outside in the hall brought the tears swimming into
her eyes. If only Philip could have made them cheer like that! If only…She
exclaimed, passionately: “Oh, Philip, dear Philip, you mustn’t worry
about it—it doesn’t matter—doesn’t matter a tiny
scrap—”
He answered, stroking her hair gently: “Ah, but you know it d-does matter.
And I know t-too. Stella, you think I’ve Mailed, don’t you? You’re s-sorry
for me, eh? “—He brushed back the hair that was straggling down over
his forehead and went on in a changed tone: “B-but I’ll win yet, Stella. I
know I will. I won’t be beaten.”
She flung her arms round his neck and drew his head down to hers. “Oh,
Philip, I love you to say that—and I love you when you say
it—yes, I do love you, Philip—ever so much—and I mean that!”
She stopped, seeing that he had turned very pale again. “I have l-loved
you for a long t-time, Stella,” he answered calmly, “but I did not g-guess
that you l-loved me.”
“Oh, you poor old Philip—” she said, pressing her face to his so
that her tears wet his cheek. It was just like him, to be shy of telling her,
and then, when she had told him, to be so calm about it. She added,
half-sobbing “Didn’t you ever wonder if I did?”
He nodded quaintly. “Yes, I s-sometimes wondered. And I—I m-made up
my mind I would ask you when I had—when I had s-succeeded.”
His mouth twisted into a wry smile over that final word.
----
CHAPTER V
I
Chassingford is an old town, less important to-day than
formerly; it consists mainly of a single long street, fringed with
old-fashioned houses and shops, and a fifteenth-century parish church with a
crocketed spire. There is also a famous old coaching inn, slowly winning back
some of its former splendour, a village stocks, a market-place with
cattle-pens, and a railway station where for some reason or other many
important main-line trains make a halt.
“Hardly an exciting place to live in,” commented Aubrey Ward, when Philip
met him one bright spring morning in the High Street.
“Perhaps not,” Philip admitted with a laugh. “But that makes it all the
more remarkable why you should be here. Has London become too hot for you
since the last hospital ‘rag’? I saw your exploits photographed in all the
picture papers, by the way.”
Ward shrugged his shoulders and smiled, his bright finely-set teeth
gleaming healthfully. If ever a man seemed to radiate energy in the manner
illustrated in patent medicine advertisements, that man was Ward, and Philip,
tall, stooping, almost cadaverous, was a perfect foil to him.
Ward’s smile became a laugh. “I’m on a visit,” he replied simply. “In fact
I’ve discovered in Chassingford something I didn’t think I possessed in all
the world.”
“What’s that?”
“A relative…” He stopped short, as if checked by an innate reticence in
dealing with his private affairs. “I have no father or mother, you know,” he
said, hastily, “nor—so far as I knew up to last week—any
relative. Then I—I got into touch with somebody who told me that I had
a great-uncle living in Chassingford.” His voice became bantering again.
“Extraordinary how precious a great-uncle can be when he’s the nearest thing
you’ve got!”
The sun had disappeared behind the folds of heavy black clouds, and a few
big drops of rain heralded the coming of an April shower. “Haven’t you got a
café of some sort in Chassingford?” Ward continued, looking at the sky
apprehensively. “It’s going to rain like the dickens in a minute, and I I
could talk to you for hours.”
He said that in a sudden burst of boyish enthusiasm that made him seem for
the moment more like a happy, brown-faced youngster than a grown man. As he
stood there on the Chassingford pavement he looked virility personified, and
kindled by an affection that had just very shyly broken its bounds.
“We don’t have
her eyes. If only Philip could have made them cheer like that! If only…She
exclaimed, passionately: “Oh, Philip, dear Philip, you mustn’t worry
about it—it doesn’t matter—doesn’t matter a tiny
scrap—”
He answered, stroking her hair gently: “Ah, but you know it d-does matter.
And I know t-too. Stella, you think I’ve Mailed, don’t you? You’re s-sorry
for me, eh? “—He brushed back the hair that was straggling down over
his forehead and went on in a changed tone: “B-but I’ll win yet, Stella. I
know I will. I won’t be beaten.”
She flung her arms round his neck and drew his head down to hers. “Oh,
Philip, I love you to say that—and I love you when you say
it—yes, I do love you, Philip—ever so much—and I mean that!”
She stopped, seeing that he had turned very pale again. “I have l-loved
you for a long t-time, Stella,” he answered calmly, “but I did not g-guess
that you l-loved me.”
“Oh, you poor old Philip—” she said, pressing her face to his so
that her tears wet his cheek. It was just like him, to be shy of telling her,
and then, when she had told him, to be so calm about it. She added,
half-sobbing “Didn’t you ever wonder if I did?”
He nodded quaintly. “Yes, I s-sometimes wondered. And I—I m-made up
my mind I would ask you when I had—when I had s-succeeded.”
His mouth twisted into a wry smile over that final word.
----
CHAPTER V
I
Chassingford is an old town, less important to-day than
formerly; it consists mainly of a single long street, fringed with
old-fashioned houses and shops, and a fifteenth-century parish church with a
crocketed spire. There is also a famous old coaching inn, slowly winning back
some of its former splendour, a village stocks, a market-place with
cattle-pens, and a railway station where for some reason or other many
important main-line trains make a halt.
“Hardly an exciting place to live in,” commented Aubrey Ward, when Philip
met him one bright spring morning in the High Street.
“Perhaps not,” Philip admitted with a laugh. “But that makes it all the
more remarkable why you should be here. Has London become too hot for you
since the last hospital ‘rag’? I saw your exploits photographed in all the
picture papers, by the way.”
Ward shrugged his shoulders and smiled, his bright finely-set teeth
gleaming healthfully. If ever a man seemed to radiate energy in the manner
illustrated in patent medicine advertisements, that man was Ward, and Philip,
tall, stooping, almost cadaverous, was a perfect foil to him.
Ward’s smile became a laugh. “I’m on a visit,” he replied simply. “In fact
I’ve discovered in Chassingford something I didn’t think I possessed in all
the world.”
“What’s that?”
“A relative…” He stopped short, as if checked by an innate reticence in
dealing with his private affairs. “I have no father or mother, you know,” he
said, hastily, “nor—so far as I knew up to last week—any
relative. Then I—I got into touch with somebody who told me that I had
a great-uncle living in Chassingford.” His voice became bantering again.
“Extraordinary how precious a great-uncle can be when he’s the nearest thing
you’ve got!”
The sun had disappeared behind the folds of heavy black clouds, and a few
big drops of rain heralded the coming of an April shower. “Haven’t you got a
café of some sort in Chassingford?” Ward continued, looking at the sky
apprehensively. “It’s going to rain like the dickens in a minute, and I I
could talk to you for hours.”
He said that in a sudden burst of boyish enthusiasm that made him seem for
the moment more like a happy, brown-faced youngster than a grown man. As he
stood there on the Chassingford pavement he looked virility personified, and
kindled by an affection that had just very shyly broken its bounds.
“We don’t have
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