Flowering Wilderness

‘My God!’ thought Sir Lawrence. He had suddenly realised that to deaden feeling on any subject one only needed to sit in conclave. Whenever the Government got into trouble, they appointed a Commission. Whenever a man did something wrong, he went into consultation with solicitor and counsel. If he himself hadn’t been sitting in conclave, would he ever have gone to see Desert and put the fat into the fire like this? The conclave had dulled his feelings. He had gone to Wilfrid as some juryman comes in to return his verdict after sitting in conclave on a case for days. And now he had to put himself right with Di

“Lawrence, you must tell her exactly what you’ve done, and how he took it. Otherwise it may be too late. And I shall stay until you’ve done it.”

“Considering, Em, that you don’t know what I said, or what he said, that seems superfluous.”

“No,” said Lady Mont, “nothing is, when a man’s done wrong.”

“I was charged to go and see him by your family.”

“You ought to have had more sense. If you treat poets like i

“On the contrary, he thanked me.”

“That’s worse. I shall have Di

“Em,” said Sir Lawrence, “when you want to make your will, let me know.”

“Why?”

“Because of getting you consecutive before you start.”

“Anything I have,” said Lady Mont, “is to go to Michael, to be kept for Catherine. And if I’m dead when Kit goes to Harrow, he’s to have my grandfather’s ‘stirrup-cup’ that’s in the armoire in my sitting-room at Lippin’hall. But he’s not to take it to school with him, or they’ll melt it, or drink boiled peppermints out of it, or something. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly.”

“Then,” said Lady Mont, “get ready and begin at once when Di

“Quite!” said Sir Lawrence meekly. “But how the deuce am I to put it to Di

“Just put it, and don’t invent as you go along.”

Sir Lawrence played a tune with his fingers on the window-pane. His wife stared at the ceiling. They were like that when Di

“Keep Miss Di

At the sight of his niece Sir Lawrence perceived that he had indeed lost touch with feeling. Her face, under its chestnut-coloured hair, was sharpened and blanched, and there was a look in her eyes that he did not like.

“Begin,” said Lady Mont.

Sir Lawrence raised one high thin shoulder as if in protection.

“My dear, your brother has been recalled, and I was asked whether I would go and see young Desert. I went. I told him that if he had a quarrel with himself he would not be fit to live with till he’d made it up. He said nothing and turned off. Afterwards he came up behind me in this street, and said that I was right. Would I tell your family that he was going away. He looked very queer and troubled. I said: ‘Be careful! You might do her a great injury.’ ‘I shall do her that, anyway,’ he said. And he went off. That was about twenty minutes ago.”

Di

A moment later they heard her cab move off.

CHAPTER 28

Except for receiving a little note in answer to her letter, which relieved her not at all, Di

“You mustn’t put me off, Stack, I MUST see Mr. Desert.” And, slipping past, she opened the door of the sitting-room. Wilfrid was pacing up and down.

“Di

She felt that if she said the wrong thing it might be, then and there, the end; and she only smiled. He put his hands over his eyes; and, while he stood thus blinded, she stole up and put her arms round his neck.

Was Jean right? Ought she to—?

Then, through the opened door Foch came in. He slid the velvet of his muzzle under her hand, and she sank on her knees to kiss him. When she looked up, Wilfrid had turned away. Instantly she scrambled up, and stood, as it were, lost. She did not know of what, if of anything, she thought, not even whether she were feeling. All seemed to go blank within her. He had thrown the window open and was leaning there holding his hands to his head. Was he going to throw himself out? She made a violent effort to control her nerves, and said very gently: “Wilfrid!” He turned and looked at her, and she thought: ‘My God! He hates me!’ Then his expression changed, and became the one she knew; and she was aware once more of how at sea one is with wounded pride—so multiple and violent and changing in its moods!

“Well?” she said. “What do you wish me to do?”

“I don’t know. The whole thing is mad. I ought to have buried myself in Siam by now.”

“Would you like me to stay here to-night?”

“Yes! No! I don’t know.”

“Wilfrid, why take it so hard? It’s as if love were nothing to you. Is it nothing?”

For answer he took out Jack Muskham’s letter.

“Read this!”

She read it. “I see. It was doubly unfortunate that I came down.”

He threw himself down again on the divan, and sat there looking up at her.

‘If I do go,’ thought Di

“Stack’s got something, I believe.”

“Would there be enough for me?”

“Too much, if you feel as I do.”

She rang the bell.

“I’m staying to di

And, craving for a moment in which to recover her balance, she said: “May I have a wash, Wilfrid?”

While she was drying her face and hands, she took hold of herself with all her might, and then as suddenly relaxed. Whatever she decided would be wrong, painful, perhaps impossible. Let it go!

When she came back to the sitting-room he was not there. The door into his bedroom was open, but it was empty. Di

“Excuse me, miss: Mr. Desert was called out. He told me to say he would write. Di

Di

“Your first impression of me was the right one, Stack; not your second. I am going now. Mr. Desert need have no fear of me. Tell him that, please.”

“Miss,” said Stack, “I told you he was very sudden; but this is the most sudden thing I’ve ever known him do. I’m sorry, miss. But I’m afraid it’s a case of cutting your losses. If I can be of service to you, I will.”

“If he leaves England,” said Di

“If I know Mr. Desert, miss, he means to go. I’ve seen it coming on him ever since he had that letter the night before you came round in the early morning.”

“Well,” said Di

They exchanged a hand-grip, and, still u