She had recovered from her nervousness, she was natural and delightful, and although the peculiar situation was filling Denzil with excitement and emotion, he was too much a man of the world to experience any _gene_.

So they talked for a while with friendliness upon interesting things.

Then a pause came and Amaryllis looked out of the window, and Denzil had time to grow aware that he must hold himself with a tighter hand, a sense almost of intoxication had begun to steal over him.

Suddenly Amaryllis grew very pale and her eyelids flickered a little; for the first time in her life she felt faint.

He bent forward in anxiety as she leaned her head against the cushioned division.

"Oh! what is it, you poor little darling! what can I do for you?" he exclaimed, unconscious that he had used a word of endearment; but even though things had grown vague for her Amaryllis caught the tenderly p.r.o.nounced 'darling' and, physically ill as she felt, her spirit thrilled with some agreeable surprise. He came nearer and pushing up the padded divisions between the seats, he lifted her as though she had been a baby and laid her flat down. He got out his flask from his dressing bag and poured some brandy between her pale lips, then he rubbed her hands, murmuring he knew not what of commiseration. She looked so fragile and helpless and the probable reason of her indisposition was of such infinite solicitude to himself.

"To think that she is feeling like that because--Ah!--and I may not even kiss her and comfort her, or tell her I adore her and understand." So his thoughts ran.

Presently Amaryllis sat up and opened her eyes. She had not actually fainted, but for a few moments everything had grown dim and she was not certain of what had happened, or if she had dreamed that Denzil had spoken a love word, or whether it was true--she smiled feebly.

"I did feel so queer," she explained. "How silly of me! I have never felt faint before--it is stupid"--and then she blushed deeply, remembering what certainly must be the cause.

"I am going to open the window wide," he said, appreciating the blush, and let it down. "You ought not to sit with your back to the engine like that, let us change sides."

He took command and drew her to her feet, and placed her gently in his vacant seat; then he sat down opposite her and looked at her with anxious eyes.

"I sit that way as a rule because of avoiding the dust, but, of course, it was that. I am not generally such a goose though--it is the nastiest feeling that I have ever known."

"You poor dear little girl," his deep voice said. "You must shut your eyes and not talk now."

She obeyed, and he watched her intently as she lay back with her eyes closed, the long lashes resting upon her pale cheeks. She looked childish and a little pathetic, and every fibre of his being quivered with desire to protect her. He had never felt so profoundly in his life--and the whole thing was so complicated. He tried to force himself to remember that he was not travelling with _his_ wife whom he could take care of and cherish because she was going to have _his_ child, but that he was travelling with John's wife whom he hardly knew and must take no more interest in than any Ardayre would in the wife of the head of the family!

He could have laughed at the extraordinary irony of the thing, if it had not been so moving.

Verisschenzko, had he been there and known the circ.u.mstances, would have taken joy in a.n.a.lysing what nature was saying to them both!

Amaryllis was only conscious that Denzil seemed the reality of her dream of John, and that she liked his nearness--and Denzil only knew that he loved her extremely and must banish emotion and remember his given word.

So he pulled himself together when she sat up presently and began talking again, and gradually the atmosphere of throbbing excitement between them calmed. They spoke of each other's tastes and likings and found many to be the same. Then they spoke of books, and each discovered that the other was sufficiently well read to be able to discuss varied favourite authors.

An understanding and sympathy had grown up between them before they reached Westbury, and yet Denzil was really trying to keep his word in the spirit as well as the letter.

Amaryllis felt no constraint--she was more friendly than she would have been with any other man she knew so slightly. Were they not cousins, and was it not perfectly natural!

They talked of Oxford and of the effect it had upon young men, and again they spoke of Stepan and of the dream he and Denzil shared.

"You will go into Parliament, I suppose, when you come back from the war?" she remarked at last. "If you have dreams they should become realities...."

"That is what I intend to do. The war may last a long time though--but it ought to teach one something, and England will be a vastly different place after it, and perhaps the younger men who have fought may have a greater chance."

"You have pet theories, of course."

"I suppose so--I believe that the first great step will be to give the people better homes--the housing question is what I am going to devote my energy to. I am sure it is the root of nearly every evil. Every man and woman who works should have the right to a good home. I have two supreme interests--that is one, and the other is elimination of the wastrels and the unfit. I am quite ruthless, perhaps, you will think. But there is such a sickening lot of mawkish sentiment mixed up with nearly every scheme to benefit workers. I agree with Stepan who always preaches: Get down to the commonsense point of view about a thing. Prune the convention and religion and sentimentality first and then you can judge."

Amaryllis thought for a moment; her eyes became wide and dreamy, and her charmingly set head was a little thrown back. Denzil took in the line of her white throat and the curve of her chin--it was not weak. Why was it that women with the possibilities of this one always seemed to be some other man's property! He had never come across such charm in girls. Or was it that marriage developed charm?

They neither of them spoke for a minute or two, each busy with speculation.

"I want to do something," Amaryllis said at last, "not, only just make shirts and socks," and then the pink flushed her cheeks again suddenly as she remembered that she would not be fit for more strenuous work for quite a long time--and then the war would be over, of course.

Denzil thought the same thing without the last qualification. He was under no delusions as to the speedy end of strife.

He could not help visioning the wonderful interest the hope of a son would be to him if she really were his wife--how filled with supreme sympathy and tenderness would be the months coming on. How they would talk together about their wishes and the mystery and the glory of the evolution of life. And here she had blushed at some thought concerning it, and no words must pa.s.s between them about this sacred thing. He longed to ask her many questions--and then a pang of jealousy shook him.

She would confide to John, not to him, all the emotions aroused by the thought of the child--then. He wondered what she would do in the winter all alone. Had she relations she was fond of? He wished that she knew his Mother, who was the kindest sweetest lady in the world. He said aloud:

"I would like you to meet my Mother. She is going to be at Bath for a month. She is almost an invalid with rheumatism in her ankle where she broke it five years ago. I believe you would get on."

"I should love to--it is not an impossible distance from us. I will go over to see her, if you will tell her about me--so that she won't think some stranger is descending upon her some day!"

"She will be so pleased," and he thought that he would be happier knowing that they were friends.

"Does she mean a great deal to you? Some mothers do," and she sighed--her own was less than emptiness--they had never been near, and now her stepfather and the step-family claimed all the affection her mother could feel.

"She is a great dear--one of my best friends," and his eyes beamed. "We have always been pals--because I have no brothers and sisters I suppose she spoilt me!"

"I daresay you were quite a nice little boy!" Amaryllis smiled--"and it must be divine to have a son--I expect it would be easy to spoil one."

Denzil clasped his hands rather tightly--she looked so adorable as she said that, her eyes soft with inward knowledge of her great hope. How impossible it all was that they must remain strangers--casual cousins and nothing more.

"It must be an awful responsibility to have children," he said, watching her. "Don't you think so?"

The pink flared up again as she answered a rather solemn "Yes."

Then she went on, a little hurriedly:

"One would try to study their characters and lead them to the highest good, as gardeners watch over and train plants until they come to perfection. But what funny, serious things we are talking about," and she gave a little, nervous laugh--"Like two old grandfather philosophers."

"It is rather a treat to talk seriously; one so seldom has the chance to meet any one who understands."

"To understand!" and she sighed. "Alas--How quite perfect life would be--" and then she stopped abruptly. If she continued her words might contain a reflection upon John.

Denzil bent forward eagerly--what had she been going to say?

She saw his blue attractive eyes gazing at her so ardently and some delicious thrill pa.s.sed through her. But Denzil recovered himself, and leaned back in his seat--while he abruptly changed the conversation by remarking casually:

"I have never seen Ardayre. I would love to look at our common ancestors.

My father used to say there was an Elizabethan Denzil who was rather like me. I suppose we are all stamped with the same brand."

"I know him!" Amaryllis cried delightedly. "He is up at the end of the gallery in puffed white satin and a ruff. Of course, you must come and see him; he has exactly the same eyes."

"The whole family are alive I believe--we were a tenacious lot!"

"If you and John both get leave at Christmas you must come with him and spend it at Ardayre--I shall have made your Mother's acquaintance by then, and we must persuade her too."

He gave some friendly answer--while he felt that John might not endorse this invitation. If the places were reversed, how would he himself act?

Difficult as the situation was for him, it was infinitely harder for John. Then the train stopped at Westbury.