Authors: Juliet Armstrong
“
Oh, I haven
’
t what are known as
‘
criminal tendencies
’
,
”
he agreed.
“
In fact I
’
ve often
thought that if I had a girl like you for a friend, I might be quite a nice person.
”
She had to laugh then.
“
You would be bored in no time,
”
she declared.
“
Much more likely you
’
d be bored with me. Chaps of my sort are two a penny. You, my dear Catherine, are an original; I
’
ve never before met anyone who even remotely resembled you.
”
“
In what way am I—odd?
”
She could not resist the question.
“
You
’
re entirely lacking in vanity, for one thing,
”
he told her.
“
But certainly not in pride,
”
she flashed.
“
Heavens, no! You
’
ve too much of that, and it springs from your lack of conceit.
”
“
I
’
ve never had anything to make me conceited,
”
she countered.
He smiled.
“
I could enumerate several just causes for vanity o
n
your part; and I think I will, even if you get huffy and want to box my ear
s.
You can
’
t and won
’
t believe—come on, fly into a temper if you please!—that with that
c
urved slenderness of yours, and those absurdly candid grey eyes, you
’
re a very desirable woman.
”
“
You
’
re saying that because you want to see how I react,
”
she exclaimed and, recalling the way he had spoken once of
“
the study of woman,
”
she flushed crimson.
He shook his head, and turning in at the drive of Garsford House, drew up to the front door with a flourish.
“
I say it because it
’
s true,
”
he said.
“
Would I like to kiss you? And how!
”
And jumping out, he bowed her out of the car, with a sudden secretive smile which made her see him for an instant, not as a sleek young townsman of the twentieth century, but as a Pan,
primitive,
desirous, crouching among the reeds.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The arrival of a
private car at the front door, on a day when everyone was at home, was naturally noticed, though it was only the children who displayed open interest. Matron was far more concerned with her dripping clothes, and sent her at once to change “from top to toe,” adding that when she came down again she wanted a
word with her in the office.
Aware that the babies
’
bedtime was approaching, Catherine hurried to get into dry garments, and running downstairs to Matron
’
s sanctum, knocked lightly at the door.
The quick,
“
Come in,
”
was as serene as ever, and the cosy warmth of the little room sent her thoughts flying to the first time she had entered it, many months ago. Much had happened since then; yet those early impressions of Matron and of the atmosphere which she had created at Garsford House had not altered. She still looked upon the
“
Office,
”
flower-filled at all times of the year, as a place of refuge where troubles and problems could be discussed and a wealth of wise counsel received; a happy place.
“
Sit down, Catherine, I
’
ve some news for you,
”
Matron told her rather seriously.
“
No, take that chair nearer the fire. I
’
m scared of your catching a chill, after being out in that deluge.
”
Obediently Catherine took the seat indicated, and held out her hands to the cheerful blaze.
“
I hope there
’
s nothing wrong,
”
she said, struck by Matron
’
s unusual gravity.
Matron shook her grey head.
“
There
’
s to be a change in the running of Garsford House, that
’
s all. Apparently the county authorities have come to the conclusion that we trained and experienced foster
-
mothers have to spend too much time on chores: a bad thing, from their point of view, because there aren
’
t enough of us, anyway, to open and run the new homes that are needed.
”
“
Oh dear—they aren
’
t going to move you, surely!
”
Catherine was looking utterly dismayed.
“
No; it is either you or Hilda who will be transferred, as soon as I can fix up with some nice, suitable woman from the village to, come in ever
y
day and help with the housework and cooking.
”
Matron stooped and stirred the fire.
“
The move will mean slight promotion, and it seemed only right to give Hilda the first choice. But she tells me that she doesn
’
t care in the least whether she goes or stays; that she leaves the decision to you.
”
For a moment Catherine did not speak. She just sat there, twisting her handkerchief between her hands, until it formed a little ball.
“
Could I have a few hours to think it over?
”
she asked abruptly.
Matron nodded understanding.
“
Of course, my dear. It
’
s much better to sleep on a thing of this sort. Let
m
e know tomorrow morning, and I
’
ll be satisfied. Now run and get me out a few extra towels, I
’
m going to give some of the babes a shampoo as well as a bath tonight. The kitchen fire is specially good.
”
Catherine
’
s thoughts were in a-turmoil that evening, as she went about her usual duties. Although this chance of leaving Little Garsford seemed, in the circumstances, providential, since it would free her from the ordeal of seeing Beryl install
ed at
Garsford Manor as Andrew
’
s bride, the prospect of cutting herself off completely and for ever from Andrew was agonizingly painful. She told herself vehemently that it was not only weak, but definitely wrong, to wish to remain in Andrew
’
s neighborhood when he was married to another woman, yet she continued to feel, with an abjectness that infuriated her, that life would be empty of all meaning if she were never again to see that coppery head of his, set so erectly on his broad shoulders, if she were never to hear his deep voice and laugh,, feel his eyes on her face.
It seemed as though two voices were wrangling in her tired brain. One
was maintaining firmly:
“
It
’
s despicable to hang round after a man who doesn
’
t want you, who has merely been engaged in a mild flirtation with you.
”
And the other cried desperately:
“
I can
’
t bear to go right away. I
’
d rather stay—and continue to suffer.
”
Gradually pride, coupled with inherited tradition, began to win the day.
And
victory over her weakness was assured by a brief conversation with Geoffrey Barbin, who arrived unexpectedly with some fine heads of Celery, when she happened to be alone in the kitchen, getting the breakfast crockery together for the morning.
“
I say, Catherine,
”
he began, pushing his fair, untidy hair away from his forehead, as was his habit when embarrassed.
“
Can you advise me what to give Hilda for a Christmas present? It
’
s some time off yet, but I shall be in London next week, and I want to get her something absolutely corking; something she really wants.
”
Catherine stopped spooning marmalade out of a seven-pound jar, and looked at him attentively.
“
What do you want to give her?
”
she asked.
He gave a short laugh.
“
Something she wouldn
’
t look at,
”
he said.
“
An engagement ring!
”
“
I suppose that does want a little
leading up to,
”
she agreed,
“
after all the ill-humor she
’
s shown.
”
“
But what is she feeling bad about?
”
Geoffrey burst out.
“
She used to be a real sport—peppery, of course, but that never worried me. Now she looks
at me as though she didn
’
t see me. What have
I
done, that
’
s what I want to know?
”
“
My dear Geoffrey, she
’
s jealous—without the slightest foundation.
”
Catherine hesitated, then finished helplessly:
“
Jealous of me, if you can believe it.
”
He stared at her in astonishment
. “
Why, Catherine, that
’
s absurd. You and I have always been the best of friends—and we
’
ve had a chat sometimes about that-blacksmith uncle of mine who lives near your home. But what either of us have ever done or said to give anyone else cause for jealousy
—”
“
Jealousy is usually groundless,
”
Catherine pointed out, with a rueful smile.
“
Mind you, she didn
’
t much like the attitude you took up over the damage which she and the children did to Andrew Playdle
’
s hedge: she seemed to think you were siding against her.
”
“
If I
’
d realized she was feeling so sore, I
’
d have taken a bit of trouble to show her where she was wrong,
”
Geoffrey observed thoughtfully.
“
She probably imagines that a hedge just grows of itself, without anyone working on it. People who have lived in towns all their lives often seem to think that—if they think at all. They look at things without seeing them, if you know what I mean.
”
“
And
;
there was that business of your greenhouse,
”
Catherine went on quickly
,
afraid that at any moment Hilda might come bustling in and jump to the conclusion tha
t
she and Geoffrey were having a pleasant tete-a-tete.
“
She didn
’
t like my taking the children across to paint it. She wished she had thought of it herself. In fact, as I said before—she is jealous.
”
His open face cleared at that.
“
If that is so, she must like me a little, after all,
”
he exclaimed.
“
Of course she does,
”
Catherine declared, a shade impatiently.
“
I should have thought you would have known that.
”
“
How on earth can a man know a girl cares for him if she continually snubs him?
”
Geoffrey inquired somewhat indignantly.
“
Do you girls imagine that we wretched male creatures are thought-readers?
”
“
Hilda
’
s coming. Off with you.
”
Catherine, hea
r
ing Hilda
’
s decided footsteps was beginning to look positively nervous.
“
She
’
ll know I
’
ve been when she sees the celery,
”
Geoffrey
remarked sagely.
“
However, I
’
ll go. You
’
ve given me a line; and I believe if I play my cards
sensibly, between now and Christmas
—”
“
Quite,
”
retorted Catherine crisply, running to the door, and holding it open for him:
“
Meanwhile, for pity
’
s sake—get cracking!
”