Gaunt had announced that he would do no work after all and Dikon, released from duty, decided to go for a walk in the direction of the Peak. He had an idea that he would like to see for himself the level crossing and the bridge where Smith had his escape from the train. He found Simon and asked him to point out the short cut to the Peak road. Simon, most unexpectedly, offered to go with him. They set out together along the path that ran past the springs and lake. They had not gone far before they heard a confused trampling and a sharp cry. Without a word but on a single impulse, they ran forward together and Barbara was discovered in Mr. Questing’s arms.
Dikon was an over-civilized young man. He belonged to a generation whose attitude of mind was industriously ironic. He could accept scenes that arose out of crises of the nerves, they were a commonplace of the circle into which his association with Gaunt had introduced him. It was inconceivable that any young woman of those circles would be unable to cope with the advances of a Mr. Questing or, for a matter of that, fail to lunch and dine off such an attempt when she had dealt with it. Dikon’s normal reaction to Barbara’s terror would perhaps have been a feeling of incredulous embarrassment. After all they were within a few hundred yards of the house in broad daylight. It was up to her to cope. He could never have predicted the impulse of pure anger that flooded through him, and he had time actually to feel astonished at himself. It was not until afterwards that he recognized the complementary emotion which arose when Barbara ran to her brother. Dikon realized then that he himself was a lay figure and felt a twinge of regret that it was so.
Simon behaved with more dignity than might have been expected of him. He put his arm across his sister’s shoulders and in his appalling voice said: “What’s up, Barbie?” When she did not answer he went on: “I’ll look after this. You cut along out of it.”
“Hey!” said Mr. Questing. “What’s the big idea?”
“It’s nothing, Sim. Sim, it’s all right, really.”
Simon looked over her shoulder at Dikon. “Fix her up, will you?” he said, and Dikon answered: “Yes, of course,” and wondered what was expected of him. Simon shoved her, not ungently, towards him.
“Great hopping fleas,” Mr. Questing expostulated, “what’s biting you now! There’s not a damn thing a man can do in this place without you all come milling round like magpies. You’re crazy. I try to get a little private yarn with Babs and you start howling as if it was the Rape of the What-have-you Women.”
“Go and boil your head,” said Simon. “And Barbie, you buzz off.”
“I really think you’d better,” Dikon said, realizing that his function was to remove her. She murmured something hurriedly to Simon and turned away. “All right, all right,” said Simon, “don’t you worry.” They left Simon and Questing glaring at each other in ominous silence.
Dikon followed her along the path. She started off at a great rate, with her head high, clutching her raincoat about her. They had gone some little way before he saw that her shoulders were quivering. He felt certain that all she wanted of him was to leave her to herself, but he could not make up his mind to do this. As they drew nearer to the house they saw Colonel and Mrs. Claire come out on the verandah and begin to set up their deck-chairs.
Barbara stopped short and turned. Her face was stained with tears.
“I can’t let them see,” she said.
“Come round by the other path.”
It was a track that skirted the Springs and came out near the cabins. A brushwood fence screened it from the verandah. Halfway along, Barbara faltered, sat on the bank, buried her face in her arms and cried most bitterly.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” said Dikon confusedly. “Have my handkerchief. I’ll turn my back, shall I? Or shall I?”
She took the handkerchief with a woebegone attempt at a smile. He sat beside her and put his arm round her.
“Never mind,” he said. “He’s quite preposterous. A ridiculous episode.”
“It was beastly.”
“Well, confound the fellow, anyway, for upsetting you.”
“It’s not only that. He — he — ” Barbara hesitated and then with a most dejected attempt at her trick of over-emphasis sobbed out: “He’s got a hold on us.”
“So Colly was right,” Dikon thought. “It is the old dope.”
“If only Daddy had never met him! And what Sim’s doing now, I can’t imagine. If Sim loses his temper he’s frightful. Oh dear,” said Barbara blowing her nose very loudly on Dikon’s handkerchief, “what have we all done that everything should go so hideously wrong with us? Really, it’s exactly as if we dotted scenes about the place like booby-traps for Mr. Gaunt and you. And he was so heavenly about the other time, pretending he didn’t mind.”
“It wasn’t pretence. He told the truth when he said he adored scenes. He does. He even uses them in his work. Do you remember in the Jane Eyre, when Rochester, without realizing what he did, slowly wrung the necks of Jane’s bridal flowers?”
“Of course I do,” said Barbara eagerly. “It was terrible but sort of noble.”
“He got it from a drunken dresser who flew into a rage with the star she looked after. She wrenched the heads off one of the bouquets. He never forgets things like that.”
“Oh.”
“You’re feeling a bit better now?”
“A bit. You’re very kind, aren’t you?” said Barbara rather as if she saw Dikon for the first time. “I mean, to take trouble over our frightfulness.”
“You must stop being apologetic,” Dikon said. “So far I’ve taken no trouble at all.”
“You listen nicely,” Barbara said.
“I’m almost ghoulishly discreet, if that’s any recommendation.”
“I do so wonder what Sim’s doing. Can you hear anything?”
“We’ve came rather far away from them to hear anything. Unless, of course, they begin to scream in each other’s faces. What would you expect to hear? Dull thuds?”
“I don’t know. Listen!”
“Well,” said Dikon after a pause, “that was a dull thud. Do you suppose that Mr. Questing has been felled to the ground for the second time in a fortnight?”
“I’m afraid Sim’s hit him.”
“I’m afraid so too,” Dikon agreed. “Look.”
From where they sat they could see the patch of manuka scrub. Mr. Questing appeared, nursing his face in his handkerchief. He came slowly along the main path and as he drew nearer they saw that his handkerchief was dappled red. “A dong on the nose, by gum,” said Dikon. When he arrived at the intersection, Mr. Questing paused.
“I’m going — He’ll see me. I can’t—” Barbara began, but she was too late. Mr. Questing had already seen them. He advanced a short way down the side path and, still holding his handkerchief to his nose, addressed them from some considerable distance.
“Look at this,” he shouted. “Is it a swell set-up, or is it? I like to do things in a refined way and here’s what I get for it. What’s the matter with the crowd around here? Ask a lady to marry you and somebody hauls off and half kills you. I’m going to clean this dump right up. Pardon me, Mr. Bell, for intruding personal affairs.”