Greatheart, Ethel May Dell [children's books read aloud TXT] 📗

came here. Going back will be—too horrible for words. But—" her voice fell abruptly flat—"what am I to do?"

"I should go on strike," he said lightly. "Tell your good mother that she must find someone else to do the work! You are going to take it easy and enjoy yourself."

Dinah uttered a short, painful laugh.

"Wouldn't that do?" he asked.

"No."

"Why not?" he questioned with indolent amusement. "Surely you're not afraid of the broomstick!"

Dinah gave a great start, and suddenly, as they skated, pressed close to him with the action of some small, terrified creature seeking shelter. "Oh, don't—don't let us spoil this perfect night by talking of my home affairs!" she pleaded, her voice quick and passionate. "I want to put everything right away. I want to forget there is such a place as home."

His arm was around her in a moment. He held her caught to him. "I can soon make you forget that, my Daphne," he said. "I can lead you through such a wonderland as will dazzle you into complete forgetfulness of everything else. But you must trust me, you know. You mustn't be afraid."

He was drawing her away from the glare of coloured lights as he spoke, drawing her to the further end of the rink where stood a tiny, rustic pavilion.

She went with him with a breathless sense of high adventure, skimming the ice in time with his rhythmic movements, mesmerized into an enchanted quiescence.

They reached the pavilion, and he paused. The other skaters were left behind. They stood as it were in a magic circle all their own. And only the moon looked on.

"Ah, Daphne!" he said, and took her in his arms.

There came to Dinah then a wild and desperate sense of fear, fear that was coupled with a wholly unreasoning and instinctive shame. She strained back from him. "Oh no! Oh no!" she gasped. "I mustn't! I'm sure it's wrong!"

But he mastered her very slowly, wholly without violence, yet wholly irresistibly. His dark face with its blue, compelling eyes dominated her, conquered her. And all her life resistance had been quelled in her. Her will wavered and was down.

"Why should it be wrong?" he whispered. "I tell you that nothing matters—nothing matters. We take our pleasures, and we tell no one. It is no one's business but our own, sweetheart. And nothing is wrong, if no harm is done to anyone."

Subtle, alluring, half-laughing, half-relentless, he drew her closer yet, he bent and pressed his lips upon her upturned face. But she quivered still and shrank, though unresisting. She could not give her lips to his. His kiss burned through and through her, so that she longed to flee away and hide.

For though that kiss sent a thrill of wild ecstasy through her, there was anguish mingled therewith. Even while she exulted over her unexpected victory, she was smitten with the thought that it had cost her too dear. Had she told him too much about herself that he held her thus cheaply? Would he—however urgent his desire to do so—would he have dreamed of treating Rose thus? Or any other girl of his own standing?

The thought went through her like a dagger. She bent herself back over his arm avoiding his lips a second time. That one kiss had opened her eyes.

"Oh, let me go!" she said, her voice muffled and tremulous. "You mustn't—ever—do it again."

"Why not?" he whispered softly. "What does it matter? This is the land of no consequences."

"I can't help it," she whispered back. "It may not mean anything to you.
But—but—it makes me feel—wicked."

He laughed at her with tender ridicule. His arms still held her, but no longer closely.

"Don't be afraid, my elf of the mountains!" he said. "I won't do it again—yet. But there is nothing in it I tell you. And what does it matter if no one knows? Why shouldn't you have all the fun you can get?"

Dinah straightened herself, and passed her hands over her face with an oddly childish gesture. He behaved as though he had conferred a favour upon her; but yet the horrible feeling of shame lingered. Her mother's most drastic punishments had never humbled her more completely.

She drew herself from his hold. "I feel it does matter," she said, her voice pathetically small and shy. "But—I know you didn't mean to—to offend me. So let's forget it, please! Let's go back!"

She gave him her hand with a timid gesture, and he took it with a smile that held arrogance as well as amusement. "We will go back certainly," he said. "But we shall not forget. We have tasted the wine of the gods, my Daphne, and there is magic in the draught. Those who drink once are bound to come again for more."

"Oh no! Oh no!" said Dinah.

But even as she said it, she felt herself to be battling against destiny.

In that moment she knew beyond all doubting that by some means of which she had no understanding he had caught her will and made it captive. Elude him though she might for a time, she was bound to be his helpless prisoner at the last.

Yet his magnetism was such that she yielded herself to him almost mechanically as they went back into the giddy vortex of the carnival. Even in the midst of her dismay and uncertainty, she was strangely, almost deliriously happy.

Romance with gold-tipped wings unfurled had suddenly descended from the high heavens and flitted before her, luring her on.

CHAPTER XIII FRIENDSHIP IN THE DESERT

On the edge of the rink immediately below the hotel, a slight figure was standing, patient as the Sphinx, awaiting them.

Sir Eustace's keen eyes lighted upon it from afar. "There is my brother," he said. "We will go and speak to him if you have no objection."

Dinah received the suggestion with eagerness. She was possessed for the moment by an urgent desire to get back to the commonplace. She had been whirled off her feet, and albeit the flight had held rapture, she had a desperate longing to tread solid ground once more.

Possibly her companion shared something of this feeling. The game was his, but there was no more to be won from her that night. The time had come to descend from the heights to the dull and banal levels. He divined her wish to return to earth, and he had no reason for thwarting it. With a careless laugh he put on speed and rushed her dizzily through the throng.

To Dinah it was as a rapid fall through space. She felt as if she had been suddenly shot from the gates of Olympus. She reached Scott, flushed and breathless and quivering still with the wonder of it.

He greeted her courteously. "Are you having a good time, Miss Bathurst?"

She answered him gaspingly. Somehow it was an immense relief to find herself by his side. "Yes; a glorious time. But I am coming off now. Have you—have you seen anything of Lady Grace or the Colonel?"

"I have just had the pleasure of making Lady Grace's acquaintance," he said. "Are you really coming off now? Have you had enough?"

She passed over his last question, for the wonder pierced her if she had not had too much. "Yes, really. I am going to change my boots. I left them somewhere here. I wonder where they are. Ah, there they are against the railing! No, please don't! I can manage quite well. I would rather."

She sat down on the bank, and bent her hot face over her task.

The two brothers remained near her. Scott was apparently waiting for her.
They exchanged a few low words.

"I'll do my level best, old chap," she heard Scott say. "But if I don't succeed, it can't be helped. Rome wasn't built in a day."

Eustace made an impatient sound, and muttered something in a whisper.

"No," Scott said in answer. "Not that! Never with my consent. It wouldn't do, man! I tell you it wouldn't do. Can't you take my word for it?"

"You're as obstinate as a mule, Stumpy," his brother said, in tones of irritation. "It'll come to it sooner or later. You're only prolonging the agony."

"I am doing my best," Scott said gravely. "Give me credit for that at least!"

Sir Eustace clapped a sudden hand on his shoulder. "No one doubts that, my boy. You're true gold. But it's sheer foolishness to go on in the same old way that's proved a failure a hundred times. In heaven's name, now that we've hauled her out of that infernal groove, don't let idiotic sentimentality spoil everything! Don't shy at the consequences! I'll be responsible for them."

Dinah glanced up. She saw that for the moment she was forgotten. The light was shining upon Scott's face, and she read in it undeniable perplexity, but the eyes were steadfast and wholly calm.

He even smiled a little as he said, "My dear chap, have you ever considered the consequences of anything—counted the cost before you came to pay? No, never!"

"Don't preach to me!" Eustace said sharply.

"No. I won't. But don't you talk in that airy way about responsibility to me! Because—" Scott's smile broadened and became openly affectionate—"it just won't go down, dear fellow! I can't swallow camels—never could."

"You can strain at gnats though," commented Sir Eustace, pivoting round on his skates. "Well, you know my sentiments. I haven't put my foot down yet. But I'm going to—pretty soon. It's got to be done. And if you can't bring yourself to it,—well, I shall, that's all."

He was gone with the words, swift as an arrow, leaving behind him a space so empty that Dinah felt a sudden queer little pang of desolation.

Scott remained motionless, deep in thought, for the passage of several seconds. Then abruptly the consciousness of her presence came upon him, and he turned to her. She was sitting on the bank looking up at him with frank interest. Their eyes met.

And then a very curious thing happened to Dinah. She flinched under his look, flinched and averted her own. A great shyness suddenly surged through her, a quivering, overmastering sense of embarrassment. For in that moment she viewed the flight to Olympus as he would have viewed it, and was horribly, overwhelmingly ashamed. She could not break the silence. She had no words to utter—no possible means at hand by which to cover her discomfiture.

It was he who spoke, in his voice a tinge of restraint. "I was going to ask if it would bore you to come and see my sister again this evening. I have obtained Lady Grace's permission for you to do so."

She sprang to her feet. "Of course—of course I would love to!" she said rather incoherently. "How could it bore me? I—I should like it—more than anything."

He smiled faintly, and held out his hand for the boots she had just discarded. "That is more than kind of you," he said. "My sister was afraid you might not want to come."

"Of course I want to come!" maintained Dinah. "Oh no, thank you; I couldn't let you carry my boots. How clever of you to tackle Lady Grace! What did she say?"

"Neither she nor the Colonel made any difficulty about it at all," Scott said. "I told them my sister was an invalid. Lady Grace said that I must not keep you after ten, and I promised I wouldn't."

His manner was kindly and quizzical, and Dinah's embarrassment began to pass. But he discomfited her afresh as they walked across the road by saying, "You have made it up with my brother, I see."

Dinah's cheeks burned again. "Yes," she said, after a moment. "We made it up this afternoon."

"That was very lucky—for him," observed Scott rather dryly.

Dinah made a swift leap for the commonplace. "I hate being cross with people," she said, "or to have them cross with me; don't you?"

"I think it is sometimes unavoidable," said Scott gravely.

"Oh, surely you are never cross!" said Dinah impetuously. "I can't imagine it."

"Wait till you see it!" said Scott, with a smile.

They entered the hotel together. Dinah was tingling with excitement. She had managed to escape from her discomfiture, but she still felt that any prolonged intercourse with the man beside her would bring it back. She was beginning to know Scott as one who would not hesitate to say exactly what he thought, and not for all she