Missing | Page 6

Oh, George, in himself, was well enough. If he came back from the war, his new-made sister-in-law supposed she would get used to him in time. Bridget however did not find it easy to get on with men, especially young men, of whom she knew very few. For eight or ten years now, she had looked upon them chiefly as awkward and inconvenient facts in women's lives. Before that time, she could remember a few silly feelings on her own part, especially with regard to a young clerk of her father's, who had made love to her up to the very day when he shamefacedly told her that he was already engaged, and would soon be married. That event had been a shock to her, and had made her cautious and suspicious towards men ever since. Her life was now full of quite other interests--incoherent and changeable, but strong while they lasted. Nelly's state of bliss awoke no answering sympathy in her.
'Well, good-bye, Nelly,' she said, when she had put on her things--advancing towards them, while the lieutenant rose to his feet. 'I expect Mrs. Weston will make you comfortable. I ordered in all the things for to-morrow.'
'Everything's _charming_!' said Nelly, as she put her arms round her sister. 'It was awfully good of you to see to it all. Will you come over to lunch to-morrow? We might take you somewhere.'
'Oh, don't bother about me! You won't want me. I'll look in some time. I've got a lot of work to do.'
Nelly withdrew her arms. George Sarratt surveyed his sister-in-law with curiosity.
'Work?' he repeated, with his pleasant, rather puzzled smile.
'What are you doing now, Bridget?' said Nelly, softly, stroking the sleeve of her sister's jacket, but really conscious only of the man beside her.
'Reading some proof-sheets for a friend,' was the rather short reply, as Bridget released herself.
'Something dreadfully difficult?' laughed Nelly.
'I don't know what you mean by difficult,' said Bridget ungraciously, looking for her gloves. 'It's psychology--that's all. Lucy Fenn's bringing out another volume of essays.'
'It sounds awful!' said George Sarratt, laughing. 'I wish I knew what psychology was about. But can't you take a holiday?--just this week?'
He looked at her rather gravely. But Bridget shook her head, and again said good-bye. George Sarratt took her downstairs, and saw her off on her bicycle. Then he returned smiling, to his wife.
'I say, Bridget makes me feel a dunce! Is she really such a learned party?'
Nelly's dark eyes danced a little. 'I suppose she is--but she doesn't stick to anything. It's always something different. A few months ago, it was geology; and we used to go out for walks with a hammer and a bag. Last year it was _the_-ology! Our poor clergyman, Mr. Richardson, was no match for Bridget at all. She could always bowl him over.'
'Somehow all the "ologies" seem very far away--don't they?' murmured Sarratt, after they had laughed together. They were standing at the window again, his arm close round her, her small dark head pressed against him. There was ecstasy in their nearness to each other--in the silver beauty of the lake--in the soft coming of the June evening; and in that stern fact itself that in one short week, he would have left her, would be facing death or mutilation, day after day, in the trenches on the Ypres salient. While he held her, all sorts of images flitted through his mind--of which he would not have told her for the world--horrible facts of bloody war. In eight months he had seen plenty of them. The signs of them were graven on his young face, on his eyes, round which a slight permanent frown, as of perplexity, seemed to have settled, and on his mouth which was no longer naif and boyish, but would always drop with repose into a hard compressed line.
Nelly looked up.
'Everything's far away'--she whispered--'but this--and you!' He kissed her upturned lips--and there was silence.
Then a robin singing outside in the evening hush, sent a message to them. Nelly with an effort drew herself away.
'Shan't we go out? We'll tell Mrs. Weston to put supper on the table, and we can come in when we like. But I'll just unpack a little first--in our room.'
She disappeared through a door at the end of the sitting-room. Her last words--softly spoken--produced a kind of shock of joy in Sarratt. He sat motionless, hearing the echo of them, till she reappeared. When she came back, she had taken off her serge travelling dress and was wearing a little gown of some white cotton stuff, with a blue cloak, the evening having turned chilly, and a hat with a blue ribbon. In this garb she was a vision of innocent beauty; wherein refinement and a touch of strangeness combined with the dark brilliance of