The Golden Silence | Page 8

last year at Oxford, for Caird had
gone to live abroad, and if he came back to England sometimes, he had
never made any sign of wishing to pick up the old friendship where it
had dropped. But here was this letter.
Stephen knew that Caird had inherited a good deal of money, and a
house in Paris, from an uncle or some other near relative; and a
common friend had told him that there was also an Arab palace, very
ancient and very beautiful, in or near Algiers. Several years had passed
since Nevill Caird's name had been mentioned in his hearing, and lately
it had not even echoed in his mind; but now, the handwriting and the
neat seal on this envelope brought vividly before him the image of his
friend: small, slight, boyish in face and figure, with a bright, yet

dreamy smile, and blue-grey eyes which had the look of seeing
beautiful things that nobody else could see.
"DEAR LEGS,"
began the letter ("Legs" being the name which Stephen's skill as a
runner, as well as the length of his limbs, had given him in
undergraduate days).
"Dear Legs,
"I've often thought about you in the last nine years, and hope you've
occasionally thought of me, though somehow or other we haven't
written. I don't know whether you've travelled much, or whether
England has absorbed all your interests. Anyhow, can't you come out
here and make me a visit--the longer it is, the more I shall be pleased.
This country is interesting if you don't know it, and fascinating if you
do. My place is rather nice, and I should like you to see it. Still better, I
should like to see you. Do come if you can, and come soon. I should
enjoy showing you my garden at its best. It's one of the things I care for
most, but there are other things. Do let me introduce you to them all.
You can be as quiet as you wish, if you wish. I'm a quiet sort myself, as
you may remember, and North Africa suits me better than London or
Paris. I haven't changed for the worse I hope, and I'm sure you haven't,
in any way.
"You can hardly realize how much pleasure it will give me if you'll say
'yes' to my proposal.
"Yours as ever
"NEVILL CAIRD, alias 'Wings,'"
Not a word of "the case," though, of course, he must know all about
it--even in Algiers. Stephen's gratitude went out to his old friend, and
his heart felt warmer because of the letter and the invitation. Many
people, even with the best intentions, would have contrived to say the
wrong thing in these awkward circumstances. There would have been

some veiled allusion to the engagement; either silly, well-meant
congratulations and good wishes, or else a stupid hint of advice to get
out of a bad business while there was time. But Caird wrote as he might
have written if there had been no case, and no entanglement; and acting
on his first impulse, Stephen telegraphed an acceptance, saying that he
would start for Algiers in two or three days. Afterwards, when he had
given himself time to think, he did not regret his decision. Indeed, he
was glad of it, and glad that he had made it so soon.
A few weeks ago, a sudden break in his plans would have caused him a
great deal of trouble. There would have been dozens of luncheons and
dinners to escape from, and twice as many letters to write. But
nowadays he had few invitations and scarcely any letters to write,
except those of business, and an occasional line to Margot. People were
willing to be neglected by him, willing to let him alone, for now that he
had quarrelled with Northmorland and the Duchess, and had promised
to marry an impossible woman, he must be gently but firmly taught to
expect little of Society in future.
Stephen broke the news to his man that he was going away, alone, and
though the accomplished Molton had regrets, they were not as poignant
as they would have been some weeks earlier. Most valets, if not all, are
human, and have a weakness for a master whose social popularity is as
unbounded as his generosity.
Molton's services did not cease until after he had packed Stephen's
luggage, and seen him off at Victoria. He flattered himself, as he left
the station with three months' wages in his pocket, that he would be
missed; but Stephen was surprised at the sense of relief which came as
Molton turned a respectable back, and the boat-train began to slide out
of the station. It was good to be alone, to have loosed his moorings, and
to be drifting away where