Over the River

“Well, we didn’t mean to.”

“No, and you were an angel. Still, it’s not exactly what I promised Aunt Em. To the pure all things are not pure.”

“No—blast them! God! How shall I live till I see you again!”

Clare stretched her hand across the little table and gave his a squeeze.

“Now I think you’d better slip off. Just let me look out and see that the coast’s clear.”

When she had done this he kissed her hand, got back to his car, and by eleven o’clock was standing alongside a plumber in a horse box at Bablock Hythe…

Clare lay in a very hot bath. It was of the geyser type and not long enough, but it provided a good soak. She felt as when, a little girl, she had done something unpleasing to her governess, without discovery. But poor dear Tony! A pity men were so impatient. They had as little liking for cool philandering as for shopping. They rushed into shops, said: ‘Have you such and such? No?’ and rushed out again. They hated trying on, being patted here and there, turning their heads to look at their back views. To savour what was fitting was to them anathema. Tony was a child. She felt herself much older by nature and experience. Though much in request before her marriage, Clare had never come into close contact with those who, centred in London and themselves, were devoid of belief in anything but mockery, motion and enough money to have from day to day a ‘good’ time. At country houses she had met them, of course, but withdrawn from their proper atmosphere into the air of sport. Essentially an open-air person, of the quick and wiry, rather than the hefty, type, she observed unconsciously the shibboleths of sport. Transplanted to Ceylon, she had kept her tastes, and spent her time in the saddle or on the te

‘I’m naturally a light weight,’ she thought. ‘So is Tony; all the same he would never let one down!’

And the grass of the Temple lawn seemed suddenly the sea, and this window-sill the ship’s bulwark, and he and she leaned there watching the flying fish spring up from the foam and flitter away above the green-blue water. Warmth and colour! Airy shining grace! And she felt melancholy.

‘A good long ride is what I want,’ she thought. ‘I’ll go down to Condaford tomorrow, and on Saturday be out all day. I’ll make Di

The clerk entered and said: “Mr. Dornford’s going straight from the Courts to the ‘House’ this afternoon.”

“Ah! Do you ever feel hipped, George?”

The clerk, whose face always amused her because it so clearly should have had mutton-chop whiskers on its rosy roundness, replied in his cushiony voice:

“What I miss here is a dog. With my old Toby I never feel lonely.”

“What is he, George?”

“Bull terrier. But I can’t bring him here, Mrs. Calder’d miss him; besides, if he bit a solicitor—”

“But how perfect!”

George wheezed.

“Ah! you can’t have high spirits in the Temple.”

“I should have liked a dog, George, but when I’m out there’s no one in.”

“I don’t fancy Mr. Dornford’ll be residential here much longer.”

“Why?”

“He’s looking for a house. I’ve an idea he’d like to marry.”

“Oh! Whom?”

George closed an eye.

“You mean my sister?”

“Ah!”

“Yes. But I don’t see how you know.”

George closed the other eye.

“A little bird, Lady Corven.”

“He might do worse, certainly. Not that I’m a great believer in marriage.”

“We don’t see the right side of marriage in the Law. But Mr. Dornford would make a woman happy—in my opinion.”

“In mine, too, George.”

“He’s a very quiet man, but a fund of energy, and considerate. Solicitors like him; judges like him.”

“And wives will like him.”

“Of course he’s a Catholic.”

“We all have to be something.”

“Mrs. Calder and I’ve been Anglicans ever since my old dad died. He was a Plymouth Brother—very stiff. Express an opinion of your own, and he’d jump down your throat. Many’s the time I’ve had him threaten me with fire and slaughter. All for my good, you understand. A fine religious old feller. And couldn’t bear others not to be. Good red Zummerzet blood, and never forgot it, though he did live in Peckham.”

“Well, George, if Mr. Dornford wants me again after all, would you telephone me at five o’clock? I’ll look in at my rooms in case.”

Clare walked. The day was even more springlike than yesterday. She went by the Embankment and St. James’s Park. Alongside the water, clusters of daffodil spikes were pushing up, and tree-shoots swelling into bud. The gentle, warming sunlight fell on her back. It couldn’t last! There would be a throwback to winter, for sure! She walked fast out under the chariot, whose horses, not too natural, worried but exhilarated her, passed the Artillery Memorial without a glance, and entered Hyde Park. Warmed up now, she swung out along the Row. Riding was something of a passion with her, so that it always made her restive to see someone else riding a good horse. Queer animals, horses, so fiery and alive at one moment, so dull and ruminative the next!

Two or three hats were raised to her. A long man on a good-looking mare reined up after he had passed and came back.

“I thought it was you. Lawrence told me you were over. Remember me—Jack Muskham?”

Clare—thinking: ‘Lovely seat for a tall man!’—murmured: “Of course!” and was suddenly on her guard.

“An acquaintance of yours is going to look after my Arab mares.”

“Oh! yes, Tony Croom.”

“Nice young chap, but I don’t know if he knows enough. Still, he’s keen as mustard. How’s your sister?”

“Very well.”

“You ought to bring her racing, Lady Corven.”

“I don’t think Di

“I could soon make her. I remember—” he broke off, frowning. In spite of his languid pose, his face seemed to Clare purposeful, brown, lined, ironic about the lips. She wondered how he would take the news that she had spent last night with Tony in a car.

“When do the mares come, Mr. Muskham?”

“They’re in Egypt now. We’ll ship them in April. I might go over for it; possibly take young Croom.”

“I’d love to see them,” said Clare; “I rode an Arab in Ceylon.”

“We must get you down.”

“Somewhere near Oxford, isn’t it?”

“About six miles; nice country. I’ll remember. Good-bye!” He raised his hat, touched the mare with his heel, and cantered off.

‘My perfect i

Her nerves felt a little shaken, and she struck away from the Row towards the Serpentine.

The sunlit water had no boats on it, but a few ducks on the far side. Did she mind what people thought? Miller of Dee! Only, did he really care for nobody? Or was he just a philosopher? She sat down on a bench in the full sunlight, and suddenly felt sleepy. A night in a car, after all, was not quite the same as a night out of a car. Crossing her arms on her breast, she closed her eyes. Almost at once she was asleep.