Something rustled in the undergrowth, quite close; she saw a
pair of green eyes shining. Her heart jumped into her mouth. The thing
sprang—there was a swish of ferns and twigs, and silence. Noel clasped
her breast. A poaching cat! And again she moved forward. But she had
lost direction. 'I'm going round and round,' she thought. 'They
always do.' And the sinking scattered feeling of the “bushed”
clutched at her again. 'Shall I call?' she thought. 'I must be
near the road. But it's so babyish.' She moved on again. Her foot
struck something soft. A voice muttered a thick oath; a hand seized
her ankle. She leaped, and dragged and wrenched it free; and, utterly
unnerved, she screamed, and ran forward blindly.
V
No one could have so convinced a feeling as Jimmy Fort that he would be
a 'bit of a makeshift' for Noel. He had spent the weeks after his
interview with her father obsessed by her image, often saying to himself
“It won't do. It's playing it too low down to try and get that
child, when I know that, but for her trouble, I shouldn't have a
chance.” He had never had much opinion of his looks, but now he seemed
to himself absurdly old and dried-up in this desert of a London.
He loathed the Office job to which they had put him, and the whole
atmosphere of officialdom. Another year of it, and he would shrivel like
an old apple! He began to look at himself anxiously, taking stock of his
physical assets now that he had this dream of young beauty. He would
be forty next month, and she was nineteen! But there would be times
too when he would feel that, with her, he could be as much of a
“three-year-old” as the youngster she had loved. Having little hope
of winning her, he took her “past” but lightly. Was it not that past
which gave him what chance he had? On two things he was determined: He
would not trade on her past. And if by any chance she took him, he would
never show her that he remembered that she had one.
After writing to Gratian he had spent the week before his holiday began,
in an attempt to renew the youthfulness of his appearance, which made
him feel older, leaner, bonier and browner than ever. He got up early,
rode in the rain, took Turkish baths, and did all manner of exercises;
neither smoked nor drank, and went to bed early, exactly as if he had
been going to ride a steeplechase. On the afternoon, when at last he
left on that terrific pilgrimage, he gazed at his face with a sort of
despair, it was so lean, and leather-coloured, and he counted almost a
dozen grey hairs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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