CHAPTER XIV.

WHAT ARE YOUR WISHES?

Nina was standing by the chart-room door, knocking daintily to attract the attention of her husband, who sat at his writing-table.

“Oh, you have condescended to come at last,” he said, opening the door. “You have managed to tear yourself from your trio of friends to oblige me.”

“I am always happy to oblige you with a short interview,” she said, suavely; “that is but a small concession.”

He checked a smile. She was playing a grand lady and aping Miss Marsden.

“I apologise for disturbing you,” and he, too, took on a grand manner; “but an interview was necessary. We shall be at the dock in two hours. Then there will be a general scattering, and I shall be busy. Will you kindly express your wishes with regard to your choice of domicile?”

“Is it of any use for me to express my wishes,” she said, with the utmost sweetness, “when you have probably already arrived at an inalterable decision?”

“I certainly have an invitation for you, birdie,” he said, kindly.

“An invitation?” and her eyebrows went up. “May I ask from whom?”

“From Lady Forrest.”

“Lady Forrest!”

“Yes; she would like you to spend a fortnight with her.”

He saw that his young wife was secretly pleased, although she said, coolly enough, “That little quiet woman! I have scarcely spoken to her.”

“She has been about with you, has she not, while you and your dear friends were having your musicales, and you have been civil to her?”

“Such trifling things: only to get her a seat, or talk to her when she looked lonely.”

“The trifling things are the ones that count. It would be a good place for you to visit. They are sound people, though Sir Henry is a bit of a snob.”

“Suppose I do not care for this visit, what plan have you in your wisdom arranged for me?”

“If you were a model wife you would not ask for plans.”

“May I ask what your idea of a model wife’s duty would be just now?”

“A regular story-book wife,” he said, banteringly, “hangs around her husband’s neck, and exclaims, ‘Take me with you! I cannot be parted from you!’”

Nina bridled, sat up a trifle straighter, and said, conventionally, although demurely: “Take into consideration the fact that a model wife has usually a model husband.”

“Right you are,” he said, idly tearing in pieces an envelope that he took from the table. Presently he looked up. “Have you been quite happy the last few days?”

“Quite happy, thank you.”

“You seem to have been having a lively time.”

“Very lively; Miss Marsden is charming.”

“And Mr. Maybury.”

“Mr. Maybury, too,” and she gave him a steely glance from the corner of her eye, that made his blood thrill in his veins. She was furious with him, but she was getting over her babyish habit of exploding into wrath on every available occasion. She had missed his devotion. So very warm the first part of the voyage, so very cold the latter. With the sensitiveness of her sex, she had resented the change in his conduct that had drawn upon her the comment of outsiders. Perhaps the captain was not, after all, so wrapped up in his pretty wife, the passengers would observe; and very likely they had been expressing their pity in some unostentatious way that she would be quick to notice and to resent, and that would make her more wrathy with him.

“Suppose I do not wish to visit the Forrests,” she was saying, in a hard voice. “Is there no other place for me?”

“Apart from me, you would say, birdie,” he remarked, gently. “Yes, you may board somewhere in Liverpool, or, if I get a chance, I will send you on to London.”

“Why could I not go with Miss Marsden?”

“She is going to visit relatives. She would not care to have you tagging after her.”

“But I suppose there are hotels in London.”

“Yes, a few; but with your recently acquired worldly wisdom it is remarkable that it does not occur to you that, at your age, and with your inexperience, travelling alone would be attended by numberless difficulties. Englishwomen are reserved. You could not strike up friendships here as you could in America.”

“I wish I were in America,” she said, with sudden heat.

“So do I, birdie. I am sorry I brought you with me.”

His calm remark threw her into a sudden confused surprise, to cover which she asked, quickly, “What are you going to do with yourself?”

“I shall stay here for some days, then take a run over to Paris, I think.”

“And--and when shall I see you?” she faltered.

“Any time you drop me a line. If I don’t get one I will run in and say good-bye the evening before we are off to sea again. That will be about ten days hence.”

“But I,--what am I to do?”

“You want to stay in England, don’t you?”

“Yes--no--I don’t know.”

“As you are here, you might as well stay for awhile,” he said, good-humouredly. “I will find some middle-aged lady to chaperone you, and you can travel a bit.”

“But I don’t like this country. I want to go back to America.”

“Do you want to go with me?”

She made no response, and he continued, “I can’t let you go with any other person. I think you had better wait over a trip.”

“Very well,” she said, with a return to composure, “I will visit Lady Forrest. Shall I go and see her now?”

He nodded, then as she rose he said, softly, “Won’t you kiss your husband, little girl, before you leave him?”

She flung up her head. Wilfulness, wounded pride, and obstinacy were working within her. She knew now that, although his homage was distasteful to her, she had been disturbed by the discontinuance of it. And he was speaking coolly of leaving her. She did not know whether he was in earnest or not. And she was to write to him if she wished to see him. Did he forget that that was a reversal of the natural order of things? The man should seek the woman, not the woman the man. Well, she could convey a lesson to him on that point.

“When I wish to kiss you, I will come to you,” she said, frigidly.

She expected this cut to have the effect of repulsing him, for he was following her to the door, but it did not.

“Do you know, soulless wax doll,” he asked, putting his head on one side, and trying to appear pathetic, “why Lady Forrest presented me with that invitation instead of you?”

“Why, no,” replied Nina, coming to an abrupt stop, and looking considerably disturbed. “So she should have asked me. I am married--I never thought--”

“She came upon me a day ago,” pursued Captain Fordyce, in the same meaning voice; “you were all singing in the music-room. I was behind the bars outside like an angel cast out of paradise.”

“A fallen angel,” whispered Nina.

“Fallen or unfallen, I was there. She came on me in her quiet way. She sees more than one thinks for. She was sorry for me because I was--”

“Don’t say that word,” exclaimed the girl, harshly; “I can’t endure it.”

“What word, birdie?”

“That hateful word--you do it on purpose. You want to play upon my feelings,” she said, passionately; “I will not have it.”

“Upon my life,” he interposed, with an air of genuine bewilderment, “I don’t know what it is.”

“It is ‘lonely,’ and you are not ‘lonely,’--you cannot be. There are people all around you. You are always busy. I think you are perfectly hor--horrid to me,” and with her air of fine ladyhood all gone she went stumbling down the steps. She had not changed so much, after all.

A few hours later her voyage across the Atlantic was already a thing of the past. Seated beside Sir Hervey and Lady Forrest, she was being driven swiftly through the streets of Liverpool to their home on the borders of Prince’s Park. Sir Hervey was fussing about the exactions of custom-house officers, his wife was patiently listening to him; so Nina had leisure for allowing her mind to run backward and dwell on the occurrences of the last few hours.

It had cost her a severe pang to part from her travelling companions. Perhaps it was on account of Miss Marsden’s kindness to her. Some day, though, they were to meet again. Her new friend had assured her of that.

Captain Eversleigh had also taken leave of her with the utmost friendliness; and Mr. Maybury had promised to visit Rubicon Meadows sometime for the fishing. Everybody had been kind but ’Steban,--the hard-hearted ’Steban. Only a brief, “Good-bye, Nina, take care of yourself,” and he was gone. He might have been a little tender at the last, especially as there were strangers about,--strangers who were observing and critical. Well, possibly absence would bring him to his senses, and he would find the happy medium between excessive devotion and cold neglect.

The carriage stopped. They were approaching one of Cowper’s “Citizen-delighting, suburban villas--highwayside retreats.” The footman descended from his box, sprang to the carriage door, and Nina found herself meekly following Lady Forrest into a house that at first blush seemed to her a dream of grandeur.