It was not until a spel of exhaustingly hot weather set in in early July that Hal saw a stil more noticeable frailty in Lorraine.
She was quite unable to act, and spent a great deal of time on her sofa near the window, where she could just distinguish the river through the trees. It seemed to have a growing fascination for her.
"I've always thought," she told Hal one day, "how I'd like to go away from the fret and worry of London, smoothly down the river to a haven of sunshine and sea."
"Why don't you go, Lorry. Why not go at once, before you get any weaker?"
"I think I must. This sultry heat is too much for me, and I'm very tired of London and everything belonging to it. I should like to have gone to my old haven on the Italian Riviera, but it would be too hot."
"Why so far?"
Lorraine glanced at Hal with a strange expression in her eyes, as she said:
"It is a greater rest to get right away. I shall try some little place in Brittany. Switzerland is so overrun with tourists in the summer."
When she was alone, some of the quiet went out of Lorraine's face and a restless look of pain crept in. She shaded her eyes and gazed long at the river.
That old spirit of recklessness, which had caused her to hurl scorn and defiance at Mrs. Hermon's emissary, and afterwards al ow Alymer to visit her at the little fishing-vil age, against his wiser judgment, had passed away now, and given place to one of poignant questioning - a spirit of questioning concerning that mad action of hers, and its results. She could not find it in her heart to regret it, not for one moment; but nevertheless her mind was sore troubled concerning the future for Alymer and herself.
And at the back of al the questioning there sounded ever an insistent call to renounce - something above and beyond al desire and al seeming, which told her she must not remain in his life, that, as far as she was concerned, he must be free for the great work of his future.
And yet how hard it was to go! Ever and anon her longing whispered,
"Why seek a crisis yet? Why not go on the same a little longer?"
But since, before long, she would be compelled to go, and since the nausea of London was gaining upon her, she began to feel it would certainly be wiser to start at once, and find some homely, quiet spot where she could remain in privacy, with her identity unknown for some months.
And always that quiet voice in the background insisted that she must cut herself off from Alymer Hermon.
Soon after Hal had left her he came in, and, standing as usual upon the hearth, regarded her with grave eyes. He was nearly always grave now, as with some recol ection that weighed heavily on his mind.
Lorraine tried to rally him, but without much success; and a pitiless thought that had sometimes assailed her of late - that he regretted their friendship and everything connected with it, struck icily on her heart.
He was too loyal to show it, and yet, that strong instinct of womanhood, which reads closed books as if they were spread open to the light, sounded its warning note. He would never blame her openly, but in his heart he was already beginning to find it a little difficult not to do so secretly.
"You can't go away alone, Lorry," he said unhappily, "and I can't possibly come with you."
"Of course you can't," cheerful y. "It isn't to be thought of for a moment. I don't know whether you can even come and see me. You certainly mustn't run any risks just now. Flip tells me Hal is interested, and you may get your big chance shortly through him."
"Stil , I shall feel rather a beast."
"You mustn't do anything so sil y."
She got up and came and stood near him, leaning her face against his arm.
"If you wil write to me often, dearie, I shall be al right. If you worry I shall be miserable. Try to understand that you have done nothing to make me unhappy. A little while ago I had a dream of how I longed to go away with a little one of my own, to some quiet spot far removed from al I have ever known. If I am to realise my dream, how should I not be happy? It is what I asked life to give me."
But his eyes lost none of their gravity. It was evident, in the midst of his dawning success, some cloud had descended upon his horizon, and shrouded much of the sunlight.
Lorraine's sensitive temperament read it quickly, and she decided, for his sake, to hasten her departure. She thought her continued presence in London under the circumstances was a continual anxiety to him, and that he would only breathe freely when she was safe in Brittany.
She did not know - how should she - that after that week's madness on the southern coast there had come rather a terrible revelation to the man whom fortune seemed to be smothering with favours.
It had not come al at once. It had been there, or at any rate the gist of it, for some time. But when it was present in full force, it had the power to make all the adulation, triumph, and hopefulness of his career seem but a smal thing and of little account, because of one great desire beyound his reach.
It came definitely into being during those many evenings Hal spent at the Cromwell Road flat, when Dudley was away in Hol oway with his friend.
It reached a climax of realisation when she openly wore the watch and chain Sir Edwin had sent to her. The night he asked her not to wear it, and she tautingly refused, saw him, with al his success and favours, one of the most perplexed and unhappy men in London.
It was just the waywardness of the little god Love. The fair débutantes with money and influence had left him untouched. No older woman but Lorraine had disturbed his peace, or appealed to his deepest affections.
It was left to Hal, the mocker, the outspoken, the impatient of giant inches and splendid head, to awaken his heart to al its richness of strong, enduring love.
And what did it mean to her?
The sunshine and the joy might go out of al he was winning and achieving, if it might not be won and achieved for her - but what did she care - what was she ever likely to care?
Had she not always dealt him laughter and careless scorn where other women bowed down? Had she not, over and over, weighed him in the balance, in that quiet, direct way of hers, and seen the weak strain that had always been there? First the lack of purpose, the idle indifference, which, in a different guise, had led up to a memory which now tortured his mind - the memory of a mad week; of love that was not love, because his whole soul was not given with it - nay, worse, was actually given in unconsciousness elsewhere. If she ever knew of that, what must her indignation and scorn be then?... Would it not indeed separate them for ever?
And even if it did, could it make hi unlove her?... Why should it, since he had waited no encoouragement before he gave her all? If he knew why he loved her, it might.
But he did not even know that. It was a thing outside questioning; something he seemed to have had no free wil about. It was just there
- a strong, undeniable fact.
Why reason? It did not _need_ reasoning. He loved her. He would always love her - simply because she was Hal - and as Hal, to him, was the one woman who filled his heart.
No; Lorraine dit not know just what fire of repentance and self-condemnation and hopeless aching her recklessness had lit for him; but it was enough that his gravity grew and deepened, and she believed she could lighten it.
She made immediate plans; cancelled her present engagement at considerable monetary loss to herself, and almost before any of them realised it, had vanished to a little out-of-the-way spot in Brittany, alone with Jean.
Hal was quite unhappy that she could not go to her for her own summer holiday, but Dick Bruce's people were taking her to Norway with them, and she would not have a day to spare.
She made Alymer promise to run across and see how she was, if possible, and then departed without any suspicions or forebodings, with Dudley and Dick to join the rest of the party at Hull, whence they were to start for the Fiords.
When she returned early in September, Lorraine was still away, and her letters gave no hint of returning. Stil a little anxious, she sought an interview with Alymer, asking him to meet her for tea the fol owing day.
The instant they met, Hal saw the change in him, and exclaimed in surprise:
"Haven't you had a holiday? You don't look very grand."
Unable to meet her eyes, he turned away towards a small table.
"Oh yes, I've had a holiday. I've been in France studying the language. I can talk like a French froggy now."
"Then of course, you saw Lorraine?"
"Yes."
"I wanted to see you about Lorry," with direct, straight gaze.
He steadied his features with an effort.
"I guessed so."
"Well, what is the matter with her?"
"Nothing very much. She got thoroughly low I think, and is not pulling up very quickly."
"I don't understand it," with puzzled, doubtful eyes. "Lorry is not like that. She is quite strong real y. She has only once before gone under like this, and then it was a mental strain. I wonder if it is anything the same again? Did you see much of her?"
"I saw her four or five times."
"And she didn't tell you anything?"
"Anything about what?"
"Well - about her husband, for instance. He isn't worrying her again, is he?"
"She did not speak of him at all."
"Then what is it?... I wish she had not gone so far away. I wish I could get to her. Did she say when she might be coming back?"
"Not at present. She likes being there. She does not want to come back."
"That's what I can't understand. Something odd seems to have changed her. Have you thought so."
"I don't think it odd in Lorraine to fancy a long spel of country life. She was always loved the country."
"Not alone," with decision, "except for a good reason. I feel there is a reason now, and I do not know it."
Suddenly she gave him another direct look.
"You are changed too. You are years older. Is it your advancing success, or what? ... I don't say it isn't becoming," with a dash of her old banter - "but it seems sudden."
He raised his eyes slowly and looked into her face with an expression that in some way hurt her. It was the look of a devoted dog, craving forgiveness.
She pushed her cup away impatiently, half laughing and half serious.
"Don't look at me like that, Baby," striving blindly to ral y him -
"you make me feel as if I had smacked you."
He laughed to reassure her, and changed the subject to Norway, trying to keep her mind from further questioning concerning himself and Lorraine.
After tea she left him to go down to Shoreditch with Dick, first meeting him and the forlorn "G" at the Cheshire Cheese for their usual high tea.
It had become quite an institution now that "G" should join them, and, as Hal had predicted, she and Dick were firm friends. It was the brightest spot of the music-teacher's life since Basil Hayward died, and neither of them would have disappointed her for the world if they could help it.
To-night Quin was there also, so Hal was able to get a few words privately with Dick.
"What in the world is the matter with Alymer?" she asked. "I had tea with him this afternoon. He seems awful y down on his luck."
"I don't know what it is," Dick answered. "He is certainly not very gay - yet that last case he won before the Law Courts closed should have put him in fine feather for the whole vacation. Did you ask him if anything was wrong?"
"Yes; but he would only prevaricate. He has been in France, you know, studying the language, and he saw Lorraine, but he says very little about her. I wish I had time to go over and see her. Why, in the name of goodness, is she not acting this winter?"
But Dick could not help her to any solution, and an accumulation of work kept her too busy to brood on the puzzle.
It was at the end of October the shock came.
Hal reached home before Dudley that evening, and found a foreign letter awaiting her, written in an unfamiliar handwriting, and bearing the post mark of the little village where Lorraine so obstinately remained.
With an instant sense of apprehension, she tore open the envelope, and read its contents with incredulity, amazement, and anxiety struggling together in her face.
Then she sat down in the nearest chair with a gasp, and stared blankly at the window, as if she could not grasp the import of the bewildering news.
The letter was from Jean, partly in French, and partly in English. It informed Hal, in somewhat ambiguous phrases, that La Chère Madame was very il , and daily growing weaker, and she, Jean, was very worried and unhappy about her. She thought if mademoisel e could possibly get away, she should come at once. It then went on to make a statement which took Hal's breath away.
"L'enfant!... l'enfant!..." she repeated in a gasping sort of undertone, and stared with bewildered eyes at the window.
What could have happened?... What dit it all mean?
Then with a rush all the ful significance seemed to come to her.
Lorraine, ill and alone in that little far-away vil age, and this incomprehensible thing coming upon her; no one but a paid, though devoted maid to take care of her; no friend to help er in the inevitable hours of dread, and perhaps painful memories and apprehensions.
Al her quick, warm-hearted sympathy wel ed up and fil ed her soul. Of course she must go at once, to-night if possible, or early to-morrow.
Yet as she struggled to collect her thoughts and form plans, she was conscious of a dumb, nervous cry: "What will Dudley say?... What in the world wil Dudley say?"