British -- India -- Fiction; India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
Her husband leaned farther back into the shadow, his mouth hardened to
a rigid line. All that he chose to say on the subject had been said.
Emboldened by his silence, and the fact that his face was hidden from
her, she continued her small flow of remonstrance, undermining herself
more completely with each fresh word.
"It was all very well while you were a bachelor for you to go throwing
your life and your money about so foolishly. But now it's different;
and I don't think you have a right to do it any more. Where's the good
of us trying so hard to live on our pay, if it's only to be flung
about to help subalterns who don't try at all? You can't cure Mr
Denvil of being casual; and for all your generosity, you'll probably
find him in just as bad a hole again by this time next year."
The words stung him to sharp retort.
"I never asked for _your_ opinion of the Boy, Evelyn; and you seem to
forget that he has given me his word."
"Oh, no doubt he has! It's easy enough to make promises when one's
unhappy; but it isn't so easy to keep them when things get smooth
again." And she nodded her head wisely, for her conviction sprang from
the depths of personal experience.
Her husband rose and walked to the verandah's edge. Here he remained
standing, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his Norfolk coat,
his eyes fixed absently on the last gleam of light in the west, where
all that now remained of the sunset's stormy splendour was a handful
of filmy fragments, like rose petals dropped from some Olympian
rose-bush, and the sickle of a young moon, outrivalled by the mellow
radiance of the evening star. The snows lay dead and cold, awaiting
the resurrection of dawn. Their chill pallor struck at his heart in a
manner new to him.
Evelyn studied his eloquent outline with a mild surprise. She was not
a little proud of her valiant protest against his mistaken ideas; and
he was surely not foolish enough to be annoyed because she had talked
practical common-sense.
She went to him at last, and lightly touched his arm.
"You look as solemn as a funeral, Theo! Why don't you speak?"
"Because I have no more to say. Too much has been said already. I am
sorry I mentioned the matter at all."
With that he turned from her and entered the house.
Honor met him on the threshold, and her eyes were quick to catch the
lurking shadow in his. But she merely said what she had come to say.
"Mr Denvil is longing for you. I have done my small best to amuse him;
only there comes a stage when nothing will satisfy him but you.
Where's Evelyn?"
"Outside there. It's time she came in."
Honor found her by the verandah rails, standing like a pensive ghost
in the dying light.
"Studying the sunset, Evelyn?" she remarked cheerfully. "That's a new
departure for you!"
Whereat Evelyn flung out both hands--a pretty appealing gesture all
her own.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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