§ 22

after oswald had seen the car whisk through the gates into the road, and after he had rested on his crutches staring at the gates for a time, he had hobbled back to his study. he wanted to work, but he found it difficult to fix his attention. he was thinking of joan and peter, and for the first time in his life he was wondering why they had never fallen in love with each other. they seemed such good company for each other....

he was still engaged upon these speculations half an hour or so later, when he heard the car return and presently saw joan go past his window. she was flushed, and she was staring in front of her at nothing in particular. he had never seen joan looking so unhappy. in fact, so strong was his impression that she was unhappy that he doubted it, and he went to the window and craned out after her.

she was going straight up towards the arbour. with a slight hurry in her steps. she had her fur collar half turned up on one side, her hands were deep in her pockets, and something about her dogged walk reminded him of some long-forgotten moment, years ago it must have been, when joan, in hot water for some small offence, had been sent indoors at the ingle-nook.

he limped back to his chair and sat thinking her over.

“i wonder,” he said at last, and turned to his work again....

there was no getting on with it. half an hour later he accepted defeat. “peter has knocked us all crooked,” he said. “there’s no work for today.”

he would go out and prowl round the place and look at the roses. perhaps joan would come and talk. but at the gates he was amazed to encounter peter.

it was peter, hot and dusty from a walk of three miles, and carrying his valise with an aching left arm. there was a look of defiance in the eyes that stared fiercely out from under the perspiration-matted hair upon his forehead. he seemed to find oswald’s appearance the complete confirmation of the most disagreeable anticipations. thoughts of panic and desertion flashed upon oswald’s mind.

534“good god, peter!” he cried. “what brings you back?”

“i’ve come back for another week,” said peter.

“but your leave’s up!”

“i told a lie, sir. i’ve got another week.”

oswald stared at his ward.

“i’m sorry, sir,” said peter. “i’ve been making a fool of myself. i thought better of it. i got out of the train at standon and walked back here.”

“what does it mean, peter?” said oswald.

peter’s eyes were the most distressed eyes he had ever seen. “if you’d just not ask, sir, now——”

it is a good thing to deal with one’s own blood in a crisis. oswald, resting thoughtfully on his crutches, leapt to a kind of understanding.

“i’m going to hop down towards the village, peter,” said oswald, becoming casual in his manner. “i want some exercise.... if you’ll tell every one you’re back.”

he indicated the house behind him by a movement of his head.

peter was badly blown with haste and emotion. “thank you, sir,” he said shortly.

oswald stepped past him and stared down the road.

“mrs. moxton’s in the house,” he said without looking at peter again. “joan’s up the garden. see you when i get back, peter.... glad you’ve got another week, anyhow.... so long....”

he left peter standing in the gateway.

fear came upon peter. he stood quite still for some moments, looking at the house and the cedars. he dropped his valise at the front door and mopped his face. then he walked slowly across the lawn towards the terraces. he wanted to shout, and found himself hoarse. then on the first terrace he got out: “jo-un!” in a flat croak. he had to cry again: “jo-un!” before it sounded at all like the old style.

joan became visible. she had come out of the arbour at the top of the garden, and she was standing motionless, regarding him down the vista of the central path. she was white and rather dishevelled, and she stood quite still.

peter walked up the steps towards her.

535“i’ve come back, joan,” he said, as he drew near. “i want to talk to you.... come into the arbour.”

he took her arm clumsily and led her back into the arbour out of sight of the house. then he dropped her arm.

“joan,” he said, “i’ve been the damndest of fools ... as you said.... i don’t know why.”...

he stood before her awkwardly. he was trembling violently. he thought he was going to weep.

he could not touch her again. he did not dare to touch her.

then joan spread out her arms straight and stood like a crucifix. her face, which had been a dark stare, softened swiftly, became radiant, dissolved into a dusky glow of tears and triumph. “oh! petah my darling,” she sobbed, and seized him and kissed him with tear-salt lips and hugged him to herself.

the magic barrier was smashed at last. peter held her close to him and kissed her....

it was the second time they had kissed since those black days at high cross school....