Lord Easterfield sat down, wiping his forehead and smiling complacently, his good humor quite restored. He began to talk to Major Horton on the subject of a series of articles on "Fitness for Britain" which one of his papers was starting. Luke said to Bridget, "Show me the kitchen garden."
"Why the kitchen garden?"
"I have a feeling for cabbages."
"Won't green peas do?"
"Green peas would be admirable."
They walked away from the tennis court and came to the walled kitchen garden. It was empty of gardeners this Saturday afternoon and looked lazy and peaceful in the sunshine.
"Here are your peas," said Bridget.
Luke paid no attention to the object of the visit. He said, "Why did you give them the set?"
Bridget's eyebrows went up a fraction.
"I'm sorry. I went to bits. My tennis is erratic."
"Not so erratic as that! Those double faults of yours wouldn't deceive a child! And those wild shots - each of them half a mile out!"
Bridget said calmly, "That's because I'm such a rotten tennis player. If I were a bit better I could, perhaps, have made it a bit more plausible! But as it is, if I try to make a ball go just out, it's always just on the line and all the good work still to do."
"Oh, you admit it then."
"Obvious, my dear Watson."
"And the reason?"
"Equally obvious, I should have thought. Gordon doesn't like losing."
"And what about me? Supposing I like to win?"
"I'm afraid, my dear Luke, that that isn't equally important."
"Would you like to make your meaning just a little clearer still?"
"Certainly, if you like. One mustn't quarrel with one's bread and butter. Gordon is my bread and butter. You are not."
Luke drew a deep breath. Then he exploded.
"What do you mean by marrying that absurd little man? Why are you doing it?"
"Because as his secretary I get six pounds a week, and as his wife I shall get a hundred thousand settled on me, a jewel case full of pearls and diamonds, a handsome allowance, and various perquisites of the married state."
"But for somewhat different duties!"
Bridget said coldly, "Must we have this melodramatic attitude towards every single thing in life? If you are contemplating a pretty picture of Gordon as an luxurious lover, you can wash it right out. Gordon, as you should have realized, is a small boy who has not quite grown up. What he needs is a mother, not a wife. Unfortunately, his mother died when he was four years old. What he wants is someone at hand to whom he can brag, someone who will reassure him about himself and who is prepared to listen indefinitely to Lord Easterfield on the subject of himself."
"You've got a bitter tongue, haven't you?"
Bridget retorted sharply, "I don't tell myself fairy stories, if that's what you mean! I'm a young woman with a certain amount of intelligence, very moderate looks, and no money. I intend to earn an honest living. My job as Gordon's wife will be practically indistinguishable from my job as Gordon's secretary. After a year, I doubt if he'll remember to kiss me good night. The only difference is in the salary."
They looked at each other. Both of them were pale with anger. Bridget said jeeringly, "Go on. You're rather old-fashioned, aren't you, Mr. Fitzwilliam? Hadn't you better trot out the old cliches - say that I'm selling myself for money - that's always a good one, I think!"
Luke said, "You're a cold-blooded little devil!"
"That's better than being a hot-blooded little fool!"
"Is it?"
"Yes. I know."
Luke sneered. "What do you know?"
"I know what it is to care about a man! Did you ever meet Johnnie Cornish? I was engaged to him for three years. He was adorable. I cared like hell about him - cared so much that it hurt! Well, he threw me over and married a nice plump widow with a North Country accent and three chins, and an income of thirty thousand a year! That sort of thing rather cures one of romance, don't you think?"
Luke turned away with a sudden groan. He said, "It might."
"It did."
There was a pause. The silence lay heavy between them. Bridget broke it at last. She said, but with a slight uncertainty in her tone, "I hope you realize that you had no earthly right to speak to me as you did. You're staying in Gordon's house and it's damned bad taste."
Luke had recovered his composure. "Isn't that rather a cliche too?" he inquired politely.
Bridget flushed. "It's true, anyway."
"It isn't. I had every right."
"Nonsense!"
Luke looked at her. His face had a queer pallor, like a man who is suffering physical pain. He said, "I have a right. I've the right of caring for you - what did you say just now? - of caring so much that it hurts!"
She drew back a step. She said, "You -"
"Yes, funny, isn't it? The sort of thing that ought to give you a hearty laugh! I came down here to do a job of work and you came round the corner of that house and - how can I say it? - put a spell on me! That's what it feels like. You mentioned fairy stories just now. I'm caught up in a fairy story! You've bewitched me. I've a feeling that if you pointed your finger at me and said, 'Turn into a frog,' I'd go hopping away with my eyes popping out of my head." He took a step nearer to her. "I love you like hell, Bridget Conway. And, loving you like hell, you can't expect me to enjoy seeing you get married to a pot-bellied, pompous little peer who loses his temper when he doesn't win at tennis."
"What do you suggest I should do?"
"I suggest that you should marry me instead. But doubtless that suggestion will give rise to a lot of merry laughter."
"The laughter is positively uproarious."
"Exactly. Well, now we know where we are. Shall we return to the tennis court? Perhaps this time you will find me a partner who can play to win."
"Really," said Bridget sweetly. "I believe you mind losing just as much as Gordon does."
Luke caught her suddenly by the shoulders.
"You've got a devilish tongue, haven't you, Bridget?"
"I'm afraid you don't like me very much, Luke, however great your passion for me."
"I don't think I like you at all."
Bridget said, watching him, "You meant to get married and settle down when you came home, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"But not to someone like me?"
"I never thought of anyone in the least like you."
"No, you wouldn't. I know your type. I know it exactly."
"You are so clever, dear Bridget."
"A really nice girl, thoroughly English, fond of the country and good with dogs. You probably visualized her in a tweed skirt, stirring a log fire with the tip of her shoe."
"The picture sounds most attractive."
"I'm sure it does. Shall we return to the tennis court? You can play with Rose Humbleby. She's so good that you're practically certain to win."
"Being old-fashioned, I must allow you to have the last word."
Again there was a pause. Then Luke took his hands slowly from her shoulders. They both stood uncertain, as though something still unsaid lingered between them.
Then Bridget turned abruptly and led the way back. The next set was just ending.
Rose protested against playing again. "I've played two sets running."
Bridget, however, insisted. "I'm feeling tired. I don't want to play. You and Mr. Fitzwilliam take on Miss Jones and Major Horton."
But Rose continued to protest, and in the end a men's four was arranged. Afterward came tea.
Lord Easterfield conversed with Doctor Thomas, describing at length and with great self-importance a visit he had recently paid to the Wellerman Kreitz Research Laboratories.
"I wanted to understand the trend of the latest scientific discoveries for myself," he explained earnestly. "I'm responsible for what my papers print. I feel that very keenly. This is a scientific age. Science must be made easily assimilable by the masses."
"A little science might possibly be a dangerous thing," said Doctor Thomas, with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
"Science in the home - that's what we have to aim at," said Lord Easterfield. "Science-minded -"
"Test-tube conscious," said Bridget gravely.
"I was impressed," said Lord Easterfield. "Wellerman took me round himself, of course. I begged him to leave me to an underling, but he insisted."
"Naturally," said Luke.
Lord Easterfield looked gratified. "And he explained everything most clearly - the cultures, the serum, the whole principle of the thing. He agreed to contribute the first article in the series himself."
Mrs. Anstruther murmured, "They use guinea pigs, I believe. So cruel - though, of course, not so bad as dogs, or even cats."
"Fellows who use dogs ought to be shot," said Major Horton hoarsely.
"I really believe, Horton," said Mr. Abbot, "that you value canine life above human life."
"Every time!" said the Major. "Dogs can't turn round on you like human beings can. Never get a nasty word from a dog."
"Only a nasty tooth stuck into your leg," said Mr. Abbot. "What about that, eh, Horton?"
"Dogs are a good judge of character," said Major Horton.
"One of your brutes nearly pinned me by the leg last week. What do you say to that, Horton?"
"Same as I said just now!"
Bridget interposed tactfully, "What about some more tennis?"
A couple more sets were played. Then, as Rose Humbleby said good-bye, Luke appeared beside her. "I'll see you home," he said. "And carry the tennis racket. You haven't got a car, have you?"
"No, but it's no distance."
"I'd like a walk." He said no more, merely taking her racket and shoes from her. They walked down the drive without speaking. Then Rose mentioned one or two trivial matters. Luke answered rather shortly, but the girl did not seem to notice.
As they turned into the gate of her house, Luke's face cleared. "I'm feeling better now," he said.
"Were you feeling badly before?"
"Nice of you to pretend you didn't notice it. You've exorcised the brute's sulky temper, though. Funny, I feel as though I'd come out of a dark cloud into the sun."
"So you have. There was a cloud over the sun when we left the Manor, and now it's passed over."
"So it has, literally as well as figuratively. Well, well, the world's a good place, after all."
"Of course it is."
"Miss Humbleby, may I be impertinent?"
"I'm sure you couldn't be."
"Oh, don't be too sure of that. I wanted to say that I think Doctor Thomas is a very lucky man." Rose blushed and smiled. "So it is true. You and he are engaged?"
Rose nodded. "Only, just now we're not announcing it officially. You see, Daddy was against it, and it seems - well, unkind to - to blazon it abroad the moment he's dead."
"Your father disapproved?"
Rose bent her head slowly and reluctantly.
"Yes, I'm afraid what it really amounted to was that Daddy didn't - well, didn't really like Geoffrey."
"They were antagonistic to each other?"
"It seemed like that sometimes. Of course, Daddy was rather a prejudiced old dear."
"And I suppose he was very fond of you and didn't like the thought of losing you?"
Rose assented, but still with a shade of reservation in her manner.
"It went deeper than that?" asked Luke. "He definitely didn't want Thomas as a husband for you?"
"No. You see. Daddy and Geoffrey are so very unlike and in some ways they clashed. Geoffrey was really very patient and good about it, but knowing Daddy didn't like him made him even more reserved and shy in his manner, so that Daddy really never got to know him any better."
"Prejudices are very hard to combat," said Luke.
"It was so completely unreasonable!"
"Your father didn't advance any reasons?"
"Oh, no. He couldn't! Naturally, I mean, there wasn't anything he could say against Geoffrey except that he didn't like him."
"I do not love thee, Doctor Fell;
"The reason why I cannot tell."
"Exactly."
"No tangible thing to get hold of? I mean, your Geoffrey doesn't drink or back horses?"
"Oh, no. I don't believe Geoffrey even knows what won the Derby."
"That's funny," said Luke. "You know, I could swear I saw your Doctor Thomas at Epsom on Derby Day."
For a moment he was anxious lest he might already have mentioned that he only arrived in England on that day. But Rose responded at once, quite unsuspiciously.
"You thought you saw Geoffrey at the Derby? Oh, no. He couldn't get away, for one thing. He was over at Ashewold nearly all that day at a difficult confinement case."
"What a memory you've got!"
Rose laughed. "I remember that because he told me they called the baby Jujube as a nickname!" Luke nodded abstractedly.
"Anyway," said Rose, "Geoffrey never goes to race meetings. He'd be bored to death."
She added, in a different tone, "Won't you come in? I think Mother would like to see you."
"If you're sure of that?"
Rose led the way into a room where twilight hung rather sadly. A woman was sitting in an armchair in a curiously huddled-up position. "Mother, this is Mr. Fitzwilliam."
Mrs. Humbleby gave a start and shook hands. Rose went quietly out of the room.
"I'm glad to see you, Mr. Fitzwilliam. Some friends of yours knew my husband many years ago, so Rose tells me."
