Chapter 6

"I don't know about that," said Mrs. Bradford. "I saw a case in the paper of a man who fancied he heard a drum beating when there was nothing at all, really."

"But I'm not 'a case,'" said Miss Ethel, tartly, pressing her hand to her forehead. "And I'm going to see if the men really _have_ left or not."

Mrs. Bradford glanced out of the window. "Well, you must want something to do," she said. "You might just hand me that sheet you were reading, as you go out."

The door banged. Miss Ethel's dim form was visible for a moment as she passed the window then the mist hid her altogether.

Caroline was also engulfed in it as soon as she came out of the little shelter at the entrance of the promenade. She could taste it on her lips, the wet drops clung to her eyelashes. Lillie, who had just arrived to take her place, looked all out of curl like a moulting bird, but both of them were spiritualized by the grey mist which blurred their outlines and through which their lips and eyes showed fresh and wistful.

"Pity you've got your new hat on, Carrie," said Lillie, shaking out her knitted cap. Then she giggled. "But I suppose you were expecting to meet your boy at the train."

Carrie shook her head. "No, I'm going back home first. I have to see about supper."

"I expect you'll take the place on altogether when the season's over," said the girl.

"Not me!" said Caroline, answering the faint echo of condescension in the other's tone. "I've told you time and again, Lillie, how it was I went there. What's more, I'm telling Miss Ethel to-night that I can't stop any longer."

She had not meant to do it precisely on this evening, but suddenly found herself in possession of a full-fledged decision.

"What are you going to do after the prom. closes then," said Lillie.

"Take a post in an office in Flodmouth," said Caroline.

"But you can't do typewriting or shorthand," said Lillie, unimpressed. "You won't find it so easy. I know I had my work set to get a decent job to go to in October, and I'm thoroughly trained. I only took to this on account of my health. I never----"

"You've told me that before," interposed Caroline shortly. "And I can do typewriting. I have been taking lessons with Miss Wannock."

"Well, I wish you luck, I'm sure," said Lillie shortly, shutting down the little window with a click to keep out the damp. She was sufficiently good-hearted, but the trades union spirit was in her and she did not like the idea that another girl should find a post without going through exactly the same training as herself.

Caroline turned towards the main road where nobody could be distinguished twenty yards away and men looked like trees walking; but after a minute or two she noticed something in the general shape and gait of a man coming her way which made her feel sure it was Wilson. She wondered whether he would speak if he caught her up, or whether he would fail to recognize her in the mist, or would give a brief good afternoon and pass on. She slackened speed a little, for though she was still angry with him it would be a "bit of fun" to hear what he had to say. There was also another and far more potent reason. If he walked with her, Lillie would be proved in the wrong; for he would not walk and talk with one whom he regarded as his relatives' maid-servant. But he was nearly past and did not look her way.

"Good evening, Mr. Wilson," she piped then; her voice sounding crudely loud to herself in the grey stillness. But she had to prove her place in the world--make certain of it, lest she should lose it.

"Oh!" He swung round, peering into her face--at first not remembering her. Then something in her bright glance reminded him. "So it is you, is it? Hurrying home to get ready to dance again to-night, I suppose?" He spoke indifferently, disinclined for adventure in the chill, damp atmosphere of this late afternoon. Still he went on, being by nature somewhat expansive. "Is Miss Wilson at home this afternoon, do you know?" then fell into step by Caroline's side without thinking of it.

"Yes. Were you wanting to see her?" said Caroline; but underneath, she was saying to herself: "If I'd done what Aunt Creddle wanted, and been a servant out and out, I should never have walked with Mr. Wilson like this." She felt consciously proud of being a "business girl"--one of the great company that had every evening free, and could wear low necks and powder their faces. But there was more than that in it----

Wilson glanced sideways at her, vaguely satisfied with the lightness of her step by his side and the look of her lips and eyes through the mist. His interest was beginning to wake again. "I am going to the Cottage with some tickets for that Garden Fête for the Hospital which Miss Ethel and Miss Temple are helping to get up."

"Oh, can I take them?" said Caroline.

"No, thank you. I have a message from Miss Temple to deliver as well," he answered.

There was practically no one to be seen on the road--only a few distant objects moving in the mist--and it would have been awkward for either of them to leave the other, so they settled down to walk all the way to the Cottage together.

She spoke abruptly, nervously. "I'm leaving soon, you know. I'm going into an office. I can type, but I can't do shorthand. Still, I aren't afraid of work. If only I could get a bit more practice I should be a very quick typist--the teacher says so."

He walked on, saying nothing, and she thought she had offended him--no doubt he feared she was going to ask him to give her a job. She flushed crimson and added quickly: "I shall find a job all right. A friend of mine is looking round for me."

He turned to her, smiling, and his tone was slightly more familiar than it would have been to a girl of his ordinary acquaintance. "I see. The friend I saw you with at the dance. Well, I hope he'll find what you want."

"I have no doubt he will, thank you," said Caroline.

Wilson was silent for a few minutes. "Look here," he said, "I think we have a spare machine at the office that I could lend you for a time to practise on. You must have practice."

Then he waited complacently for her to swing round towards him--as she did--her eyes and voice filled with surprised gratitude: for he was getting on well in the world himself, and he liked sometimes to feel what a good-hearted fellow he was, in spite of it.

"Oh, that's all right," he said. "But I am sorry you have to leave Miss Wilson."

"So am I, in a way. But you must look after yourself in these days," said Caroline, repeating her formula. "Things aren't like they used to be." She paused. "My goodness, I'm glad they aren't! Fancy if I had had to be another Aunt Ellen all my life."

He laughed, pleased with himself and her. "Well, I must own that I'm glad I was not born into a stagnant world."

A sense of power--of vitality heightened by the stormy times in which they lived, ran through them both as they spoke. It was rather like the feeling of a strong swimmer in a roughish sea, with fitful sunshine and little breakers far out towards the horizon.

By this time they had reached the Cottage and Caroline went in to announce Wilson's arrival. Mrs. Bradford was still reading her paper, but Miss Ethel had not yet returned from her errand to see if the workmen were still working at the new houses.

"I can't think," said Mrs. Bradford, "what Ethel means by going on like this. She just ran out with a shawl round her, and has been absent three-quarters of an hour. I told her the men had stopped work, but she would go to see for herself. I am afraid she may have fallen over a brick or something in the fog." She turned to Caroline. "I wish you would just go and see."

Caroline went out at once and Wilson followed her with a word to Mrs. Bradford. As they crossed the garden the privet hedge loomed like a wall, and above it could be seen the dim outline of brickwork left jaggedly unfinished. Caroline stumbled as she went through the little side gate beyond the hedge, but righted herself immediately, and Wilson withdrew the hand he had put out to help her. Then they walked cautiously among the bricks in the long grass, calling out: "Are you there? Are you there?" But all was dead silence. At last Caroline caught her foot on something soft--dreadful. She had yet no idea why it was dreadful. Then she bent closer. "Miss Ethel! It's Miss Ethel!" She went down on her knees in the long grass. "Miss Ethel! Are you hurt?"

There was no answer, and Caroline said over her shoulder in a quick, low voice: "You'd better go and fetch a doctor. We must not move her until we know if she has broken anything. Send Mrs. Bradford with some rugs."

And though she was so terribly sorry, she was also pleased with her self-control. Aunt Ellen and Aunt Creddle would not have been able to take it like this when they were nineteen. This was what darted through Caroline's mind, even while she spoke.

But the next moment Miss Ethel moaned a little and began to sit up, looking round her affrightedly at the half-built walls in the mist. "What's the matter? What's the matter? I'm on the wrong side of the hedge." Then she remembered and began to shiver violently from head to foot. "I know. I came to see if the men were working. But they were not. The field was all empty. It--I was so sure I heard them--it startled me not to find them here. I think I must have fainted."

"Hush! Don't bother to talk now, Miss Ethel," said Caroline. "You are all right now."

"You are sure you have not broken any bones?" said Wilson.

"Bones? No." Miss Ethel was recovering herself quickly. "It's nothing. I shall be all right in a minute or two. Here, give me your hand, Caroline."

"I daresay you tripped over a brick, Miss Ethel; I very nearly did," said Caroline, helping her to rise.

"Yes, that was it, that was it!" said Miss Ethel, speaking with a sort of exhausted eagerness.

At first as they went up the field she held Wilson's arm, but soon released it and went forward alone. "I'm all right now," she insisted. "Quite all right."

Mrs. Bradford came out into the hall as they entered, and billows of salt mist followed them in. "Shut the door, please," she said. "Then you were not lost, Ethel. What on earth were you doing out there? I began to get quite uneasy about you."

Miss Ethel, turning quickly, gave a look at the two who followed her, but she herself had no idea of its pathos and urgency. "I just tripped on a brick and was stunned for a few minutes--nothing to matter."

So Caroline and Wilson knew they were to let it go at that.

"And had the men gone?" said Mrs. Bradford.

"Yes." She paused. "I thought I would just have a look round."

"You are so restless, Ethel; why can't you keep quiet like me?" said Mrs. Bradford fretfully. "It is a great mercy you didn't break a leg."

Caroline went out of the room to make a cup of tea for Miss Ethel, and when she was lighting the gas-ring Wilson came in hurriedly, saying in a low voice: "I say, you won't mention anything about leaving them to-night, will you!"

"What do you take me for?" whispered Caroline back.

"A girl with her head screwed on the right way," he said. "Then you'll stay and look after them for a little while longer, anyway? I may tell Miss Temple that, may I?"

"You can tell who you like. I shall not mention leaving until Miss Ethel is better," said Caroline.

"Good girl! And I won't forget the typewriting machine," he answered. "One good turn deserves another. That sounds like Miss Panton, doesn't it?" And with that he hurried out of the kitchen.

_Chapter VIII_

_The Height of the Season_

The sea-roke lasted for nearly two days and then lifted, the damp, chill air giving place to cloudless sunshine. But even now, when the sun was setting, no cool wind blew in from the sea across the promenade thronged with people in thin dresses. This was so unusual in Thorhaven that those familiar with the place kept saying to each other at intervals: "Fancy being able to sit here at this hour without a coat! The air from the sea puffs into your face as if it came out of an oven----"

The band played outside to-night--not in the hall--and a woman with a good voice strained by open-air concerts during the past summer was singing a song in which the words "love" and "roses" seemed to come with more frequency and on higher notes than the rest, so that they reached the extremist limits of the promenade, floating above the heads of Caroline and Wilf as they sat extended on canvas chairs watching those who walked slowly up and down. It was the night of the visitor _in excelsis_. Stout, important matrons wearing the dresses they had for afternoon calls at home in the towns moved slowly along in small groups, with a solid man or so in attendance who smoked his pipe or cigar and said little, but that little rather jocular. Girls tripped by, either pale with the heat, or flushed, or protected from extremes of temperature by a heavy layer of powder: and flappers with pert faces and fluffy hair swung gaily along, always with a generous display of fat neatly-stockinged leg. But it was all charming, particularly in the evening light, because there was about it all such an appealing atmosphere of youth and summer.

Caroline and Wilf leaned back at their ease in their chairs, making remarks on those who went past. He was tired with the day's work in a stifling office in Flodmouth, and she with her extra household occupations at the Cottage owing to Miss Ethel's indisposition.

"Good thing I happen to be only relieving Lillie this week," she said. "If it had been my turn to stop all day, I don't know what they would have done at the Cottage. But Miss Ethel is better now. I had meant to tell them I was leaving--that night she was taken ill, you know."

"Well, I think it is a pity you hadn't got it done," said Wilf. "They'll be up to any dodge to keep you now. I know 'em." And he shook his head wisely.

"You surely don't imagine Miss Ethel sort of felt I was going to give notice, and so fell down and hurt herself on purpose?" said Caroline, laughing.

But Wilf, pallid and exhausted with a burning day in a Flodmouth office--his nerves slightly upset by too many cigarettes--was in no mood to be chaffed.

"I never gave a hint at anything so ridiculous," he answered fretfully. "I simply say that in my opinion you are not in your right position there, and if you consult my wishes, you'll make other arrangements as soon as possible. I did tell you so before, I think."

"And I meant to do it," said Caroline. "Honour bright, I did." She glanced at him sideways. "I don't care about it any more than you. Only I promised Mr. Wilson I would stop on until Miss Ethel was better."

"Wilson!" said Wilf. "What's he to do with it, I should like to know. He doesn't seem to me to bother much about the old girls as a rule." Then certain vague memories of that dance in the promenade hall which had not been entirely obliterated by Wilson's skilful treatment came back with renewed vividness. "I see what it is; he's after you himself. So long as you stop at the Cottage, he knows where to put his hand on you. You needn't think I was such an owl as not to see he was taken with you that night on the promenade. You know--when you had the red dress on. But you needn't flatter yourself much over that sort of attention, I can tell you. He'd have gone on just the same with any sort of girl out of Flodmouth who happened to take his fancy for the minute. You don't know men of his sort like I do. And now you're silly enough to stop on at the Wilsons just because he asks you: even when I ask you not. It's time you learnt----"

"Don't talk rot!" interrupted Caroline--a sudden heat of anger flushing her all over as she jumped up from her seat. "I'm nothing to Wilson and he's nothing to me. Look there--if you want any proof. That doesn't look as if he had eyes for any other girl but his own, does it?"

Wilf glanced in the direction indicated, and Caroline sat down again. Then they both watched Wilson coming down the promenade with Laura Temple, whose happy face was turned towards her lover with a glow of trust and confidence upon it that no one could mistake: and when he looked at her, his rather coarse-featured, harsh face was softened a little, as if irradiated by that glow. They walked close together, talking gaily as they threaded in and out of the crowd from which advancing twilight had begun to steal the bright colours. Soon all girls wearing white, even those with bold features and exaggerated coiffures, became exquisite in that half light: and across the still expanse of darkening sea the Flamborough Beacon swung out, white--white--red; a night made for young lovers.

But the two who sat on the long chairs by the rail of the promenade were letting it all go by, engrossed in their own pricking dissatisfaction. "Well, what does it matter to me whether Mr. Wilson and Miss Temple look soppy over each other, or not?" said Caroline. Then she rose again abruptly: "My head aches. I'm tired of watching all these people go past. It makes me feel dizzy. Let's go for a turn on the cliff."

He remained obstinately seated on the canvas chair, his legs stretched out before him. "What's the use? When we've just paid twopence each for our chairs? They'll be snapped up in a minute and we shan't get any when we come back."

"All right. You stop where you are," said Caroline, walking away.

He let her go until she reached the exit that led towards the cliff top, then reluctantly rose from his seat and with long strides caught her up. "Oh, don't you come if you don't want to. I'm all right," she said over her shoulder.

"Don't be soft. People would think we'd quarrelled," said Wilf.

"Let them think, then," said Caroline.

"Oh, that's it, is it?" He stood still. "I can go back if you don't want me, you know. I'm not one to force myself on anybody."

"All right. Go back." They stood on the cliff beyond the promenade peering into each other's angry faces, in the translucent dusk reflected from the great expanse of sky and sea.

"You mean that?"

"Yes, I do."

"You want things to come to an end between us?"

"I'm not particular." She paused, then drew a long breath. "Yes--as you put it like that--I do."

"Well, if you do it now, it's done for good. You won't whistle me back again, you know. I'm not that sort. If I go, I go." He paused, adding with a sudden spurt of anger at her injustice: "And I shan't come back if you crawl on your hands and knees after me from one end of the promenade to the other. I haven't done nothing. What's the matter with you? But I can tell you. You're gone on that Wilson."

"I aren't gone on him," said Caroline angrily. "A man I hardly know. You must have got a bee in your bonnet, Wilf."

"I may, or I may not, but I'm not going to have my future wife conduct herself in a silly style without saying a word," he answered with youthful pomposity.

"Your wife! It hasn't got to that yet," said Caroline. Then she thrust her face nearer to his, adding impulsively: "It would be years and years before we could think of marrying. I didn't plan ahead like that when we started keeping company, and I don't feel as if I could ever look on you as a future husband, Wilf. I don't feel I ever shall want to marry you--not now it comes to it."

"Then that's why you wouldn't have my ring," he said, his face blank and pale in the twilight. He began to see that it was all real--not just a "tiff" such as they had had before.

"I suppose so," said Caroline, her tone changing too--becoming anxious and slightly troubled. "I didn't realize at the time, but I expect I was shying away from the idea, if you know what I mean?"

"Oh, I know what you mean well enough. You're tired of me, and you want to turn me down. But let me tell you you won't find fellows like me growing on every gooseberry bush. I've always treated you like a gentleman--I have. I never hinted a word when you were going out as day girl to that woman who keeps a little shop in your street, though I could see some of my pals thought I was walking out a bit beneath myself. And this is the return I get." He jerked his hat back on his head. "It's enough to make a chap go to the dogs and enjoy himself: blest if it isn't!"

"I'm sorry, Wilf. I know I'm behaving like a perfect pig, but when it comes to marrying, you must have the right sort of feeling, or where are you?" said Caroline.

"Well, I only know one thing. I wish to goodness I had bought that second-hand motor-bike I wanted, instead of saving up the money against getting married! Why, I fair couldn't sleep for thinking about it: and now Simpson has bought it. And it was all for you. And now this is how I'm treated."

"Oh, Wilf! You never told me. I never knew about the motor-bike," said Caroline, taken aback.

"There's lots of things you don't know about," said Wilf. "However, if you're bent on ending it all, I shan't try to stop you. _I_ aren't one to force myself upon a girl that doesn't want me."

Caroline's lip began to tremble "Wilf, if I'd known about you giving up the motor-bike I wouldn't never have spoken as I did. I do feel a beast. But you have to think about yourself in this world or nobody'll think for you. I can't see any reason in going on as we are doing for years and then getting married when we're both dead sick of it all and of each other. We only keep each other back. We should be better free."

"Meaning you want to be free?" He had to pause a minute, owing to a thickness in his throat. "All right. I shan't hold you to it. You go and see if you can find a chap that can marry you straight off. That's what you want. You'd never have broken with me if I'd had a big house and plenty of money. I should not have been too young for you then. You'd not have had to chuck me over then, to better yourself."

She was weeping now--very grieved to hurt him, and yet, beneath her softness, an iron determination to do what was best for herself; no thought of sacrifice because of his pain entering her head. "I'm so sorry, Wilf. I'm so sorry," she murmured.

But he felt she was implacable. She was armoured by that phrase of hers, she'd "got to do the best for herself," and he knew he had no weapon to pierce that armour.

They both stood on the edge of the cliff in silence, looking towards the north where the Flamborough lights gleamed out at regular intervals across the dark water. The promenade lay behind them, a fringe of pale lights twinkling along the shore.

Caroline was crying for the sorrow she had given Wilf, but that only lay on the surface, though genuine enough. Beneath that, all unknowing, she mourned a loss which nothing could restore. She and Wilf had given each other that first bloom of young attraction--bright glances, touches, cool kisses almost without passion--and no power could bring that back. They felt miserable, standing there with the little waves coming in--whish! whish!--upon the gravelly patch of sand: for there lay at the bottom of their hearts a sense of something irretrievably wasted, which they could never have in life any more.

"Well." He spoke first, bitterly. "I hope you may get your rich chap. As you've no more need for me, I may as well go."

"I'm not throwing you over for that, Wilf," said Caroline in a low voice.

His subdued mood spurted up with a sudden irritability of jarred nerves again. "Then what are you for? That's what I should like to know."

"I--I----" She sought to give him a true answer. "You're not old enough. I want a man, now I'm older. You won't be twenty-one for two years."