It had seemed to her that Marcus's eyes had said something else too, that they pleaded for a moment alone with her; they seemed to say: "Carolan, Carolan, we must meet again. Where, Carolan, where?" And her heart had beaten faster with excitement, and her need of him then was as great as her love for her children. He had seen that, and hope had leaped into his eyes. But Gunnar had been there, seeing nothing, his voice calm, his manner slightly pompous as he thanked Marcus with the charm and courtesy a successful man can afford to give to one who is not so successful.
"My dear sir, we are deeply indebted to you. We shall never forget...”
And because he was such a good man, because he had always striven so hard to lead the right sort of life ... no, not because of that.
Because of that one lapse when for her sake ... She let her thoughts swerve. Not that again! Not that. But it was the reason why she had turned from Marcus and ever since not known whether she was glad or sorry. All she knew was that her life was full of regrets ... regrets for ... she was not sure what. Life was a compromise, when for people like herself and Marcus who knew how to live recklessly, it should have been glorious. Up in the heights, and perhaps occasionally for Marcus could never be faithful to one woman even if she was Carolan down in the depths. But never, never this unexciting, boring level.
And that day when Marcus had come into the yard with Katharine was a bitter day, for it had lost her something of Katharine. She had been too harsh with the child, blaming her because she had stupidly wanted to blame someone for that for which she herself was entirely to blame.
"You shall never go there again!" she had said, and Katharine had answered with stubborn silence. If your daughter was so like you that the resemblance frightened you, you could often guess her thoughts. She had gone there, of course she had gone. She had felt the irresistible charm of Marcus. There was a boy, Henry ... Esther's child. He would doubtless be as like his father as Katharine was like her mother.
The child often absented herself all day. She would ride off in the morning and not return until sundown. Where had she been? She would come back, flushed with sunshine and laughter, and happiness looked out of her eyes. And when there had been that talk of going to England, how stubbornly she had set her heart against it!
"I do not want to go to England! I will not go to England!" Why?
Because, if she went, she would miss those long days when she absented herself from her own home and went to that of Marcus.
Carolan had seen the boy, Henry. He had inherited that subtle attractiveness from his father. He was young and crude of course, but it was there, and Katharine possibly did not look for polish. Dark he was, dark as Marcus, with that quickness of eye; she had heard him call to someone in the town, and his voice had that lilting quality which belonged to Marcus's.
Katharine was young, only just seventeen. It might be that she thought she loved the boy, because it was the first time anyone had talked of love to her. So she had contrived to arrange parties for her, gatherings where she could meet charming people. That was not difficult, for Sydney was no longer a mere settlement, Macquarie had vowed it should take its place among the cities of the world, and surely he was keeping his word. From the Cove it looked magnificent nowadays, unrecognizable as that notch potch of buildings it had been on her arrival. It was gracious and stately; large houses of hewn stone had taken the place of the smaller ones, and the number of warehouses had grown on the waterside to keep pace with the growing population and prosperity. Sydney would soon grow into a great town, busy and beautiful. There were young men of substance in the town who had shown signs of becoming very interested in the fresh young charms of Masterman's daughter; and not least among these was Sir Anthony Greymore, recently out from England, a young man, sophisticated and charming, wealthy and serious-minded enough to make a good husband. He surely, if anyone, could wean Katharine from Henry.
I will not let her marry Marcus's son! thought Carolan. I will not!
Even though, for a time, she thinks her heart is broken. He will be like his father. I see it in him.
Audrey was looking at her oddly, comb poised.
"I am sorry, Audrey. I am fidgeting." Audrey's eyes in the mirror worshipped her. Where else could a convict find such a kind mistress?
Gunnar came in. He had just ridden home. He looked tanned and healthy. He was in a hurry for he was late, but he would be ready at precisely the right moment when he must descend to greet his guests. He would never be late. His dressing-room would be in perfect order and he would know just where to find everything. How wrong it was to get exasperated over someone's virtues!
Audrey had finished her hair and the result was most attractive.
"You don't look much older than Miss Katharine, M'am. You might be her older sister. People could easy take you for that." What flattery!
She looked years older than Katharine and most definitely she looked Katharine's mother.
She felt an acute desire to be Katharine's age, to be going to her first ball where she would be told by Everard that he loved her. Had she known what was waiting for her. how she would have pleaded with him to let nothing stand in the way of marriage! Had she never come to London she would never am known Marcus. She could not wish that. No, perhaps if she could live her life again, she would go back to that day when Margery had told her that Clementine Smith and Marcus were lovers.
She shrugged her shoulders impatiently. Had she not been fortunate?
The life she had shared with Gunnar had dignity, security; and life with Marcus would never have given her either.
Gunnar came in from his dressing-room; he wanted to talk to her, she could tell by his manner, so she dismissed Audrey.
"Well," she said, playing with her fan of green tinged ostrich feathers.
He smiled at her, admiring her beauty which never failed to stir him, admiring her adroitness in dismissing Audrey without his having to tell her that he had something to say.
"I was late," he said, 'because I met young Greymore. He asked .. for permission to approach Katharine.”
"And most willingly you gave it!”
She laughed, and he laughed too, though he was never sure of her laughter. To him this seemed a matter of the deepest gravity; the betrothal of their daughter was surely no matter for laughter.
"I gave it, of course," he said.
"I hope she will accept him," said Carolan pensively.
"I should hate it if she were reluctant.”
"I was wondering if we should warn her, and tell her what our wishes are.”
Dear Gunnar! Did he know his daughter so little that he thought they had only to tell her Their wishes and they would immediately become hers?
"She may be difficult," she warned him tenderly.
"She is very sensible," he said.
"And it is a good match.”
She stood up then. He was sitting on her bed. She took his head and held it against her breast. He was always moved by these sudden displays of affection; they were so unexpected. Why should she embrace him now, while they were discussing this very important matter of their daughter's marriage?
She said: "You think everybody can be as sensible as you, my dear.”
"Oh, I think Katharine has her share of common sense." Oh, no! she wanted to say. There is no great common sense in our Katharine, because she has little of you in her; she is all mine. Reckless, adventuring. And yet there was a time when you... "Gunnar," she said, 'if she refuses him, what then?”
He said confidently: "We will talk to her. He is very eager. He seems to me the sort who'll not take no for an answer.”
"She worries me, Gunnar. Sometimes I wonder whether she has not formed some attachment.”
"But, Carolan, with whom?”