up with arms outstretched. He saw the open admiration in his friend's eyes, and laughed at it.
But Duncombe remained serious.
"Why don't you get married, Pat?" he said.
Hone's arms slowly dropped. His brown face sobered. But the next instant he smiled again.
"Find the woman, Teddy!" he said lightly.
"I've found her," said Teddy unexpectedly.
"The deuce you have!" said Hone. "Sure, and it's truly grateful I am! Is she young, my son, and lovely?"
"She is the loveliest woman I know," said Teddy Duncombe, with all sincerity.
"Faith!" laughed the Irishman. "But that's heartfelt! Why don't you enter for the prize yourself?"
"I'm going to marry little Lucy Fabian as soon as she will have me," explained Duncombe. "We settled that ages ago, almost as soon as she came out. It's not a formal engagement even yet, but she has promised to bear it in mind. We had a talk last night, and--I believe I haven't much longer to wait."
"Good luck to you, dear fellow!" said Hone. "You deserve the best." He laid his hand for a moment on Duncombe's shoulder. "It's been a good partnership, Teddy boy," he said. "I shall miss you."
Teddy gripped the hand hard.
"You'll have to get married yourself, Pat," he declared urgently. "It isn't good for man to live alone."
"And so you are going to provide for my future also," laughed Hone. "And the lady's name?"
"Oh, she's an old friend!" said Duncombe. "Can't you guess?"
Hone shook his head.
"I can't imagine any old friend taking pity on me. Have you sounded her feelings on the subject? Or perhaps she hasn't got any where I am concerned."
"Oh, yes, she has her feelings about you!" said Duncombe, with confidence. "But I don't know what they are. She wasn't particularly communicative on that point."
"Or you, my son, were not particularly penetrating," suggested Hone.
"I certainly didn't penetrate far," Duncombe confessed. "It was a case of 'No admission to outsiders.' Still, I kept my eyes open on your behalf; and the conclusion I arrived at was that, though reticent where you were concerned, she was by no means indifferent."
Hone stooped and picked up his dumb-bells once more.
"Your conclusions are not always very convincing, Teddy," he remarked.
Duncombe got to his feet in leisurely preparation for departure.
"There was no mistake as to her reticence anyhow," he observed. "It was the more conspicuous, as all the rest of us were yelling ourselves hoarse in your honour. I was watching her, and she never moved her lips, never even smiled. But her eyes saw no one else but you."
Hone grunted a little. He was poising the dumb-bells at the full stretch of his arms.
Duncombe still loitered at the open window.
"And her name is Nina Perceval," he said abruptly, shooting out the words as though not quite certain of their reception.
The dumb-bells crashed to the ground. Hone wheeled round. For a single instant the Irish eyes flamed fiercely; but the next he had himself in hand.
"A pretty little plan, by the powers!" he said, forcing himself to speak lightly. "But it won't work, my lad. I'm deeply grateful all the same."
"Rats, man! She is sure to marry again." Duncombe spoke with deliberate carelessness. He would not seem to be aware of that which his friend had suppressed.
"That may be," Hone said very quietly. "But she will never marry me. And--faith, I'll be honest with you, Teddy, for the whole truth told is better than a half-truth guessed--for her sake I shall never marry another woman."
He spoke with absolute steadiness, and he looked Duncombe full in the eyes as he said it.
A brief silence followed his statement; then impulsively Duncombe thrust out his hand.
"Hone, old chap, forgive me! I'm a headlong, blundering jackass!"
"And the best friend a man ever had," said Hone gently. "It's an old story, and I can't tell you all. It was just a game, you know; it began in jest, but it ended in grim earnest, as some games do. It happened that time we travelled out together, eight years ago. I was supposed to be looking after her; but, faith, the monkey tricked me! I was a fool, you see, Teddy." A faint smile crossed his face. "And she gave me an elderly spinster to dance attendance upon while she amused herself. She was only a child in those days. She couldn't have been twenty. I used to call her the Princess, and I was St. Patrick to her. But the mischief was that I thought her free, and--I made love to her." He paused a moment. "Perhaps it's hardly fair to tell you this. But you're in love yourself; you'll understand."
"I understand," Duncombe said.
"And she was such an innocent," Hone went on softly. "Faith, what an innocent she was! Till one day she saw what had happened to me, and it nearly broke her heart. For she hadn't meant any harm, bless her. It was all a game with her, and she thought I was playing, too, till--till she saw otherwise. Well, it all came to an end at last, and to save her from grieving I pretended that I had known all along. I pretended that I had trifled with her from start to finish. She didn't believe me at first, but I made her--Heaven pity me!--I made her. And then she swore that she would never forgive me. And she never has."
Hone turned quietly away, and put the dumb-bells into a corner. Duncombe remained motionless, watching him.
"But she will, old chap," he said at last. "She will. Women do, you know--when they understand."
"Yes, I know," said Hone. "But she never can understand. I tricked her too thoroughly for that." He faced round again, his grey eyes level and very steady.
"It's just my fate, Teddy," he said; "and I've got to put up with it. However it may appear, the gods are not all-bountiful where I am concerned. I may win everything in the world I turn my hand to, but I have lost for ever the only thing I really want!"


III

It was two days later that Mrs. Chester decided to give what she termed a farewell _fete_ to all Nina Perceval's old friends. Nina had always been a great favourite with her, and she was determined that the function should be worthy of the occasion.
To ensure success, she summoned Hone to her assistance. Hone always assisted everybody, and it was well known that he invariably succeeded in that to which he set his hand. And Hone, with native ingenuity, at once suggested a water expedition by moonlight as far as the ruined Hindu temple on the edge of the jungle that came down to the river at that point. There was a spice of adventure about this that at once caught Mrs. Chester's fancy. It was the very thing, she declared; a water-picnic was so delightfully informal. They would cut for partners, and row up the river in couples.
To Nina Perceval the plan seemed slightly childish, but she veiled her feelings from her friend as she veiled them from all the world; for very soon it would be all over, sunk away in that grey, grey past into which she would never look again. She even joined in conference with Mrs. Chester and Hone over the details of the expedition, and if now and then the Irishman's eyes rested upon her as though they read that which she would fain have hidden, she never suffered herself to be disconcerted thereby.
When the party assembled on the eventful evening to settle the question of partners, Hone was, as usual, in the forefront. The lots were drawn under his management, not by his own choice, but because Mrs. Chester insisted upon it. He presided over two packs of cards that had been reduced to the number of guests. The men drew from one pack, the women from the other; and thus everyone in the room was bound at length to pair.
Hone would have foregone this part of the entertainment, but the colonel's wife was firm.
"People never know how to arrange themselves," she declared. "And I decline any responsibility of that sort. The Fates shall decide for us. It will be infinitely more satisfactory in the end."
And Hone could only bow to her ruling.
Nina Perceval was the first to draw. Her card was the ace of hearts. She slung it round her neck in accordance with Mrs. Chester's decree, and sat down to await her destiny.
It was some time in coming. One after another drew and paired in the midst of much chaff and merriment; but she sat solitary in her corner watching the pile of cards diminish while she remained unclaimed.
"Most unusual!" declared Mrs. Chester. "Whom can the Fates be reserving for you, I wonder?"
Nina had no answer to make. She sat with her dark eyes fixed upon the few cards that were left in front of Hone, not uttering a single word. He sat motionless, too, Teddy Duncombe, who had paired with his hostess, standing by his side. He was not looking in her direction, but by some mysterious means she knew that his attention was focussed upon herself. She was convinced in her secret soul that, though he hid his anxiety, he was closely watching every card in the hope that he might ultimately pair with her.
The last man drew and found his partner. One card only was left in front of Hone. He laid his hand upon it, paused for an instant, then turned it up. The