Read Ebook: The Making of a Soul by Rhodes Kathlyn

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 2588 lines and 111897 words, and 52 pages

"Oh, yes, now and then. Of course she had my banker's address and could cable to me from time to time. I got one cable from her in December--on my birthday, it was--and she said she was writing, but I never got the letter."

"In December. I see." And so he did--saw a vision of half-unwilling treachery, of hesitating loyalty, of dying faith, which turned his heart sick within him.

"I wrote to her for Christmas, of course, and sent her a card now and then." He seemed to be excusing his own quite allowable slackness in the matter. "You see, I really had no time for letter-writing, and I knew she would understand and forgive me."

"You ... did you tell her you were coming home to-day?"

"Yes. I wired to her a week ago.... I half expected she'd come down to meet me." He laughed shamefacedly. "But you know what her people are. I expect they'd think it frightfully unnecessary to do that. Of course, I'm going there first thing in the morning."

"You ... you haven't been there yet, then?" Barry hated himself for his fatuity as he put the question.

"No. Fact is, I was a perfect savage when I landed ... a beard half a yard long!" He laughed jovially. "Had to get trimmed up a bit ... but in any case she would probably have been out somewhere or other to-night."

"Yes. I see."

"But first thing in the morning, it's a taxi for mine, as the Americans say. And I shall catch her alone, after breakfast, before anyone's about."

"Yea." Barry paused, cursing himself for his cowardice, and then plunged recklessly into the quicksand before him. "Owen, old man, have you heard anything about Miss Rees lately?"

"Heard anything?" He laid down his pipe and stared at his questioner. "Why should I hear anything? What is there to hear?"

Before replying Barry rose, and stood leaning against the mantelpiece; and as he looked down on his friend his heart was wrung within him at the cruelty of fate.

"You ... you've not seen her name in the papers?" His throat was dry, but he went on bravely.

"Papers? I've not looked at a newspaper for months. And anyway, what should I see about Vivian in any paper?"

"Only ... I thought you might have done." Barry was finding his task almost incredibly hard, and his brow was pearled with fine drops of moisture as he stood before his friend.

"What was there to see, Barry?" Owen's voice was quiet--dangerously quiet. "Is there anything wrong with Vivian? Is she--has she been ill?"

"No."

"No--oh, no." He spoke hurriedly, thankful that he could at least answer that question in the negative.

"Then ... what is it? Come, Barry"--Owen spoke through his teeth in a hoarse tone quite unlike his usual voice--"if Vivian is not dead, not ill ... what is this wonderful piece of news I might have read in the papers--and did not?"

There was a moment's tense silence, broken only by the crackling of the gay little fire on the hearth.

Then Barry said heavily:

"Miss Rees was married to Lord Saxonby this morning."

For a moment there was a silence fraught with a thousand possibilities. Then Owen sprang from his seat and crossing the intervening space, as it were in a bound, seized his friend savagely by the shoulders.

With a fury of which he was unconscious he shook the other man violently; and Barry broke away with an expression of annoyance.

"Good God, Owen, what do you think you're doing? What do you mean by attacking me like this!"

"Look here, Owen." Barry stood facing him, panting a little. "It's only because you're my pal that I don't retaliate in kind. Any other man who calls me a liar has to go through it, and that's a fact. But as it's you, and as I know I've done the business badly--well"--his voice grew suddenly wistful--"let's sit down and talk it over quietly, shall we?"

Something in his tone made the other man turn cold; and when he replied his manner had lost its vehemence.

"See here, Barry, I'm sorry I attacked you like that. The fact is, I ... I think I can't have understood rightly what you were trying to tell me. You said something just now about Miss Rees being married to Lord Saxonby. Well, what, exactly, did you mean?"

The very quietness with which he spoke made it still more difficult for Barry to answer him.

"I meant just what I said." He fidgeted nervously with a cigarette as he spoke. "Miss Rees was married--quietly--to Lord Saxonby this morning."

"Lord Saxonby? You mean that chap who hung round her before I went away?" Owen's voice was studiously self-controlled, but his hand shook as he played with a silver pencil-case on the table before him.

"Yes. That's the man."

"I see." For a moment he bent his head over the table, and when he looked up Barry understood that he had accepted the truth at last. "So she's played me false, has she? Married another fellow without troubling to let me know. Well, there's no more to be said, I suppose. I must make up my mind to be the laughing-stock of my friends, to be pointed at by men and women, jeered at in the clubs, as the fellow who was jilted ... thrown over for another fellow!"

He paused; then resumed in a louder tone.

"It's an ugly word, Barry--jilted. And by Jove, it's an ugly thing. Odd how naturally women take to it, isn't it? They won't steal, as a rule--draw the line at murder, but they think nothing of making damned fools of men who are insane enough to believe in them!"

He laughed bitterly; and his eyes looked grim.

"It would have been quite easy to let me know, wouldn't it?" He flung the question at his friend. "A sixpenny wire--even a cable wouldn't have ruined her, would it? And it would have been much less brutal than to let me come home expecting to find a blushing bride waiting for me!"

"I expect she ... she thought you'd see it in the papers," said Barry rather lamely. "Although it was kept pretty quiet here there were paragraphs about it, of course, and she may have supposed you would see them."

"Hardly the thing to leave it to chance," said Owen drily. "After all, when one gets out of an invitation to dinner, one generally sends an excuse; but ..." he broke off, and his eyes blazed suddenly "... look here, Barry, you know, and I know, that this woman has played a low-down trick on me. I thought her--well, no matter what I thought her--but anyway I know her now for what she is. And I'll be infinitely obliged to you if you'll be good enough to drop the subject now and for evermore."

Barry's impulsive speech got no further, for the other raised his hand to cut it short.

"All right, Barry, we'll take it all as said. Henceforth no such person as Miss Rees--I mean Lady Saxonby--exists for me; and if you'll remember that it will make things easier for us both."

"Very well, Owen." Barry felt emboldened to light a cigarette; and then, with a tactlessness born of mental discomfort, he asked a blundering question. "What shall you do now, old man? Have another shot at big game for a bit, or what?"

"Another shot--I say, Barry, why on earth should I go back the moment I've got home? Oh, I see!" He smiled cynically. "You mean town won't be very pleasant for a bit? Well, I daresay it won't, but thank God no one will dare to say much to me!" His jaw squared itself rather aggressively. "But I don't intend to quit. On the contrary, my firm intention is to remain here, do some good work, and, incidentally, marry."

Barry swung round and faced him, openly surprised.

"Marry? But--whom?"

"Oh, I don't know ... at the moment; but someone. You look astonished, Barry! Why shouldn't I marry? Ah, I see! You think because one woman's turned me down no one else will care to risk her happiness with me! Well, of course my value is considerably depreciated, no doubt; but after all, men are in the minority, and I daresay I'll be able to find some girl to take pity on me!"

"Don't talk like that, Owen!" Barry spoke hastily, and his blue eyes looked rather stern. "You don't want a girl to take you out of pity, do you? That's not much of a basis for a happy marriage, is it?"

"No, Barry." He took the rebuke well. "I was talking like a fool. But honestly, I do mean to marry--as soon as possible. Oh, I daresay I'm taking it the wrong way, but it seems to me that there's only one thing for a man in my position to do, and that is to show that he's not heart-broken because one unscrupulous woman has treated him badly!"

"But to marry, out of revenge, as it were, is small too."

"Out of revenge? Come, Barry, what are you thinking of?" Owen rose and spoke with an eerie joviality. "There'll be no revenge about it! Mayn't I marry and settle down like another man? I'll guarantee that the first woman who wants me can have me; and if she plays the game she shan't regret it, for I'll play it too!"

"But where will you look for her?" Barry could not understand this attitude of mind.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet