DIANA IS RESTLESS

It would be most difficult, indeed well-nigh impossible, for any chronicler to describe the state of Diana’s feelings that afternoon; and very certain that under no circumstances would she have attempted to describe them herself. The swift coming into life of the love between her and van Hert was like the man who said he had not been born, he just happened. One could imagine Diana calmly stating their love had no explanation, it just happened. Perhaps it had been there longer than either of them knew; perhaps it took form suddenly when each realised the unsubstantial nature of the engagement to Meryl. Diana had always had a special liking for van Hert, and had said so openly; but as he had for some time been presented in her mind as her cousin’s lover, there had been no reason why the liking should grow to anything warmer, and probably it never would have. But when she thoroughly realised how unsatisfactory a basis he was about to build his wedded happiness upon, a certain resentment on his behalf took shape in her mind, as well as troubled anxiety for Meryl. From this it was not a very far step to a warmer feeling still, and as we have seen, the old gaieties ceased to attract her if he was not a partaker. And then, knowing well that Meryl’s heart was given elsewhere, she spent no anxious moments as to whether this warmer feeling of hers were unfair to her cousin. It was as though it was just held in abeyance waiting for something to happen; and when the something had happened, she swam out fearlessly into the deep water. With van Hert it had necessarily been different. He knew nothing of Carew, and only felt vaguely that Meryl had changed; nothing tangible that he could take hold of, and yet a something that was as an invisible barrier between their closer knowledge of each other. Puzzled and baffled, he turned with eagerness to Diana’s frank camaraderie, to awake suddenly one evening to the fact that, unknown to him, his heart had slipped out of his and Meryl’s keeping into hers. Yet even then he tried to deny the change even to himself; he would not believe he could so suddenly transfer his affection. It was not until later, seeing the whole from the vantage-ground of distance, that he realised his affections had not been transferred. His affection for Meryl still existed; he admired her profoundly as before. What had died was his desire, starved by the growing sense that she chiefly suffered his caress. But he had not the moral courage to go to her frankly and tell her this; and rather than face the consequences he attempted to stifle this strong longing for Diana and put himself beyond the reach of it. Fortunately for all three, that practical common sense of Diana’s, which she was pleased to call selfish commonplaceness, dared swift, unconventional measures, careless of consequences, rather than to sit still and let the mistake pass beyond recall.

But at the beginning she had not given much thought to her own personal feelings in the matter, and it was only after the ride with van Hert she found these suddenly confronting her in their full significance. And because the turn of events was becoming a little overwhelming, she spent the hours between parting with him and his coming interview with Meryl in a whirl of emotion wholly new to her.

Once or twice Meryl asked her if anything was the matter, she was so extraordinarily restless, but she only laughed it off and tried to steady her feelings.

In the evening, when they left the dinner-table after dessert, she mysteriously vanished; but later, swept with an inexplicable wave of longing and uncertain dread, she crept down to the dining-room to try and discover what had happened. It was growing in her consciousness with illuminating clearness that her own happiness depended upon what decision Meryl made.

At last there was a movement in the drawing-room as of someone stepping in from the verandah, and she waited breathlessly for a glimpse of Meryl’s face. She and van Hert came out into the hall together, and Diana saw that her cousin looked extraordinarily frail and white and rather exhausted. Van Hert was very gentle to her.

“Shall I see your father to-night?” he asked, and she answered, “No, I will tell him myself. I expect he will see you to-morrow.”

“Good night,” and Meryl held out her hand.

Diana saw him hesitate; and then, with a movement that had in it the graceful courtesy of the Huguenot and the reverence of a fine spirit, he bent very low before her and kissed her hand. Afterwards he went quietly away, and Meryl stood alone in the hall. For one moment she waited, as if listening to his departing footsteps, and then very slowly turned and walked to her father’s study.

Diana slipped out and went upstairs, but presently her restlessness again caused her to descend. She could not settle to anything until she knew the truth and how Meryl took it. Thus she was again in the dining-room when the study door opened and Meryl came out. Her father came with her to the threshold, and it was evident that she had been crying. Diana saw her raise a white, tear-stained face, and saw Henry Pym kiss his child with ineffable tenderness. Then Meryl went slowly upstairs, and Mr. Pym went back into his study and closed the door.

But something in his face, at her last glimpse of it, went swiftly to Diana’s loyal, devoted heart; and because she loved him as if he were her own father, an impulse carried her straight across the hall with noiseless feet to the study door. Without knocking, she opened it softly and crept in. Henry Pym was seated at his writing-table, with his face hidden in his hand; and she saw, perhaps more poignantly than ever before, how the last few weeks had whitened his hair.

As she softly closed the door and crossed the room he looked up. Diana warm-hearted to a degree when she deeply loved, slipped on to her knees beside him, and taking the hand hanging limply at his side in both hers, raised it to her lips.

Henry Pym looked down into her eyes, and for the first time guessed from whence the solution had come.

“You saved her?...” he said a little huskily.

Diana nestled up against him. “I saved them,” she corrected. “Van Hert is a fine man; he deserves a wife who gives him her whole heart, just as truly as Meryl deserves a husband who has no thought for anyone else in the world.”

“Then you knew he cared for someone else?”

“Did he tell her so?” She lowered her head that he might not see her face.

“Yes.”

“Did he say whom?”

“I do not know.”

“Perhaps Meryl knew?”

“She did not say.”

She kissed his hand again, and asked in low tones, “Why was she crying when she came out of the study? She ... she ... is not sorry about things?...”

“No; she is glad. She sees she made a mistake.”

“Then why was she crying?”

She saw him flinch, and read in his face all the pain in his heart. Evidently he knew of that hidden sorrow shadowing his child’s life; evidently her sorrow was his sorrow. The wedding he so dreaded was safely prevented, but would the happiness come back?... the happiness that had been in that household before they went to Rhodesia? Could all his love and hope and tenderness bring back joy to the eyes that were his heaven and his earth?

“Dearie,” murmured Diana again, “was she crying because of that big soldier-policeman up north?”

He did not reply, and suddenly she knelt upright, and took his sad, careworn face in her hands and nestled her soft cheek against it.

“Because he’s coming on Saturday, dearie. Hush! don’t breathe a word; it is my secret; only I had to tell you because of what I saw in your face just now. He is coming because he loves her.”

Then slowly a great tear gathered in Henry Pym’s eyes and fell unheeded upon Diana’s hand. He held her fast and made no attempt to speak. And Diana hid her face because there were great tears in her eyes also.

After a moment she got up, and shook the hair back from her face, and rallied him tenderly.

“You see, Meryl must ‘mother’ something in the way of a country: it is her tremendous Imperial instinct; so I thought she had better ‘mother’ Rhodesia.” And with a last tender kiss she went softly away and left him.

In their own room she found Meryl had sent the maid away, and was waiting for her in the dark, standing in the window with her form dimly outlined against a moonlit sky.

She went up to her at once and slipped her arm through that of the silent figure. Meryl pressed it, but for a moment or two did not speak. Diana did not speak either; for once in her life she had nothing to say.

At last Meryl said, as if answering some thought deep in her own mind, “William told me to-night that there was someone else he loved. Di darling, I think there is only one woman it could be.”

And still Diana was silent.

“I gathered also that something had been said between you and him; something that resulted in ... what has happened to-night....”

“But you are not angry?...” Diana whispered.

“O no. Every moment now I see more clearly what I ought to have seen before. I am afraid I have only been foolish, and ... and ... I wanted so to do what seemed the best,” with a little break in her voice.

“Of course you did; we all know that,” said Diana loyally. “But I saw the mistake quickest, and I couldn’t just sit still and do nothing; I am not made that way.”

Meryl pressed her arm affectionately.

“Di,” she whispered, “I want it all to come right as quickly as possible. I won’t ask you any questions. Of course, I know it is you William cares for, and it seems so perfectly natural now that it should be. If you care for him, don’t delay anything on my account. It would make me glad to hear that you were engaged to him to-morrow.”

Diana pressed the hand in hers. She felt strangely bashful with Meryl to-night; unable to say anything at all. In her heart she was a little shy with herself too. When she started out with a more or less light spirit to change the course of two lives, she had hardly realised how great a mountain she would be moving.

“Do you love him, Di?...” Meryl asked her softly.

“Yes,” and Diana felt a little breathless as she made the admission.

“God bless you! I’m very glad.” And Meryl took the girl’s face in her two hands and kissed her.

Then they went quietly to bed, and Diana knew she had said no word of
Carew’s coming because she was afraid to.