“O my darling boy!”
Winn got up and walked to the window. When he came back, his expression had completely changed.
“Now cut along to bed,” he said quietly. “You’re tired. Go – at once, Claire.”
This time she knew she ought to go, but something held her back. She was not satisfied with the look in his eyes. He was controlled again, but it was a controlled desperation. She could not leave him with that.
Her mind was intensely alert with pain; she followed his eyes. They rested for a moment on the stand by his bed. He pushed the key across the table toward her, but she did not look at the key; she crossed the room and opened the drawer under the Bible.
She saw what she had expected to see. It was Winn’s revolver; upon it lay a snap-shot of Peter. He always kept them together.
Claire took out the revolver. Winn watched her, with his hands in his pockets.
“Be careful,” he said; “it’s loaded.”
She brought it to him and said:
“Now take all the things out of it.” Winn laughed, and unloaded it without a word. “Now open the window,” she ordered, “and throw them into the snow.” Winn obeyed. When he came back she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Now I’ll go,” she said.
“All right,” agreed Winn, gently. “Wait for me in the cloak-room, and I’ll take you across. But, I say, look here – will you ever forgive me? I’m afraid I’ve been a most fearful brute.”
Then Claire knew she couldn’t stand any more. She turned and ran into the passage. Fortunately, the cloak-room was empty. She pressed herself against a fur coat and sobbed as Winn had sobbed up-stairs; but she had not his arms to comfort her. She had not dared to cry in his arms.
They walked hand in hand across the snow from his hotel to the door of hers.
Claire knew that she could say anything she liked to Winn now, so she said what she had made up her mind to say.
“Winn dearest, do you know what I came down for this evening?”
He held her hand tighter and nodded.
“I guessed,” he said. “That was, you know, what rather did for me. You mean you aren’t going to let me come with you down the pass?”
“We mustn’t,” Claire whispered; and then she felt she couldn’t be good any more. It cost too much. So she added, “But you can if you like.” But there wasn’t any real need for Claire to be good now; Winn was good instead.
“No,” he said; “it’s much wiser not. You look thoroughly done up. I’m not going to have any more of this. Let’s breakfast together. You come over at eight sharp and arrange with Maurice to take you down at ten. That’s quite enough for you.”
Claire laughed. Winn stared at her, then in a moment he laughed, too.
“We’d better not take any more chances,” he explained. “Next time it might happen to us both together. Then you’d really be had! Thanks awfully for seeing me through. Good night.”
She went into the hotel without a word, and all her heart rebelled against her for having seen him through.
CHAPTER XXVII
The hour of parting crept upon them singularly quietly and slowly. They both pretended to eat breakfast, and then they walked out into Badrutt’s Park. They sat in the nearest shelter, hand in hand, looking over the gray, empty expanse of the rink. It was too early for any one to be about. Only a few Swiss peasants were sweeping the ice and Winn hardly looked upon Swiss peasants as human.
He asked Claire exactly how much money she had a year, and told her when she came of age what he should advise her to suggest to her trustees to put it in.
Then he went through all the things he thought she ought to have for driving down the pass. Claire interrupted him once to remind him about going to see Dr. Gurnet. Winn said he remembered quite well and would go. They both assured each other that they had had good nights. Winn said he thought Maurice would be all right in a few years, and that he didn’t think he was shaping for trouble. He privately thought that Maurice was not going to have any shape at all, but he omitted this further reflection.
He told her how much he enjoyed his regiment and explained laboriously how Claire was to think of his future, which was to be, apparently, a whirl of pleasure from morning till night.
They talked very disconnectedly; in the middle of recounting his future joys, Winn said:
“And then if anything was to happen to me, you know, I hope you’d think better of it and marry Lionel.”
Claire did not promise to marry Lionel, but she implied that even without marriage she, like Winn, was about to pass into an existence studded with resources and amusements; and then she added:
“And if you were to die, or I was, Miss Marley could help us to see each other just at the last. I asked her about it.” Despite their future happiness, they seemed to draw more solid satisfaction out of this final privilege.
The last ten minutes they hardly talked at all. Every now and then Winn wanted to know if Claire’s feet were warm, and Claire asked him to let her have a photograph of Peter.
Then Maurice came out of the hotel, and a tailing party stood in the open doorway and wondered if it was going to snow. The sleigh drove up to the hotel, jingling in the gayest manner, with pawing horses. Winn walked across the courtyard with her and nodded to Maurice; and Maurice allowed Winn to tuck Claire up, because, after he’d looked at Winn’s eyes, it occurred to him that he couldn’t do anything else.
Winn reduced the hall porter, a magnificent person in gold lace, with an immense sense of dignity, to gibbering terror before the lift-boy and the boots because he had failed to supply the sleigh with a sufficiently hot foot-warmer.
Finally even Winn was satisfied that there was nothing more to eat or to wear which the sleigh could be induced to hold or Claire agree to want. He stood aside then, and told the man briefly to be off. The driver, who did not understand English, understood perfectly what Winn meant, and hastened to crack his whip.
Claire looked back and saw Winn, bare-headed, looking after her. His eyes were like a mother’s eyes when she fights in naked absorption against the pain of her child.
He went on looking like that for a long while after the sleigh had disappeared. Then he put on his cap and started off up the valley toward Pontresina.
It had already begun to snow. The walk to Pontresina is the coldest and darkest of winter walks, and the snow made it heavy going. Winn got very much out of breath, and his chest hurt him. Every now and then he stopped and said to himself, “By Jove! I wonder if I’m going to be ill?” But as he always pushed on afterward with renewed vigor, as if a good idea had just occurred to him, it hardly seemed as if he cared very much whether he was going to be ill or not. He got as far as the Mortratsch Glacier before he stopped.
He couldn’t get any farther because when he got into the inn for lunch, something or other happened to him. A fool of a porter had the impertinence to tell him afterward that he had fainted. Winn knocked the porter down for daring to make such a suggestion; but feeling remarkably queer despite this relaxation, he decided to drive back to the Kulm.
He wound up the day with bridge and a prolonged wrangle with Miss Marley on the subject of the Liberal Government.
Miss Marley lent herself to the fray and became extremely heated. Winn had her rather badly once or twice, and as he never subsequently heard her argue on the same subject with others, he was spared the knowledge that she shared his political views precisely, and had tenderly provided him with the flaws in her opponent’s case.
When he went to bed he began a letter to Claire. He told her that he had had a jolly walk, a good game of bridge, and that he thought he’d succeeded in knocking some radical nonsense out of Miss Marley’s head. Then he inclosed his favorite snap-shot of Peter, the one that he kept with his revolver, and said he would get taken properly with him when he went back to England.