BETTINA YON HUTTEN
 
 THE GREEN PATCH
 
 THE 
 
 GREEN PATCH 
 
 BY 
 
 BETTINA VON HUTTEN 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "OUR LADY OF THE BEECHES 5 ' "pAM* 
 
 "PAM DECIDES" "BEECHY" 
 
 ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 All rights reserved, including that of translation, 
 into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1910 
 BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 
 September
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER I ll 
 
 CHAPTER II 8 
 
 CHAPTER III 18 
 
 CHAPTER IV 25 
 
 CHAPTER V 33 
 
 CHAPTER VI 42 
 
 CHAPTER VII 50 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 59 
 
 CHAPTER IX 67 
 
 CHAPTER X , 75 
 
 CHAPTER XI 82 
 
 CHAPTER XII 89 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 97 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 106 
 
 CHAPTER XV Ill 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 119 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 128 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 137 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 146 
 
 CHAPTER XX 154 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 162 
 
 CHAPTER XXII . . . . '. . . ., 170 
 
 v 
 
 2138771
 
 vi CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII 179 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIV 187 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV 196 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI 206 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVII 215 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVIII 227 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX 234 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX 243 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXI 250 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXII 257 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIII 265 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIV 276 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXV .286 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVI 296 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVII 305 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVIII ....... 314 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIX .326 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 336 
 
 CHAPTEE XLI 345 
 
 CHAPTEE XLII 359
 
 THE GREEN PATCH
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THERE came a day when Christopher Lambe 
 found that he could no longer bear his wife, 
 his three little girls, Lambe House, Sussex, 
 England in general. He was standing on the 
 downs at dawn, looking at the pallid expectant sea 
 against which a windmill's motionless arms looked as 
 if they were etched by an impressionist master. Lambe 
 loved the world at hours when it seemed empty, and 
 now he stood there shivering slightly, for it was 
 chilly ; his hands buried in the pockets of his old green 
 shooting jacket, himself the only human thing in 
 sight. He was a narrow-shouldered man with a long 
 neck and light eyes that were really large, but looked 
 small from his habit of keeping them half closed. He 
 wore no mustache at a time when most men did. His 
 nose was long and delicate and looked through its 
 unusual fineness of modeling and translucent nostrils 
 as though it might in moments of emotion be tremu- 
 lous. Behind his small figure, down in the hollow, lay 
 Lambe House, a large, square Georgian building, 
 still asleep behind its trees. Lambe had been born 
 there, and his father, and his grandfather, and his 
 
 1
 
 2 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 great-grandfather. The ground on which he stood 
 was his and much of the undulating downs beyond the 
 house. He had married some ten years ago and his 
 wife had presented him with three children, all girls, a 
 fact which had grieved her very much, but caused him 
 no particular disappointment. "They are pleasant 
 babies," he told the Vicar, an old Cambridge friend, 
 "they don't cry much." Lady Norah's babies were 
 well brought up and her house well run. There was 
 never the least friction among the intricate wheels of 
 the large household. The servants stayed on and on, 
 as if they meant to die there ; the tradespeople served 
 with zeal the great lady who was always civil to them, 
 and nobody suspected that Lady Norah's secret of 
 success was the power of her personality over others. 
 She was, as well as a great lady, very nearly a great 
 woman in some ways; she would have been an excel- 
 lent Prime Minister, and now, after ten years of 
 smooth-running, stay-at-home life, Christopher Lambe 
 decided to go away. 
 
 Speaking aloud to himself, as was his habit, he 
 watched the sky grow rosy with dawn. 
 
 "I will go," he said, "to some warm country that 
 will be very agreeable." Then after a short pause he 
 made his way down the long flight of rickety wooden 
 steps that led to the beach, and taking off his clothes 
 walked into the sea. There was something curious in 
 the way he approached the great chilly element now 
 beginning to glitter and dance with the strength of 
 day; he made no pause, took no plunge, showed no 
 signs of the usual screwing up of courage as the water
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 3 
 
 closed over his warm body ; he was obviously as much 
 at his ease in the water as he was on the land. Then 
 he swam. Even yet, the world still looked empty ; the 
 fishermen's boats, drawn up high on the sands, were 
 undisturbed by their owners. Nobody stood on the 
 sky line, the great world seemed to belong to the small 
 man swimming by himself. 
 
 "Italy or Spain," he said, turning on his back. 
 "Morocco is full of people who write books. Beasts ! 
 She won't mind; it will be rather a relief to her, I 
 should think; sometimes I will come and visit her. I 
 will tell her at breakfast." Then he made his way 
 slowly back to the shore and dressed. The church 
 clock struck in the distance. His hair, standing up 
 on his head, giving him a peculiarly wild appearance, 
 Lambe returned to his house. It had a fine fa9ade, 
 there was an air about it of ripe repose and dignity. 
 There was in its stately lines none of the picturesque 
 air of the subtle decay, of the dying away of the 
 old order of things that enhances the beauty of 
 Jacobean or Elizabethan houses. It stood there, 
 strong and steadfast, a healthy, middle-aged man 
 among houses; to carry out the simile further, if 
 houses were men, Lambe House was a sedate wearer 
 of a full-bottomed wig. It was surrounded by fine 
 old trees ; it was approached by a terrace on which at 
 regular intervals stood ugly stone urns now ablaze 
 with scarlet flowers. To the left was a sunken fruit 
 garden. Beyond the house, out of sight from where 
 he stood, but present to his inward eye, there was an 
 ancient carp pond, relic of an earlier edifice. There
 
 4 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 was an Italian garden with statues, there was a sun- 
 dial, and on the terrace, in stately pavane, walked 
 peacocks pranking in the sun. Nothing was new, 
 nothing too obviously costly, nothing gaudy. A very 
 perfect specimen of its kind, breathing an air of 
 stately comfort. 
 
 Christopher Lambe looked down at his own small 
 figure with a kind of whimsical disdain. 
 
 "Too good for the likes of me, much too good. I 
 rattle round in it, it's too big." Then he went to 
 his study and partook of milk and fruit, after which 
 he slept for two hours on the only shabby piece of 
 furniture in the house, an old brown leather sofa, 
 which for some reason he loved and had always re- 
 fused to have recovered. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Lady Norah came down the broad staircase with an 
 opulent rustle of silken petticoats, a tall, broad woman 
 with quantities of silky black hair and a healthy red 
 and brown complexion. Behind her, marching at a 
 distance of about three steps apart, the three Misses 
 Lambe. Miss Lambe, Sylvia, was eight; the next 
 one, Susan, nearly seven, and Daffy, the next, was 
 five. They wore holland frocks, their knees were bare, 
 they looked as if they smelt of soap, they looked 
 healthy, obedient and hungry. 
 
 "Now, Daphne," began Lady Norah as the last 
 child landed safely on the rug at the foot of the 
 slippery stairs, "call father." 
 
 Daphne, who, compared with the pearly whiteness 
 of her sisters, looked much like a coffee bean, stumped
 
 away to the study door and pounded on its lower 
 panels, the only ones she could reach. 
 
 "Hello !" shouted Lambe from within. 
 
 "B'kfast," bellowed Daffy in close imitation of his 
 tone. Then the father of the family, his hair now 
 carefully brushed, joined his wife with an absent- 
 minded "good morning," and the quartet went in to 
 breakfast. The little girls had perfect manners of 
 the "speak-when-you-are-spoken-to" kind. Lady 
 Norah, it was plain, did not believe in individuality, 
 so that the three children, who, judging from their 
 faces, must have been quite unlike each other, did 
 throughout the meal precisely the same thing, in pre- 
 cisely the same manner, at precisely the same instant. 
 They were allowed jelly, not jam, because Lady 
 Norah believed that seeds were bad for insides. They 
 had brown bread for their teeth, drank milk for their 
 complexions, ate soft boiled eggs very soft to 
 make blood, and when the meal was over each had a 
 large dose out of a brown bottle, the contents of which 
 were supposed to be helpful to the development of 
 bone in the young. Then each child made a curtsey 
 and, headed by Sylvia, they marched solemnly out of 
 the room. 
 
 "They look very well, don't they?" remarked Lady 
 Norah as the door closed. 
 
 "Very," assented Lambe absently. "Poor little 
 things." 
 
 "Why poor?" she asked. 
 
 He started. "I don't know, I'm sure, it it oc- 
 curred to me. I wonder you don't crop their ears."
 
 6 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Lady Norah smiled tolerantly. 
 
 "You really are too absurd, Christopher." 
 
 "I know I am, that is why I mean to say look 
 here, Norah, I have been thinking." 
 
 Again she smiled, and one saw that her attitude 
 toward her husband was one of amused tolerance. 
 
 "Have you?" she set down her coffee cup and 
 leaned toward him, her placid face framed by the 
 silver of the coffee and tea services. Lambe watched 
 her for a minute in silence. 
 
 "Well, I have been thinking. I think I will go 
 away." 
 
 "Yes, why don't you ?" she agreed pleasantly. "You 
 look a little seedy ; a change might do you good. Why 
 don't you run over to Paris for a few days?" 
 
 "Paris in September?" 
 
 He ran his fingers through his damp hair so that 
 it stood on end. "My dear ! besides, I don't want to 
 get into mischief, and I always get into mischief in 
 Paris." 
 
 "Of course. I thought that is why you went. We 
 have always lived through it, even the snake charmer." 
 
 Lambe blushed a helpless blush, a boyish crimson 
 blush that glazed his eyes for a minute. 
 
 "That isn't what I mean," he stammered. "I don't 
 want to get into mischief ; I am really a very respect- 
 able man ; but I want to go away. I am tired of all 
 this." 
 
 "You don't mean that you are tired of Lambe 
 House?" 
 
 "Yes, I am."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 7, 
 
 "You want to go to town?" she looked like the 
 Goddess of Reason herself, nice, comfortable British 
 reason, as she continued to peer at him through the 
 silver. 
 
 "You are always so sensible, Norah. What I mean 
 is you wouldn't mind very much No, I don't want 
 to go to London. You wouldn't mind very much if I 
 went away for good, would you?" 
 
 Of course she repeated his words. 
 
 "If you went away for good?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You mean leave home and the children?" 
 
 Again he said "yes," watching her with a mild 
 degree of anxiety that to an onlooker would have 
 seemed ludicrously disproportionate to the situation. 
 There was a pause. Then Lady Norah rose and went 
 to the window. She stood for some moments with her 
 back to the room, then at last she turned. 
 
 "I am sorry, Christopher," she said slowly, her face 
 very hard. "I seem to have failed, somehow. Of 
 course you will do as you like." She left the room.
 
 CHAPTER H 
 
 IT IS impossible that the Lambe children should 
 have felt anything of the electric disturbance in 
 the atmosphere of their home that day. They 
 went through their regular routine as usual. 
 
 Miss Ruggles, their governess, imparted to them 
 their daily modicum of pre-digested educational 
 knowledge; they had their usual hygienic lunch at 
 one o'clock, their usual walk after lunch. Lady Norah 
 would have felt herself criminal had she allowed any 
 upset of her own feelings to cause disturbance in the 
 life of her children. 
 
 But in spite of these things it so happened that 
 that day was destined to be the first day that Daphne 
 Lambe could in later life recall, because that after- 
 noon took place an adventure never to be forgotten 
 by her. 
 
 Three o'clock found the quartet on the sands at 
 the foot of the cliff; Miss Ruggles under an um- 
 brella was regaling herself with Sir Robert Ball's 
 "Story of the Heavens," while the three children, 
 bare-legged and be-trousered, paddled in the sea. 
 
 Miss Ruggles was a brave woman, a woman of char- 
 acter ; the strength of her mind may be established by 
 the bare statement of the fact that she had never men- 
 tioned to Lady Norah during her three years of resi- 
 
 8
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 9 
 
 dence that her late father had been a rural dean and 
 her mother the niece of a baronet. The bravest of us 
 has a weak point somewhere. Miss Ruggles's weak 
 point was a vast, overwhelming, and unconquerable 
 terror of dentists, and she had a hollow tooth, and 
 the hollow tooth had a live nerve, so that sunny after- 
 noon treated her to a vivid forecast of the pleasures of 
 the Inferno. Sir Robert Ball, to put it mildly, was 
 unappreciated. 
 
 "Don't go in too far, Daffy; don't let her fall 
 down, Sylvia. Oh, dear ! Oh, dear !" 
 
 The agony was intense. Daffy, who came scamper- 
 ing back for her spade, was struck by the expression 
 of the sufferer's face. 
 
 "Is it bad?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, Daffy," cried the poor woman, her eyes boil- 
 ing over, "it is dreadful." 
 
 Daffy scratched her left leg with her right big toe. 
 
 "Why don't you take another pill?" she suggested. 
 
 "I cannot, dear, it would make me go to sleep." 
 
 Daffy rejoined her sisters, and they began a long 
 wall of sand which was to keep down the ocean and 
 guarantee eternal dryness to the upper half of the 
 beach. Presently Lambe, a pipe in his mouth, came 
 aimlessly down the steps. He had no particular air of 
 wishing to come down the steps ; it seemed merely that 
 he had less objection to it than to going anywhere 
 else. He was drifting as usual. Presently he drifted 
 to where the governess sat. 
 
 "Headache?" he asked pleasantly. 
 
 To her own surprise, Miss Ruggles broke down and
 
 10 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 confessed to the hollow tooth. Lambe sympathized 
 with her feelings regarding dentists, but when he sug- 
 gested medicine and she explained that if she took it 
 she would inevitably go to sleep, he ordered her good 
 naturedly to go to sleep. "You look as if you needed 
 it," he added, "I will take care of the children." 
 
 Ruggles wavered; she knew she was contemplating 
 a crime, but the tooth raged and bliss was in her 
 pocket in a little Burroughs and Wellcome bottle. 
 
 "You are sure you don't mind?" she faltered, al- 
 though that wasn't in the least her real scruple. "If I 
 could sleep for just half an hour I should be 
 better." 
 
 "Mind? Of course I don't," said Lambe, feeling, 
 now that he had made up his mind to leave them, rather 
 drawn toward his offspring. "You go to sleep. There, 
 I will put your shawl over you." Very gently he cov- 
 ered her, put the umbrella over her recumbent head, 
 and after looking at her for a moment, walked away 
 to the right, his head absolutely empty of all thoughts 
 of his children. He would probably have walked on 
 for hours had not Daffy spied him and shouted to him 
 in stentorian tones peculiarly her own, that there they 
 were. Six dripping bare legs sparkled across the 
 sands and a short council was held. 
 
 "Like to come for a walk?" he said. 
 
 Sylvia, a remarkably beautiful child of the blue- 
 eyed angel type, shook her head. 
 
 "Oh, no, father; mother scolds so when you forget 
 us." 
 
 "Well, what shall we do, then? I was going for a
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 11 
 
 swim, but " he hesitated. "Suppose I take you for 
 a row?" 
 
 Poor Ruggles under her umbrella at this period 
 heard in her dream a ripple of delighted laughter and 
 the clapping of small wet hands, but she didn't see the 
 boat dragged down the sands or the gay embarking of 
 the little party, and she dreamed on in peace. 
 
 It was a beautiful afternoon. Daffy always re- 
 membered the blueness of the sky. The whole world, 
 drenched in sunshine, seemed blue and gold, like a 
 gorgeous banner, and dear father was so pleasant. 
 All children liked him, vague though he was, and his 
 own children, without the slightest spark of proper 
 filial feeling, liked him as well; he, for his own 
 part, was proud of them. They belonged, he felt, 
 really belonged to the fine old house, to the fine old 
 grounds. 
 
 The two elder girls sat in the stern and at their 
 feet, apart from them as always, crouched Daffy, 
 browner than ever in the brilliant sun. How two 
 children with the same father and mother could be, 
 beautiful and the third one nearly ugly would have 
 puzzled most people, but it did not puzzle Christopher 
 Lambe, because nothing ever did. Susan, the second 
 child, less lovely than Sylvia, would have been in any 
 other family remarkably handsome. Daffy's hair was 
 straight and black and her little frame without any 
 of the obvious chubby charms of her age. She was 
 perfectly well, but she was very thin and she had a 
 velvety brown mole on her right cheek where the other 
 two children had dimples.
 
 12 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Away they went, over the blue waters, in an almost 
 complete silence. Rowing was pleasant exercise to 
 Lambe ; his eyes fixed absently on the pretty picture 
 before him, he pulled away for nearly an hour. Sylvia 
 was asleep, her arms around Susan. Susan was eating 
 chocolate. Daffy was doing nothing, her brown eyes 
 fixed on the sky over her father's shoulder. 
 
 It was very warm now and the water looked tempt- 
 ing. Lambe had no sense of decorum of his own, but 
 his wife's was very present to him, so before he 
 stripped he made Daffy turn round and ordered Susan, 
 supporting her sleeping sister, to close her eyes. He 
 stood for a moment on the edge of the boat and then 
 jumped overboard. He was a splendid swimmer and 
 it was very pleasant after the heat of rowing. 
 
 "May we open our eyes now?" screamed Susan, for 
 he had quite forgotten his embargo; he was out of 
 earshot. Daffy, who was severely logical, opened her 
 eyes the minute he was in the water. 
 
 "Of course you may," she said. "Susan, are you 
 sleepy?" 
 
 "I am," returned Susan slowly. 
 
 "So am I." 
 
 The boat drifted and caught in a strong current 
 and the three children slept, Daffy stretched on her 
 face in the bottom of the boat. When she awoke it 
 was to the sound of tears. Susan was sobbing. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked the littlest. 
 
 "I want to go home," explained Susan, between 
 loud sniffs. To this day Susan Lambe's tears are 
 larger and wetter than other people's.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 13 
 
 Daffy sat up and looked about her. Where was the 
 sun? Above the horizon the smallest possible wedge 
 of gold was rapidly disappearing, sliding down into 
 the sea with terrific haste, like a malignant elder hiding 
 from children. 
 
 "Where's father?" asked Daffy. 
 
 The other children did not know. 
 
 "He's gone," said Sylvia calmly. She had little 
 imagination and an almost Napoleonic power of sleep. 
 "He's forgot," she added solemnly. Father had so 
 often forgotten! Indeed, to forget was one of his 
 chief occupations in life. Even poor little Daffy could 
 remember several of the occasions on which his for- 
 getting had been disastrous to some one of his family. 
 Had he not taken the two elder girls for a walk that 
 very spring and lost them while they stopped to gather 
 flowers, going his way in bland forgetfulness of them 
 and returning home by a short cut and calling for 
 them cheerfully as he entered the house? 
 
 "Oh, Sylvia," sniffed Susan, "do you think he'll 
 come back for us?" 
 
 "Course he won't," declared Daffy firmly. "I I 
 wonder what time it is?" 
 
 Sylvia laughed and nudged the tearful Susan. 
 
 "Susie, dear," she lisped, "Daffy's going to be 
 afraid!" 
 
 At this bit of good news Susan, whose small char- 
 acter already bore signs of a kind of malignant mis- 
 chief that distinguished her later in life, dried her 
 eyes. 
 
 "O o oh !" she said in a long drawn-out syllable
 
 14 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 that for some reason struck terror to Daffy's soul. 
 "It'll be dark soon." 
 
 Daffy cast a quick look over the darkling waters 
 and edged nearer her relatives. 
 
 "It's vewy early," she retorted aggressively, 
 struggling with the "r." 
 
 "It's going to be dark soon," repeated Susan. Her 
 gray-blue eyes gleamed as Daffy's mouth went down 
 at the corners. Daffy was not a brave child, and 
 though constant teasing had given her an unusual 
 amount of self-control, she feared the dark, as much 
 as her mother would have approved her fearing the 
 devil, and her terror was uncombatable by either her- 
 self or others, for it was born with her. 
 
 "Sylvia, I want to sit near you," the child saicl 
 slowly. 
 
 Sylvia moved and made room for her in the stern 
 sheets ; she was as utterly without Susan's malice as she 
 was without Susan's brains, and she was sorry for the 
 little thing with the fixed, terror-stricken brown eyes. 
 
 But as Daffy clambered to the place made for her, 
 Susan gave a loud scream. 
 
 "Oh, sit down, Daffy you'll upset the boat and 
 the mermaids will eat us !" 
 
 Daffy dropped where she stood. The cannabalistic 
 trait of mermaids was well known to her, and loneliness 
 in the dark was better than being eaten by finny peo- 
 ple with long hair. 
 
 The boat, which had been caught in a strong cur- 
 rent, floated rapidly seaward, and the three children 
 sat silent.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 15 
 
 Sylvia, with her usual philosophy, went to sleep 
 again. Susan, who in her joy at Daffy's terror had 
 nearly forgotten her own, was wondering where her 
 father was, and Daffy was watching the darkening of 
 the sky with a stoicism very great in one so young and 
 small. None of the three was, it is to be observed, at 
 all surprised by their father's non-appearance. No 
 idea that those same man-eating mermaids might even 
 then be sharpening their teeth on his bones occurred 
 to them. Father had forgotten; it was perfectly 
 simple; and they were right. 
 
 Christopher Lambe, who had swam easily to a little 
 promontory that extended half a mile seaward from 
 just south of the village near which he lived, sat in 
 the lea of a boat, drying himself with handfuls of hot 
 sand. He was rather puzzled at first about his abso- 
 lute lack of clothes, but the children had quite gone 
 out of his head and he whistled as he rubbed himself. 
 It was warm and pleasant. 
 
 "Funny what I've done with my clothes," he said 
 aloud, pausing in his operatic selection. "Damn bad 
 memory I've got " and then suddenly he ducked 
 behind the boat. 
 
 Miss Ruggles was advancing on him from the other 
 side, her umbrella moving agitatedly over her head, on 
 which her hideous gray straw hat sat with no regard 
 whatever for symmetry. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Lambe," she quavered, "where are you? 
 I heard you whistling." 
 
 "Go away, Miss Ruggles," he answered, looking at 
 her over the green bottom of the "Saucy Liz,"
 
 16 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Go away! But" 
 
 "Yes, yes. You really mustn't come round to this 
 side." 
 
 Poor Ruggles's face had swollen during her nap 
 and gave her a dissipated air strangely foreign to her 
 prim nature. She wasn't in the least afraid of her 
 employer's husband who was? and in her alarm 
 utterly disregarded his remark. 
 
 "I must know," she panted, pursuing him round his 
 barricade, "where " 
 
 Suddenly he leaned over the boat shaking with 
 laughter. 
 
 "/ shouldn't mind, you know," he said, his thin nose 
 wrinkling absurdly, "but you would. I'm I'm 
 mother-naked, Miss Ruggles." 
 
 Miss Ruggles sat down suddenly. Nakedness to 
 her was as strange and horrible as the mysteries of 
 Hell. 
 
 From behind the boat came Lambe's still uneven 
 voice. 
 
 "I am very sorry," he said kindly. "I didn't want 
 to shock you. Where are you?" 
 
 "I'm I'm here, Mr. Lambe; please put on your 
 clothes at once." 
 
 "Bless her! Oh, dear me, bless her! How can I 
 dress when my clothes are God knows where?" 
 
 The stricken woman, using the broadest part of her 
 spread, middle-aged person as a pivot, wheeled round 
 and faced the sea. She was weak with pain and drugs, 
 and felt queer. 
 
 "Have you been robbed?" she asked faintly.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH IT 
 
 Lambe, still immensely tickled by the joke, burst 
 out laughing again. 
 
 "No, I've been swimming." 
 
 Then she found her wits. "Where," she asked in a 
 voice the loudness of which was intended to convey to 
 herself as well as to him the knowledge that, if he was 
 unashamed, she was unafraid, "where are the little 
 girls?" 
 
 Poor Lambe. His horror and remorse were very 
 poignant. Abjectly from behind the boat he confessed 
 the truth. And then, as Miss Ruggles for the first 
 time in her dull life nearly fainted, he swore at his 
 clothesless condition. "I can't come out to help you, 
 so you mustn't faint," he warned her, but her mauve 
 lips were now ashen as he peered round at her. "For 
 God's sake, Miss Ruggles," he said, "don't faint. If 
 you do I'll come I I'm coming now!" 
 
 Miss Ruggles was frightened out of her wits, and 
 with a tremendous effort controlled her feelings. A 
 moment later she was hurrying back to the village, 
 leaving her shawl and umbrella with Lambe. When 
 she had gone he twisted the shawl round his loins, and 
 the umbrella shielding him from the sun, he scampered 
 up the path to the nearest cottage.
 
 CHAPTER in 
 
 MEANTIME the boat had drifted seaward 
 and night at length really came. For 
 beauty and mystery the approach of night 
 on land cannot be compared to the ap- 
 proach of night on the open sea. When the light goes, 
 whence comes the dark, no one can see, for there are 
 no shadows. The rosy sky hushed itself to gray and 
 the gray sky drew close down over the gray waters. 
 There was no moon. The gray deepened in tone and 
 the air in chill. 
 
 Suddenly Sylvia shivered and woke, her teeth chat- 
 tering. 
 
 "Oh, Fm so cold! Are you asleep, Susan?" 
 
 Susan shook her head. "I am going to fleeze to 
 death," she declared. A Chinese difficulty regarding 
 the letters "1" and "r" were the great Susan's only 
 concession to childish things in the matter of speech. 
 
 "You mustn't freeze, Sue, dear," answered Sylvia, 
 hugging her hand. 
 
 "Yes, I shall, like Hobbs's old horse. And then," 
 she went on, peering through the darkness at the silent 
 Daffy, "the mermaids will crawl up and craw-claw 
 me down into the water, and Daffy knows what 
 they'll do to me." 
 
 But Daffy made no sign of having heard. Presently 
 18
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 19 
 
 she mpved restlessly about for a moment and Sylvia 
 found herself covered with a thick, clammy some- 
 thing. 
 
 "Father's coat," announced Daffy. The two elder 
 children pulled it close round them, and comforted by 
 its gradual warmth, went to sleep in each other's arms. 
 They were not afraid. Alone, in the middle of the 
 boat, her fog-drenched frock clinging to her, Daffy 
 was greatly afraid and trembled. She feared the 
 night, the cold, the hungry mermaids, and most of all, 
 her own hideous past. A list of Daphne Lambe's 
 faults at the age of six would have appalled the head 
 of a boys' reformatory. She was a coward, she was a 
 liar, she was a thief. She was afraid of dogs, of very 
 large cats, of bats, of mice, of the second footman, 
 whose chin was blue, of a horrible noise a certain win- 
 dow in the passage near the nursery made when it was 
 stormy; of mermaids, of having her legs pinched by 
 armless hands as she went upstairs after sunset, of 
 the dark. She lied, when asked if she was afraid, 
 lied, as the saying goes, "up and down." And lying, 
 that immortal proverb about the best policy to the con- 
 trary notwithstanding, was in her case a comforting 
 and profitable thing, inasmuch as it prevented Susan's 
 even approaching to comprehension of her younger 
 sister's facility for being tortured. 
 
 As to thieving, no magpie was worse than the 
 youngest Miss Lambe. She had in a high hollow in a 
 tree that only she could climb, a beautiful cache in 
 which lay, now half forgotten, a heterogeneous collec- 
 tion comprising the thefts of a lifetime. Daffy knew
 
 20 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 that stealing was wrong, but its joys decidedly out- 
 weighed its powers of conscience troubling. 
 
 Apples rotted contentedly down in the long hollow, 
 cheek-by-jowl with Susan's scarlet knitted bed shoes 
 and nurse's original set of false teeth, purloined from 
 a glass of water which, grinning at her in the moon- 
 light, had roused the child's wrath and desire for re- 
 venge. A shell-box with a strip of mirror inset in its 
 lid (taken from Sylvia's treasures after Sylvia had 
 broken one of her cadette's dolls) had gone in next, a 
 bottle of rhubarb mixture that was not appreciated in 
 the nursery, a plaid sash of her own that she hated 
 there were many things in the hollow tree, and the 
 remarkable part of it all is that no one suspected the 
 little girl of being the thief. Silent people enjoy a 
 great natural immunity from suspicion, and Daffy 
 was very silent. 
 
 Her crimes lay lightly on her conscience as a rule, 
 but now, in the boat, cold, hungry and in terror of the 
 night, they passed in hideous array before her tightly 
 closed eyes and added much anguish to her tortured 
 little mind. The fact that mere common sense con- 
 vinced her that to the hungry mermaids her own 
 meager little carcass would appeal much less than the 
 dimpled flesh of her sisters, did not help to any great 
 extent. Her turn would come. And then, dead, she 
 would be judged, and God was, she had gathered from 
 her mother and Miss Ruggles, an implacable Person, 
 with a peculiar loathing for naughty little English 
 maidens. 
 
 She coughed. The fog was very thick now and the
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 21 
 
 darkness seemed palpable. It must have been days and 
 days since father had swum blithely away from them 
 in the sun. The sun seemed a beautiful dream ; noth- 
 ing was real but cold and darkness. 
 
 She coughed again, and Susan woke up. Now, 
 Susan was a person who paid the greatest attention to 
 her own symptoms and emotions. Being a trifle 
 frightened, a trifle cold and very hungry, she began 
 to lament loudly, proclaiming her sufferings as though 
 they were unique in the annals of the world. 
 
 And Sylvia, always led by her immediate junior, 
 joined in her plaint. They wept huge, wet tears, their 
 little noses stopped, their voices became nasal, and 
 thus they helped each other to a condition of utter 
 misery. Daffy listened stonily for a while and then 
 tried to comfort them. It wasn't so vewy dark, she 
 told them, and they had father's coat. 
 
 But the afflicted ones continued to cry and the really 
 terrified Daffy subsided into silence, hugging her 
 knees and wishing she wasn't a damned soul. Sud- 
 denly out of the fog came a sound, a long cooee. Then 
 "Hallo who's there?" 
 
 The wailing ceased. 
 
 "Is any one there?" went on the voice, a man's. 
 
 "Scream, Daffy," commanded Susan suddenly. 
 "Scream hard." 
 
 And Daffy screamed hard, so hard that a great 
 laugh answered her, and a moment later a light ap- 
 peared on their port bow and a huge bulk behind it. 
 
 "Children, by God !" said the man's voice. A min- 
 ute later and their little boat lay close to the Heaven-
 
 22 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 reaching side of a fishing smack and a man came down 
 a rope and got into their boat. 
 
 "You poor little things," he said gently as the boat 
 swayed under his weight. "Who are you and how in 
 Heaven's name did you get here?" 
 
 He turned the light of a lantern on them and Daffy 
 saw the great kindness in his blue eyes. 
 
 "Come along, I'll lift you up. Come, little one." 
 
 He made as if to take Daffy, but she waved him 
 aside. 
 
 "Take them first," a touch of disdain in her baby 
 voice, "they are afraid." This was her delicate re- 
 venge. 
 
 The man he was a very young man, with a tiny 
 mustache, like a canary's wing feather obeyed with 
 a laugh. 
 
 "Servo suo, Maesta," he murmured softly, and took 
 Sylvia into his arms. "You lovely little creature," he 
 said, looking down at her in the lantern light. "Who 
 are you?" 
 
 Sylvia curled her arm about his neck and smiled at 
 him, her dimpled, lovely smile that was bewildering 
 even then. But she did not answer. Some one else 
 would do that. 
 
 "We are Mr. Lambe's little girls," announced Susan 
 alertly. 
 
 The young man then conferred briefly with some 
 invisible person on the smack and Sylvia was swung 
 up into other arms. The young man laughed and 
 stretched his arms. The fairy was fairly heavy to 
 lift up at arm's length. Susan, beautiful too, but
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 23 
 
 minus the bewildering quality, went next. Then he 
 turned to the aged person who had told him to pass 
 her over. 
 
 "Come on, old lady. Well, upon my word, you are 
 the littlest of the lot ! How old are you?" 
 
 "I am nearly six." She was very small and very 
 light, and he could feel her bones under the drenched 
 linen. 
 
 "They evidently starve this one," he reflected as he 
 gave her over to the waiting arms above. Suddenly 
 she turned and an enormously stentorian voice came 
 down to him in accents of command. 
 
 "Boy," it called, "don't forget father's clothes?' 
 
 Hughie Gunning burst out laughing. 
 
 "Right," he answered, gathering up the garments. 
 "But what have you done with father?" 
 
 But when after securing the little boat to the stern 
 of the smack and following his guests up over the 
 side he joined them in the tiny cabin, he saw that 
 his jocularity was misplaced. The Ladies Lambe were 
 not j ocular. Susan explained gravely that their father 
 had gone for a swim and forgotten them, and 
 before he could reply Sylvia added, "And we are so 
 hungry." 
 
 Gunning, who had been out after herring, produced 
 for them such food as he had, and when they had par- 
 taken of it with the charming unapologetic greed of 
 the very young, they all went to sleep. 
 
 "Just like 'im, sir," explained Job Squirrell, the 
 fisherman, "queer in the head, Mr. Lambe is, they say. 
 She'll be frightened enough for anybody, poor lady."
 
 24 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Young Gunning looked meditatively at the little 
 trio. 
 
 "Poor wee things," he said. "What a perfect beauty 
 the biggest one is. I never saw such eyes in my life." 
 
 Thus came the three Lambes into Hughie Gun- 
 ning's life. They have not left it yet.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FROM the moment when she went to sleep in 
 the little cabin of the fishing smack Daffy's 
 memory of that evening became more or less 
 of a blank. She knew vaguely that she had 
 been carried up the steps and across the downs to the 
 house, and that the man who carried her smelt of fish. 
 She remembered being set down before her mother 
 and remorse-stricken father in the hall, and she re- 
 membered seeing Sylvia still asleep in Hughie Gun- 
 ning's arms, but who the fishy-smelling one was she 
 did not know; to her knowledge she never saw him, 
 nor did she learn until some years later. 
 
 It is to be supposed that the children were put to 
 bed after their adventure, and any one who knew him 
 could easily picture poor Christopher Lambe's grief 
 and remorse over his unspeakable carelessness. Un- 
 fortunately, however, any one who knew him could 
 also picture the beautiful, radiant smile that quite sud- 
 denly cut short his lamentations as he burst out: 
 "However, thank God, they are safe now.*' 
 It is to be doubted whether Lambe himself ever gave 
 the adventure a second thought except when reminded 
 many years later by one of his two elder girls or 
 Hughie Gunning himself. Lambe's misdemeanors of 
 the kind were o frequent that he was thoroughly used 
 
 25
 
 26 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 to them and accepted them with the same philosophy 
 with which a man might accept a squint. 
 
 Hughie Gunning never forgot a single detail of his 
 introduction to the three Misses Lambe. He could al- 
 ways shut his eyes and feel the enveloping fog on his 
 face, the easy motion of the old smack, the smell of 
 the bad tobacco James Squirrell was smoking, and 
 then hear a queer little sound that meant the presence 
 of somebody abroad on the great sea in the dangerous 
 fog. He could feel himself stretching over the side 
 into the night calling out, and he always recalled with 
 a laugh the strange and awful shriek sent to him 
 through the darkness by the strong-lunged Daffy, and 
 then the picture of the three poor little waifs as he 
 saw them by the light of his lantern, Susan and Daffy 
 being in the picture mere attributes to the marvelous 
 seraph-like beauty of Sylvia, and always, always, he 
 could, by a slight effort of will, recall the exact feel- 
 ing of Sylvia's little warm body in his arms and the 
 pressure on his shoulder where she laid her head. To 
 him it seemed the most exquisite trust shown by a 
 child to a grown person ; as a matter of fact, Sylvia 
 would at that moment have gone to sleep with her 
 head on the shoulder of a polar bear if one had hap- 
 pened along. Sylvia was sleepy. 
 
 The young man, who was himself just twenty, had 
 been brought up in Italy, his mother having chosen 
 an Italian Marquis as her second husband. The Ital- 
 ian Marquis had been dead for some years, and pretty, 
 silly Mabel Gunning was still living in the ramshackle 
 old villa near Sorrento where she had passed three
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 27 
 
 years, the shortness of whose duration probably had 
 enabled her to regard them as the happiest of her life. 
 Possibly the silliest woman who ever lived, Mabel Ac- 
 quadolce had yet had the sense to educate her boy in his 
 own country, and the night of the adventure in the 
 fog the young man had been one term at Cambridge 
 and was spending his holiday with two other youths 
 and a tutor in a village some six miles up the coast 
 from where the Lambes lived. 
 
 Of all the words in the English language, perhaps 
 the two most mystery-filled are "if" and "but." Think 
 what would have happened to the world if Christ had 
 not been crucified. If Rome had not declined and 
 fallen, it is on the cards that we should this day all 
 of us be Roman provincials. If Napoleon had won 
 the battle of Waterloo who can say what would have 
 happened? That is just the beauty of the argument. 
 "Who can say if" 
 
 To come down to our own times and enter for a 
 moment the political ring, where shall we all be this 
 time fifty years, if Mr. Lloyd George and his sup- 
 porters succeed in doing away with the Dukes and all 
 the other nice little relics of mediaeval times which lend 
 a picturesque glamor to even these matter-of-fact 
 days? 
 
 The afternoon of the adventure in the fog Hughie 
 Gunning had been urged by one of his friends to go 
 with him to Newhaven to meet the friend's mother and 
 sister, who were coming back from the continent. Now 
 Gunning was twenty, he was a reader of poetry, he 
 was as healthily romantic as boys of twenty ought to
 
 28 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 be ; he was tall, strong, good to look upon, and he was 
 rich. The girl he should have gone to meet, Miss 
 Audrey Bellingham, was eighteen, what her brother 
 called "black as your hat," dancing black eyes, curly 
 hair, white teeth and inspired by the precocious spirit 
 of the most abandoned little flirt that ever lived. She 
 was also, it must be observed, very poor, and her 
 mother, the Hon. Mrs. Frederick Bellingham, was a 
 modern huntress, wily and patient, and what she 
 hunted was a husband for her daughter. If these two 
 young people had met it is more than probable, con- 
 sidering the state of mind Gunning was in, that he 
 would have fallen in love with the girl, and if he had 
 done that it is nearly a certainty that the Hon. Mrs. 
 Frederick would have had them safely tied up within 
 three months ; but for some reason that Gunning loved 
 later to describe as "fate," he preferred to go fishing, 
 and Mrs. Frederick and her girl, unbaited by the 
 presence at the wharf of anything more promising 
 than Jimmy Wilder, who had goggle eyes and eleven 
 brothers and sisters, took the boat train to town and, 
 so far as I know, never even met the young man who 
 had come so near to being the son-in-law of the one 
 and the husband of the other. If! 
 
 And, through the now clear night, for the fog had 
 lifted, Hughie Gunning went his way over the downs, 
 his body warmed by excellent wine and food the sen- 
 sible Lady Norah had insisted upon his taking, his 
 young mind ever returning to the thought of the little 
 child he had carried across the shingle, up the steps 
 and over the downs to her home. It is to be hoped
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 29 
 
 that no normal youth arrives at the age of twenty 
 without dreaming about love, and probably Hughie 
 Gunning had had his dreams like any other. There 
 had been a girl in the Hotel Salsomaggiore two 
 years before, when he had been there with his mother, 
 to whom in a shy and undemonstrative way he had 
 been very devoted; he at the time was eighteen and 
 she only twenty-six. 
 
 Then there was a girl with whom he played tennis 
 at Cambridge, to possess whose photograph he would 
 have given much. Also he had for several nights 
 dreamed of a beautiful actress, since become an orna- 
 ment to the peerage. 
 
 But these dreamlets were without particular im- 
 portance and had caused him no pain and left his 
 mind innocent of all real memories. He himself was 
 convinced that his love for Sylvia Lambe began that 
 very night in the fog the instant the light from his 
 lantern fell on her face. In all events, a vivid recol- 
 lection of that moment never faded from his mind. 
 He woke up the next morning saying to himself, "Dear 
 little thing, dear little thing!" and a few days later 
 marched over the downs, ostensibly to call on Lady 
 Norah, in reality to gratify himself by a glimpse of 
 his small enchantress, the memory of whom was con- 
 stantly haunting him. He found her asleep in a ham- 
 mock and f orebore to wake her, much as he longed to 
 see her beautiful eyes open. 
 
 Meantime Christopher Lambe had gone, taking 
 with him two portmanteaux and leaving behind three 
 large packing cases filled by himself with some of his
 
 30 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 personal belongings and which, he told Lady Norah, 
 he would send for as soon as he knew where he was 
 going to be. People whose minds work in several 
 directions at once, people who are capable of seeing 
 several views of any given situation, will probably find 
 Christopher Lambe utterly incomprehensible; those 
 few to whom is vouchsafed but one view of any case, 
 who can, so to speak, hear but one voice, perceive but 
 one guide at any turning point in life, will understand. 
 
 It had come to Lambe that he must go away, so he 
 went; to him it was perfectly simple; it was unbe- 
 lievable to him that other people should not under- 
 stand or should yearn for those long explanations the 
 giving or receiving of which made life to him a hideous 
 waste. 
 
 He had told his wife ; other people would know, of 
 course, but through her; she would do all the telling 
 and that would alleviate matters for her. The man 
 was utterly selfish, conscienceless, ruthless, any of half 
 a dozen dreadful things, but if it had pleased Lady 
 Norah to explain his departure by accusing him of 
 any crime, short of one which would lead to his arrest 
 and incarceration, he would cheerfully have subscribed 
 to her story, and indeed, putting aside the indisputable 
 fact that he was deserting his wife and children, it is 
 to be doubted if ever before a man ran away from 
 home in such a perfectly blameless manner. He had 
 no longing for wild living, he was fastidious to an 
 extraordinary degree, as delicately minded in some 
 ways as a woman, and Wein, Weib and Gesang pos- 
 sessed for him no charm whatever, as the story of the
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 31 
 
 snake charmer must prove. He didn't even care for 
 the blameless music of British Sunday afternoon con- 
 certs, whereas the wanton fiddling of the unlawful 
 would have bored him to tears. He did not look on him- 
 self as deserting his wife and his children ; had he done 
 so he could not have gone. But he was a genial crea- 
 ture, his honest view of the case was that he was going 
 away from a place that he did not like, and was leaving 
 a good woman and three pleasant babies to what he 
 seriously expected to be as great contentment as he 
 knew he would find in their absence from him. He 
 provided Lady Norah liberally with money, he kissed 
 the little girls, and the last that was seen of him from 
 the house he was walking down the driveway with a 
 peculiar air of youthful blitheness. 
 
 As for Lady Norah, she was not "one who talked," 
 as the old nurse said ; her life went on much as usual. 
 No one dared ask her questions, and it was some two 
 or three years before even the old Vicar dared to in- 
 quire when Lambe was coming home. She had never 
 particularly liked him, and never having realized that 
 she did not understand him, had always silently re- 
 sented the fact that he did not understand her. She 
 was one of those people whose own smallest actions 
 are to themselves of the utmost importance. Her 
 changing one kind of tooth paste for another was 
 considered sufficiently interesting to become a subject 
 for conversation, and what she had said to nurse and 
 nurse had said to her about Sylvia's flannels or the 
 baby's physic, was matter for discussion throughout a 
 meal. With this, a thoroughly good woman, very con-
 
 32 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 scientious, believing herself to be very religious, inas- 
 much as she sincerely bowed down in her heart to her 
 monstrous conception of a God with no sense of jus- 
 tice and no sense of humor. Why she was so con- 
 vinced of her own importance in the universe, why she 
 believed so thoroughly in her own wisdom, why she so 
 unaffectedly expected other people to accept her com- 
 monplace ideas as useful and even brilliant, I don't 
 know, and poor Christopher Lambe, also not knowing, 
 had often wondered. He was too polite to tell even 
 himself that she bored him, but if analyzed this was 
 the chief of the poor woman's crimes so he whistled 
 as he left the house. 
 
 Three years passed before they met again.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 "T% Jf^ dear Norah," said Christopher Lambe 
 % / 1 gallantly, coming toward her, "you are 
 
 I y looking splendidly !" 
 
 She was. In the dingy private sitting 
 room of Bagg's Hotel, in Albemarle Street, the tall, 
 handsome woman in her well-fitting gown and glossy 
 brown furs was almost radiant. She was not yet 
 thirty-four, and her quiet country life had kept her 
 skin and eyes young. 
 
 "You," she returned truthfully, "look tired." 
 
 "Sit down, my dear. Yes, I am tired, I mean. 
 How are the little girls?" 
 
 His tone was as detached as it would have been had 
 the little girls in question been merely the daughters 
 of some newly found old friend. But she did not see 
 this. Quite unsmiling she gave him the news, gave it 
 in her characteristic way. 
 
 "Very well, thanks. Sylvia is lazy, but Susan is 
 very clever. She is going to be brilliant, I think. I 
 have had great trouble with her teeth. But I have 
 had her under an American dentist and he has nearly 
 straightened them. A very ingenious thing made of 
 wire that he tightens gradually painful, but excel- 
 lent. Sylvia is doing gymnastfcs, she is too fat." 
 
 "Oh, yes, and how is the little one?" It is possible 
 33
 
 84 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 that he could not for the moment remember the child's 
 name." 
 
 "Daphne? She is well, too, but very small. Noth- 
 ing seems to make her grow," drawing her tall figure 
 up to its full height as if in reproach of the absent 
 Daphne. "I can't understand why she doesn't grow." 
 
 A gleam of amusement crossed Lambe's pale face. 
 
 "7 never did, you know much," he ventured mildly, 
 "She may take after me." 
 
 Lady Norah looked at him thoughtfully, as if an 
 entirely new possibility were presented to her under- 
 standing. 
 
 "Yes, she may, I suppose. But she doesn't look in 
 the least like you." 
 
 Lambe smiled. "I didn't mean to suggest anything 
 improper, my dear. After all, I am her father," he 
 added, taking up the poker and inspecting it before he 
 applied it to the sulky fire, "and now may I know why 
 you sent for me?" 
 
 "I wished to see you." 
 
 "Yes. But why?" 
 
 "They all say I ought to to make another eff ort." 
 Her handsome face was nearly expressionless as he 
 muttered something about Mrs. Dombey, and when he 
 was again silent she went on, "it would have been 
 nicer if you had come to Lambe House. I am sorry 
 you are ill." 
 
 "I am not ill, Norah ; I didn't say I was. I said I 
 wasn't able to come." 
 
 "And of course I thought that meant you look 
 quite well and I hardly expected to find you up !"
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 85 
 
 Then he laughed aloud, and she saw how many more 
 and how much deeper were the lines in his face. 
 
 "If I hadn't been 'up,' I should never have ventured 
 to ask such a dragon of virtue as you to come and 
 see me ! But take off your very becoming furs and I 
 will listen like a good boy." 
 
 When she had obeyed and sat opposite him by the 
 fire, he went on, rubbing his hands slowly. 
 
 "Well? Why have you brought me from Italy to 
 this dreadful town at this dreadful season ?" 
 
 "Christopher, will you not come home?" 
 
 She looked at him earnestly. Plainly she was do- 
 ing her duty, but he was surprised to see in her face 
 evidences of a more personal feeling as well. 
 
 "No, Norah," he answered quietly, with a pang of 
 pity. 
 
 "Will you never come back?" 
 
 "Not to stay." 
 
 She was silent and he added hastily, "How is 
 Thomas?" 
 
 Thomas was his valet whom he had left behind, but 
 who had stayed on in the house. 
 
 "Thomas is well, I believe. He would like me to 
 take him on as butler Gregory is married but I 
 can't have a butler named Screach." 
 
 "No, I suppose not. Besides I want Thomas." 
 
 "TFanJhim? What for?" 
 
 "To be my butler. Why can't I have butlers and 
 things, as well as you?" 
 
 He laughed at his little joke, but she did not. 
 
 "But you haven't a house."
 
 36 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Lambe lit a cigarette. 
 
 "Haven't I? Well, no, perhaps I haven't. But I 
 have a villa and some villas rise to butlers." 
 
 Lady Norah stared at him, and when she stared her 
 big brown eyes looked like marbles. 
 
 "Where have you a villa?" 
 
 "Near Sorrento. Do you remember young dear 
 me, I've forgotten his name the boy who brought 
 home the little girls one night when I forgot them in 
 a boat?" 
 
 "Yes, young Gunning." 
 
 "Exactly, Gunning. Well I met him one day in 
 Naples about a year ago. I was on my way back from 
 Morocco and was in a restaurant. He was there." He 
 paused and poked the fire. His thick curly hair was 
 thickly streaked with gray, she saw, as he bent over 
 the faint glow he had succeeded in coaxing from the 
 best Wallsend, and his hands, though very thin, were 
 brown as well as freckled. 
 
 "Go on. What has Mr. Gunning to do with your 
 villa?" 
 
 "I beg your pardon. Nothing, now. Only, I 
 bought the villa from him, that's all." 
 
 Lady Norah wasn't particularly interested, but she 
 was always curious in a well-bred way. 
 
 "How did he come to have an Italian villa ?" 
 
 His mother married a second time one of the Bo- 
 logna Acquadolces, and he left his villa to her. She 
 got sick of it and exchanged it with the boy for a 
 house he had in London. Then he sold it to me." 
 
 "Do you live there?"
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 37 
 
 "Yes. I've lived there for about six months. I 
 thought I'd try it before I settled down, you see." 
 
 Lady Norah paused for several minutes before she 
 answered him. 
 
 "Christopher, have you reflected how how strange 
 it is ? Just leaving us like this, I mean." 
 
 "Of course it is strange. So am I strange. I I 
 hope it doesn't bother you, Norah?" he added anx- 
 iously. 
 
 "I hate questions being asked. And it is so queer 
 for the children. They wonder, of course." 
 
 After a moment he looked up again. "Why don't 
 you tell 'em I'm dead?" he suggested luminously. 
 
 "Christopher!" 
 
 "Well, why not ? Or shut up. Lots of people think 
 I'm mad." 
 
 "Oh, that, yes," she agreed with a slight tone of 
 contempt in her voice. 
 
 "Well !" 
 
 "Christopher, do try to be rational. Realize that I 
 am not asking you for my sake. I am quite happy, 
 that is, happy enough and every one knows I am not 
 to blame. But the children are growing up. I sup- 
 pose you have no idea how old they are?" 
 
 He looked confused for a moment, and then 
 laughed cheerfully at himself. 
 
 "Not I ! Let me see, the biggest one must be ten, I 
 should think?" 
 
 Lady Norah shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Sylvia is twelve, and little Daphne is eight and has 
 lost her front teeth."
 
 38 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Oh, of course, if she's lost her front teeth I ought 
 to go back " 
 
 She frowned. "Please don't interrupt me. When 
 you met Mr. Percival in Athens eighteen months ago, 
 you told him you went away because you were tired of 
 seeing corn grow. Now that alarmed him. It really 
 isn't sane, you know." 
 
 " I didn't say a word about corn. I said I couldn't 
 bear the sight of those great monstrous things like de- 
 capitated heads that they pile up in the fields mon- 
 grel what's the name of 'em? Mongrel-wrangles or 
 something. And I couldn't, I loathed them ; and po- 
 tato fields, I loathe them now. And I hate rain and 
 fog Oh, my God, how I hate fog !" 
 
 He spoke with a vehemence she had never seen in 
 him, but she persevered. 
 
 "The little girls need you." 
 
 "They don't. That's the beauty of me. No om- 
 needs me. You don't !" 
 
 "But they do." 
 
 "Well, I'm sorry. They can't have me. They can 
 have Oh, yes, I haven't told you that, you can 
 have money if you like, lots of it. I made no end in 
 copper a year ago. Come, Norah, let me write you a 
 nice fat cheque." 
 
 She rose, offended. "I did not come here for money, 
 Christopher. You are, I believe, a little mad, but even 
 you ought to understand that you have no right to 
 desert us. I am only thirty-three, besides." 
 
 "You mean ?" 
 
 "I mean that if I didn't lead the life of a hermit,
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 89 
 
 people would talk, and that I can't have for the chil- 
 dren's sake." 
 
 "But you always lived the life of a hermit. I used 
 to drag you up to town by the hair, as paleolithic men 
 used to drag their women into their caves. You don't 
 mean to say you are longing for society?" If she 
 had suggested a longing for ballooning he could not 
 have been more sincerely amazed. 
 
 She put on her furs and held out her hand. 
 
 "No, but in those days the children were very little 
 and my entire duty was with them. Now they are 
 older and I should like occasionally to see some of my 
 old friends." 
 
 There was justice in her plaint and he knew it. 
 
 "Wait a minute, Norah," he said slowly, "let me 
 think." 
 
 She paused while he thought. The hideous room 
 was nearly dark but for the firelight, and from the 
 wet streets came the sound of hurrying carriages. A 
 boy was crying the evening papers. The ornate clock 
 struck six and a coal dropped into the ashes. Unim- 
 aginative though she was, these details remained al- 
 ways in Norah Lambe's mind. 
 
 At length he spoke. 
 
 "Look here," he said with the pleased air of one to 
 whom an enlightening idea has just come, "Why don't 
 you marry again?" 
 
 She gasped and tried to speak, but he went on, hold- 
 ing up one hand to crave her attention. 
 
 "No, I am no madder than usual, and I have not 
 forgotten that you have already one husband and that
 
 40 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 I am he. But you are right about your being lonely 
 and young. You are also very good-looking. I think 
 my idea an excellent one. You can divorce me any 
 day I'll arrange it. I'll knock you down if you like, 
 and then don't you see?" 
 
 She was silent for some seconds. She had a strange 
 feeling that she understood him better in that extra- 
 ordinary proposition of his that shocked her nearly 
 out of her wits, than she ever had done before. Per- 
 haps this was because he was really thinking of and 
 for her. 
 
 "Thank you, Christopher," she said slowly. "I 
 don't wish for a divorce, thank you. I have no desire 
 whatever to marry again. I think you ought to try 
 to overcome this mad notion of yours for staying away 
 from us. It is wrong as well as mad. But if you 
 won't then I have no more to say. Except that, 
 much as I should hate to leave England, I would, if 
 you wish it, come to Italy." 
 
 Lambe's eyes betrayed horror. 
 
 "No, no, my dear. Thank you very much; it is 
 very kind of you, but I wouldn't think of ac- 
 cepting such a sacrifice, in fact I shouldn't like it 
 at all." 
 
 "Very well, I will go now. Mr. Percival is wait- 
 ing for me downstairs. We are going back by the 
 6.50." 
 
 They shook hands, and he opened the door. 
 
 "Good-bye," he said vaguely. "Thank you for com- 
 ing. Remember me to I mean to say, give my love 
 to the babies."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 41 
 
 As she went out, she turned, looking a little like 
 Mrs. Siddons in her majesty of demeanor. 
 
 "Remember, Christopher, that they will not always 
 be babies." 
 
 He went slowly back to the fire. "No, I suppose 
 they won't," he said aloud, "I suppose they won't."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 OF course Christopher Lambe had not been al- 
 lowed to desert his wife and family in 
 peace, as he himself mentally expressed it. 
 Unfortunately for him, Lady Norah was 
 one of many brothers and sisters, and both her father 
 and mother came of large families. So that during 
 the first five years of his freedom, Lambe went through 
 several interviews with outraged, or tearful in-laws, 
 and heard himself called nearly every abusive name in 
 the language. The worst of this abuse might natur- 
 ally have come from his brother-in-law, the Bishop, who 
 had the Old Testament to draw on, but the Honorable 
 Thomas Pember was a genial man, and thus the worst 
 words came from some of the women ; and for years 
 Lambe used to groan at the recollection of these in- 
 terviews, which, to do him justice, were, all but two, 
 absolutely unavoidable on his side. 
 
 When the family had succeeded in prodding its 
 easy going chief into action, Lambe met him by ap- 
 pointment, feeling in his queer way that he must see 
 Pemberley. This was about a year after his depar- 
 ture from Lambe House, and the two men met in what 
 all the Pemberley tribe called the Town House, a 
 dingy hive-section in Grosvenor Place. It was August, 
 and very warm, and the drawing rooms were shrouded 
 with holland. 
 
 42
 
 Lord Pemberley was smoking. He was a tall thin 
 man with very little hair and a red nose. 
 
 "Well, Kit," he began solemnly, "what's this I 
 hear?" 
 
 Lambe, who had just come home from somewhere 
 far away, and was very sunburnt, laughed. 
 
 "It's probably quite time, Otho," he answered. "I 
 have deserted my home and fireside, I have disgraced 
 the name of Englishman." 
 
 His brother-in-law eyed him curiously. 
 
 "Where've you been?" 
 
 Lambe told him. 
 
 "With a woman?" 
 
 "Good Lord, no ! And I don't drink, nor gamble. I 
 am a remarkably virtuous man, Otho. I don't like 
 home life, that's all." 
 
 "Humph!" Lord Pemberley's wife, who had pre- 
 sented him with five plain women-children, and no son, 
 was not lovely in his eyes. 
 
 "You see," went on Lambe, smoking comfortably, 
 "I'm not quite sane. I mean to say, if other people 
 are sane, then I must be a little mad. I have nothing 
 whatever, as I need hardly tell you, against Norah. I 
 appreciate her. She is good and not at all bad-look- 
 ing, and people like her. The trouble is just that I 
 don't; like her, I mean. She bores me to death, 
 Lambe House bores me to death, the details of edu- 
 cation bore me. So do governesses and progress in 
 lessons." 
 
 "Bore everybody," grunted Pemberley, "but you 
 have to put up with 'em."
 
 44 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "Well, I mean to say, I don't like hearing about 
 how brave or how cowardly they were at the dentists, 
 or how dull about the Queens of England, or how 
 they say their prayers, but look at me !" 
 
 Lambe looked. Then he said with an extremely 
 grave face: 
 
 "A nice example you are, Otho." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean," explained the little man, gazing up at 
 him, "that when Maud began boring you, you took 
 another wife, that's all." 
 
 Pemberley gasped and behind his red nose (an ef- 
 fect of defective circulation, not drink) his face paled 
 unbecomingly. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Well, you blessed old ostrich, did you really think 
 no one knew? We all know, bless you, even the 
 Bishop. And as for me, I am shocked and grieved. 
 It's insulting to Maud, you know. I'm not insulting 
 Norah." 
 
 "Maud doesn't know, if you mean about hem 
 ha she doesn't know." 
 
 "Oh, doesn't she? You go home and ask her if she 
 doesn't. My dear fellow, people always know things ; 
 haven't you learned that yet? Now I think I'll go. I 
 came because you are the head of Norah's family, 
 but you really mustn't scold me, you see." 
 
 Pemberley had some dignity and mustered it 
 now. 
 
 "This is all very well, Lambe," he said, "but Norah
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 45 
 
 is my sister, and you are hurting her and I have a 
 right to protest against it, whatever I may do myself 
 that you don't like. If my wife's people object to my 
 actions, they haven't said so. Now will you behave 
 like like a gentleman and go back to your family? 
 You needn't stay at Lambe House all the time, you 
 know. There is no reason on earth why you shouldn't 
 travel. We might go over to Paris for a fortnight at 
 Christmas time " 
 
 Lambe burst out laughing. 
 
 "And do the naughty theaters and balls, and bring 
 our wives a Cartier brooch apiece? No, thanks. My 
 mind cannot grasp the turpitude of yours. I am a 
 good man, Otho, and you are a thundering old scoun- 
 drel. Good-bye." 
 
 He left the room still chuckling, and Lord Pember- 
 ley, who had combined this interview and a necessary 
 visit to his dentist, followed him, after a short interval, 
 and called a hansom. Lambe was a hopeless fellow, he 
 reflected, as he jerked along through the deserted 
 streets. And as to there being no woman in the case, 
 it was of course not true. And thus ended the inter- 
 view with the Earl. 
 
 The Bishop ran him to earth in Munich, late in the 
 following November. 
 
 Lambe was standing in a perfectly dark room in 
 the museum, looking at one of the "Nativities," that 
 set far back behind glass in a niche in the wall, pre- 
 sented a most perfect picture of the shepherds watch- 
 ing by night. 
 
 There is a world of romance and beauty in the very
 
 46 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 words, "watching by night," and the genius that in- 
 spired this most delectable of collections has sur- 
 passed itself in this scene. 
 
 The sky is a velvety dark blue pierced with stars 
 that are made of real light. On the right, on the hill- 
 side, are the shepherds among the drowsing flock. A 
 palm tree droops in a sharp line athwart the distant 
 landscape and the sky, and on the left, in a cunningly 
 contrived ruin, three feet high, lie the mother and 
 child. Their minute faces are really beautiful. They 
 are not dolls, they are tiny statues posed by a great 
 artist ; and, standing quite alone, leaning on the brass 
 rail before the glass, Christopher Lambe forgot that 
 he was looking at a work of art. 
 
 The humble peasant girl with her 'divine child 
 seemed to live under his eyes, which grew wet before 
 the poignant pathos of the simple scene. And above 
 the startled watchers by night, shone the great Star 
 from which a shaft of light swept the earth and a 
 snow-white angel pointed to the stable whither even 
 then the Wise Men were hurrying with gold, frankin- 
 cense and myrrh. It was utterly quiet in the little 
 room and Lambe's soft hat was squasned under his 
 arm, for he was in a sacred place. 
 
 Then the Bishop touched his shoulder and he 
 dropped his hat and started. 
 
 "Good gracious, Tom, you here !" 
 
 The Bishop, a heavily built man with as rosy gills 
 and benign eyes as a bishop should have, shook 
 hands with him. 
 
 "My dear Christopher, I am glad to have found
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 47 
 
 you. The porter at your hotel luckily remembered 
 where you were and I followed you.'* 
 
 "I see." 
 
 "You look well." 
 
 "Quite, thanks. Yes, I am blessed with excellent 
 health." 
 
 The Bishop was young for one of his ecclesiastical 
 rank and assumed a breezy, youthful manner. 
 
 "Now then, my dear fellow, Pemberley told me of 
 his interview with you. I quite understand. The best 
 fellow in the world, old Otho, but, well, he hasn't much 
 sense of humor, and to understand you, Kit, a man 
 needs a great deal of that valuable spice of life. I 
 have told them from the first that they went at you in 
 the wrong way. 'Leave him alone,' I said, 'and he'll 
 come home.' ' 
 
 "Like Miss Bo-peep's lost sheep? Well, Tom, I 
 might as well tell you at once " 
 
 The Bishop took his arm. 
 
 "It won't do, Kit, it won't do. You have had your 
 holiday (and I don't mind confessing to you that dear 
 Norah would rather bore me too, if she was my wife), 
 and now you must be a good boy." 
 
 Lambe turned away and fixed his eyes on the 
 mother and child in the stable. 
 
 "Wait a minute, Tom," he said slowly. "I want to 
 look at this again. It's far better than a church." 
 
 "Very pretty, I'm sure. Quite charming for a pup- 
 pet-show," commended his Lordship blandly. 
 
 Lambe turned, frowning. 
 
 "You have no more real reverence than than a
 
 48 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 codfish. You are looking at the Story of the World, 
 and you call it 'very pretty.' Oh, come away." 
 
 He stalked angrily into the next room, and without 
 pausing to look at the other "pictures," led the way 
 down the great stairs. Half-way down the Bishop re- 
 covered himself. 
 
 "I know you don't mean to be rude," he began, 
 only to be cut short again. 
 
 "I do. I mean to be very rude, indeed. My life is 
 absolutely a harmless one. It may simplify matters 
 if I give you my word at once that there is no woman 
 in it and no women. That I don't drink petrol in 
 bed, or gamble in Chinese Hells. I look at pictures 
 and see plays ; I have been in a little war since I saw 
 you and got potted in my leg. That's why I limp. 
 And I have lived in a sailing boat for months at a 
 time. And I have fooled about with the people who 
 happened to interest me and lain on my back and 
 looked at the sky which is blue, and and so on, and so 
 on, and so on. That's all." 
 
 The big prelate looked down at him. 
 
 "I see," he said slowly. "I don't understand, but I 
 believe you, Kit." 
 
 "Thanks for believing my word of honor !" 
 
 "Wait a minute. I do believe you, and I'll do my 
 best to make the family " 
 
 "Oh, damn the family ! I want to be let alone, that's 
 all. I've made a good deal of money. Copper. And 
 the little girls shall be rich. Norah can have any 
 amount of money. But, for God's sake, don't let 'em 
 all get after me. I've had Sophy Cresborough, old
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 49 
 
 Pelican, and Maria, and Corisande God, what a 
 tongue ! and Pemberley, and Jack, and Arthur, and 
 even poor old Bill. If any more of them attack me, 
 I'll lose my temper !" 
 
 The Bishop, who was a very good fellow, laughed. 
 
 "Poor Kit ! Well, I've done my best. I can do no 
 more. I'll not bother you again. Will you dine with 
 me to-night?" 
 
 Lambe shook his head. 
 
 "I'm off this afternoon." 
 
 "Whereto?" 
 
 "I don't know yet. Away from this. Good-bye, 
 Tom." 
 
 The Bishop held out his hand, which was large and 
 well-cushioned, and Lambe shook it heartily. 
 
 When they had separated at the door, the Bishop 
 taking a droschke, Lambe starting off on foot, the 
 carriage came to a sudden standstill. 
 
 "I say, Tom, what's your hotel?" 
 
 "The Continental. Why?" 
 
 But Lambe went his way without answering. 
 
 That evening the Bishop received from his prodigal 
 brother-in-law a cheque for two thousand pounds and 
 a short note: 
 
 "DEAR TOM: This comes from copper mines in 
 America. Use it for poor people if you can for 
 the kind that don't get taken care of by institutions. 
 
 "Good luck to you. 
 
 "CHRISTOPHER LAMBE."
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 ONE morning in late February, nearly five 
 years and a half after his leaving Lambe 
 House, Christopher Lambe was sitting in 
 his garden by the sea in Italy. 
 
 He sat in a long pergola covered with flowering 
 roses and jessamine, that stretched from the marble 
 parapet over the sea straight back to a small open 
 place in which most musically splashed a fountain. 
 
 Before the little man sparkled the blue bay, to his 
 right and left another pergola stretched, covered, this 
 one, with a very delicate fretwork of pale green 
 leaves, and in the little open space where his long 
 chair stood by a beautifully carved stone table he was 
 in the full sun of nine o'clock. 
 
 He was reading a Neapolitan newspaper, and on 
 the table stood his breakfast : coffee, rolls, eggs, and 
 grapes like great globules of golden honey. 
 
 From the pergola that stretched away in darkness 
 behind him came the mellow piping of a prisoned 
 blackbird. The knowledge that the unseen cage was 
 built of osier and was of a large, rustic shape, pleased 
 Mr. Lambe. The romance of beauty in even humble 
 things had in the last years grown to mean much to 
 him. 
 
 From ft low ivy-covered hood of gray stone at his 
 60
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 51 
 
 feet arose a third sound, a gurgling, soft noise rather 
 like a deep-voiced child's chuckling to itself. Lambe 
 listened. He was exquisitely happy at that moment 
 and the gurgling voice mingled with the singing of 
 the blackbird and the splashing of the fountain 
 gave him the keenest pleasure compatible with utter 
 rest. 
 
 He was now forty-one and looked very well. His 
 curly gray hair was a trifle longer than most Eng- 
 lishmen's, his face and hands were burnt by many 
 suns to a warm brown ; surmounted by this brown hue, 
 his eyes looked the color of blue flame. He wore gray 
 flannels and a silk shirt with a soft collar, and his nar- 
 row feet were in spotlessly white, rubber-soled canvas 
 shoes. 
 
 He was eating his egg, his badly printed little pa- 
 per balanced in front of him against the coffee pot, 
 when a footstep caused him to look up. From the in- 
 visible house on his left, a man was coming toward 
 him. 
 
 "What is it, Tommaso?" 
 
 Thomas Screach, now butler, presented to his mas- 
 ter a card on a salver. 
 
 "Mr. Salvatore, sir; Vs in the drawing room." 
 
 "Good. Ask him to come out here. And Thomas 
 if Donna Mabel should come, ask her to wait in the 
 house or in the lower garden, will you?" 
 
 "Very good, sir." 
 
 Thomas went his way and a few minutes later Sig- 
 nor Salvptore Santi, of Rome, was seated near Mr. 
 Lambe at the other table.
 
 52 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Well, Salvatore," began Mr. Lambe abruptly, like 
 an excited child, "have you got it?" 
 
 "Si, Signore!" 
 
 Young Santi, a really rather beautiful youth of 
 the smooth, brown, Roman type, bowed his head 
 as politely as the exigencies of his collar would 
 allow. 
 
 "I got it the day before yesterday. It is perfect, 
 Signor Lamm-a. In the Poggio, near the Diana, it 
 will be divine." 
 
 "How much was it?" inquired Lambe, pouring out 
 more coffee from a beautiful old silver pot. 
 
 Young Santi named a sum large enough to startle 
 the ordinary rich man, but Lambe nodded, satisfied. 
 
 "And when can you get it down here?" he added. 
 "By Tuesday?" 
 
 "Signore! It will be difficult. Sara difficile." 
 
 But Lambe knew that "It is difficult," is an Italian 
 euphemism for "impossible," and dismissed the very 
 possibility of impossibility with a wave of his hand 
 and a quick frown that the young antiquarian knew. 
 "Tuesday. This is Thursday. Lots of time, Salvatore 
 mio." 
 
 He spoke very correct, idiomatic Italian with a 
 strong touch of the Sorrento accent. 
 
 "Now let's go and settle on the exact spot for 
 Tuesday." 
 
 Together they passed along the pergola to the left, 
 turned, on reaching the house, sharply to the left 
 again, and walking over a long stretch of lawn that 
 was the envy of all the neighboring villa owners,
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 53 
 
 opened a green door in an ancient brick wall and 
 found themselves in the orange orchard. 
 
 The air was pungent with the smell of oranges in 
 the sun and apparently the orchard had no end. Away 
 it stretched on all sides, seemingly a boundless forest 
 of beautiful trees, thickly clustered with fruit that 
 glowed like lamps among the splendid glossy leaves. 
 
 The two men walked on in the sun-flecked shadows 
 until they came to a broad avenue on either side of 
 which stood, at restful intervals, statues or amphorae 
 great stone or marble bowls and vases, ancient oil 
 and wine receptacles, as beautiful in shape as though 
 they had sprung up out of the earth like the trees 
 themselves. 
 
 "The girl with the dove looks very well from here," 
 mused Lambe happily. "Just look at her chin !" 
 
 Young Santi forgot his beautiful patent shoes and 
 his genuine London-made gloves. His dark eyes 
 gleamed as he gazed. 
 
 "Beautiful indeed, sir. And I am convinced we had 
 a great bargain in the black-handled vase. My father 
 says he could swear it is not later than 400 A. D. An 
 American gentleman is trying very hard to get one 
 like it, but Santi e Figli do not manufacture an- 
 tiques," he added with professional pride. 
 
 "Quite so. You think the new treasure should go 
 opposite the Diana? Better than at the crossways, 
 eh?" 
 
 The young man reflected. 
 
 "Yes, sir," he declared definitely after a pause. 
 
 "I like the empty space at the crossways opposite
 
 54 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 the Pompeian lady. And the 'new treasure,' as you 
 rightly call it, will go beautifully against that clump 
 of lemon trees. It needs a background." 
 
 They walked up the avenue until they came to 
 where it was bisected by another. It was very beauti- 
 ful. The place was so vast, the foliage so abundant 
 and so rich in quality that the chaste whiteness and 
 pale brownness of the beautiful antiques acquired a 
 new value by their surroundings. There was no ef- 
 fect of crowding, of arranging for show. 
 
 Each statue, each great vase could be seen by itself 
 against its background of leaves, and if Pan himself 
 had come peering up round a tree, no imaginative per- 
 son would have been much surprised. 
 
 There was a Pan, a grinning brown fellow some 
 two thousand years old, but he had a nook all to him- 
 self hidden deep among creeper-hung lemon trees, to 
 whom he played his pipes in all weathers and where, it 
 was believed by the peasants, he descended from his 
 pedestal to dance in the moonlight. 
 
 Turning to the left, Lambe led the way to the place 
 where his new purchase was to be installed. 
 
 It would be hard to imagine anything more beauti- 
 ful than the Poggio as the sun filtered down through 
 its leaves, each one of which shone almost like a tiny 
 mirror. To the left now came a row of lemon trees 
 with great pale globes of fruit, nearly quite ripe, and 
 beyond, still paler, hung clustered grapefruit. 
 
 "Strange how many different yellows there are in 
 oranges," Lambe said presently. 
 
 The young Italian nodded.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 55 
 
 "Yes, from here," the young man added, throwing 
 back his head, and half closing his eyes, "I should 
 say I can see at least twenty different shades." 
 
 And now they had come to the place. On their 
 right stood the Diana, a lovely, lithe lady, strong 
 legged and deep-chested, with a bow and arrow in her 
 hands and a beautiful uplifted smile on her marble 
 face. She was running, and the wind that had cooled 
 Greece over two thousand years ago had swept her 
 drapery back from her flying limbs, and blown out 
 her hair as she ran. It was a very beautiful statue 
 and no one but Christopher Lambe would have ex- 
 posed it to even the benign rains and winds of that 
 favored climate. 
 
 Young Santi looked at her adoringly. 
 
 "And you still don't regret putting her here ?" 
 
 Lambe threw out his hands in a sudden gesture. 
 
 "My dear Salvatore, imagine her shut up within 
 four walls. It would be as bad as shutting up a bird in 
 a cage." 
 
 "And your blackbird in the pergola?" 
 
 Lambe's face fell. 
 
 "You are quite right, but at least the blackbird 
 sings, and I have my beautiful concert every morning 
 at breakfast. If this lady were caged, she would not 
 sing. Upon my word," he added, looking at the ex- 
 quisite marble creature before him, "I believe her hair 
 and her draperies would droop like a flag in a calm, 
 and she would drop her bow and we should find her a 
 miserable heap on the floor." 
 
 Having decided on the exact position for the new
 
 56 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 purchase after stopping to examine the dif- 
 ferent beautiful bits of statuary, most of which 
 Santi's father had been instrumental in securing, they 
 made their way back to their house. 
 
 At the far end of the garden, on the side of the 
 house opposite to that where Lambe had breakfasted, 
 the sea had encroached on the land for several hun- 
 dred yards, cutting for itself a kind of small bay. 
 From the Poggio, a flight of stone steps led to what 
 was known as the Cascade Garden. 
 
 The two men went down these steps and stood for a 
 minute leaning over the wall at the head of the bay 
 where the cascade roared down the rocks that were the 
 end of the property on this side. Beyond the ravine 
 through which the water poured to the sea, there wa8 
 a small sandy beach at the back of which, close to the 
 rocks, stood several bathing boxes built of natural 
 wood. This beach was reached by a narrow path lead- 
 ing to the edge of the turbulent water at the foot of 
 the cascade and this by a single spanned bridge that 
 was painted bright red like a famous one in Japan. It 
 was a lovely spot, unexpectedly wild and dramatic, 
 after the Greek peace and serenity of the Poggio. 
 
 Turning to their right Lambe and Santi continued 
 their way seaward, looking affectionately at the ex- 
 quisite, broken shafts of giallo antico that bordered, 
 on their right, the concrete path on which they walked. 
 
 "Honey and amber," commented the Italian. "I 
 think on the whole I like the fluted ones best, although 
 the grain of the marble shows better in the plain 
 ones."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 57 
 
 'At the corner where they turned to the right to go 
 toward the house, their way led through a small steep 
 tunnel in the rock which, set diagonally, ended about 
 fifty feet from the cream-colored wall of the house in 
 a small garden from which was borne to them as they 
 emerged, out of breath, an almost overpowering smell 
 of heliotrope. It grew in the garden beds, as Lambe 
 said, "like Christian heliotrope;" it clambered round 
 the archway of the tunnel, and high on the walls of the 
 house in a pagan luxuriance, and in the silence, broken 
 only by the voices of fishermen and children on the 
 beach far below, the air throbbed with the booming of 
 bees. 
 
 "Just look at the color of the sea above the purple !" 
 exclaimed Lambe with a sigh of joy. 
 
 Then they passed along the little terrace in front of 
 the arcaded lower story of the house, and by a steep 
 flight of steps, at the far side to tKe upper garden, 
 and through the pergola, back to the breakfast 
 place. 
 
 "Now then, you must have something to eat, as you 
 really must catch that train and I shall expect you and 
 'It* here on Tuesday, without fail," said Lambe. 
 
 On being summoned by a cunningly hidden electric 
 bell, Thomas brought food and wine. The young 
 man, after a hasty meal, took respectful farewell of 
 his patron, whom he heartily liked and admired and 
 whom he as heartily believed to be half mad, express- 
 ing it to himself by the phrase, "There is no Friday 
 in his week," equivalent to the English one, "A screw 
 loose."
 
 58 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 When he had gone, Lambe heard a slight cough 
 and, turning, saw Thomas. 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir," said the servant, twisting his 
 mouth in a way that meant, Lambe knew, respectful 
 sympathy, "She has come." 
 
 "Where is she?" 
 
 "In the library, sir."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 DONNA MABEL ACQUADOLCE was not 
 in the library when Lambe found her. She 
 had wandered thence through a gallery out 
 through the rock down to a little cloistered 
 grotto almost on a level with the sea. 
 
 In the days when the villa belonged to her husband, 
 this grotto had been a favorite spot of hers and she 
 still loved it. 
 
 When Lambe joined her she was sitting on the 
 broad ledge that would have been the window-sill had 
 the arch above it been glazed, and, her small feet in 
 their preposterous red shoes wedged tightly against 
 the other side of the opening, her knees in the air (for 
 the arch, one of them, was narrow), she was listening 
 to the gentle splash of the waves in the piled up rocks 
 twelve feet below her. 
 
 The face she turned to Lambe as he entered the 
 grotto had been very lovely and was still nearly pretty 
 in the shade of her broad flower-decked hat. Her little 
 nose was straight, her little mouth charmingly shaped, 
 her blue eyes, though faded, alight with interest in 
 things, and very bright. Her cheeks were very rosy, 
 but it was the rosiness of chemical skill, not of nature. 
 
 "Good morning," she cried, holding out her left 
 hand, which happened to be nearer to him than her 
 right, "I thought you were dead, or something." 
 
 59
 
 60 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Sorry. I have been busy. Did Thomas get you 
 your rinf rescanti ?" 
 
 "Yes, thanks. I had foie gras sandwiches and a 
 lemon squash. It is very warm to-day, but as you 
 know, I don't mind heat, and as I had news for you, I 
 just ran over early. I have come to lunch, if you 
 don't mind." 
 
 Lambe bowed courteously, and drawing up an old 
 cane chair, sat down. "What is the news?" 
 
 Donna Mabel felt with some difficulty in her pocket, 
 which she had to drag from under her. Then she 
 looked in a blue silk bag which hung at her belt, and at 
 last found a letter. "From Hughie," she said, fum- 
 bling for her lorgnon. "He has been to Thingummy, 
 and seen your girls. I think he's in love with one of 
 'em, and I have such a grand plan !" 
 
 Lambe had, so to speak, acquired this lady with his 
 villa. 
 
 Donna Mabel, having exchanged it for her son's 
 house in town, listened delightedly to the negotiations 
 for the sale between her son and the strange little 
 gentleman at the hotel Aurora, and then the moment 
 the sale was concluded and Villa Acquadolce was 
 Christopher Lambe's, she wanted it back. It was Tier 
 house, she said, and so how could it be Lambe's ? As if 
 conjured away by the wave of a wand, her longing 
 for London ceased. London was dark and smoky, and 
 its inhabitants lived on raw mutton and boiled pota- 
 toes, and her dear Livio would hate her to go to such 
 a dreadful place. 
 
 The accuracy with which, since his death, she had
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 61 
 
 read Livio Acquadolce's mind is perhaps not excep- 
 tional among widows, but it made life very trying to 
 Hugh Gunning, who was the best of sons and who hon- 
 estly believed his chief duty in life to be the pleasing 
 of his poor little mother. 
 
 At first he reminded her of her former convictions 
 that the defunct Livio would have wished her to spend 
 the remainder of her days "among her own people, in 
 the country she had deserted through her love for 
 him." But reminding people of their opinions of yes- 
 terday or yestermonth is a thankless and a futile task, 
 as this young Gunning speedily learned. 
 
 "I said that before the sale? Well, I was wrong, 
 very wrong," she declared, unashamed of her change 
 of front. "He brought me here as a bride, and we 
 were happy here, and you would have been born here 
 if we hadn't stayed a little too long at Aix. Go away, 
 Ugolino, you mean well, I know, but you were only 
 two when your darling father died, and it stands 
 to reason that I know more about what he would 
 like than you do. Of course he'd want me to stay 
 here." 
 
 She was gifted, the little bright-eyed woman, with 
 the facile tear, and poor Hughie felt himself a mon- 
 ster when she dabbed at her eyes with her handker- 
 chief. 
 
 "But you see, mother dear, you can't stay here," 
 he explained with the greatest patience, over and over 
 again. 
 
 "If that man is such a brute as to hold you to your 
 bargain and he is much older than you ! then I
 
 62 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 can at least live on in the neighborhood. I suppose he 
 can't have me expulsed from the village !" 
 
 For a long time Donna Mabel had peresisted in re- 
 garding the new owner of Villa Acquadolce as a 
 usurper of her rights, and she used to cross her fingers 
 over her thumbs, extending the first and the little 
 fingers when she met him. 
 
 This seems to the uninitiated a harmless enough 
 form of revenge, but those who know Italy will un- 
 derstand its menace to Lambe. He himself, delighted 
 with his new property, knew nothing of it until poor 
 Hughie told him. 
 
 "I think you ought to know, sir," the young man 
 said miserably. "I I have tried, but I can't stop 
 her." 
 
 "Oh, well, let her cross her fingers and her toes 
 too, if she can. It can't hurt me," returned Lambe, 
 good-naturedly. 
 
 "It can ruin you, sir," the young man declared. 
 
 "Nonsense !" 
 
 "But it will. Not one of the tradespeople will sup- 
 ply you, not one of the workmen will come near the 
 house, once it gets round. There's not a bit of use 
 laughing at the Evil Eye. The fact that the people 
 all believe in it makes it a fact itself. I I really 
 don't know what to do." 
 
 Lambe, who was eating oranges as they walked in 
 the Poggio, while they talked, wiped his silver clasped 
 knife on the grass and put it into his pocket. 
 
 "Well, what are we to do?" he asked. 
 
 Then they conferred seriously.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 63 
 
 The result of their council was that Lambe called 
 on Donna Mabel, and invited her and her son to come 
 to stop with him at the villa until she should have 
 found a suitable house for herself in the neighborhood. 
 
 "I am delighted to learn from your son," he added 
 genially, "that you are going to become my perma- 
 nent neighbor." 
 
 "Yes. I feel that my dear husband would not like 
 me to leave the place where we were so happy." 
 
 "I see. Now when will you come? The workmen 
 will be out in a fortnight, suppose you come then? 
 And perhaps you will give me the benefit of your 
 taste in my Kttle arrangements ?" 
 
 Donna Mabel assented gladly. She was one of 
 those women who never refuse an invitation of any 
 kind. Lambe established her and Hughie in the wing 
 in which they had lived previous to his coming and 
 they stayed for four months. 
 
 Hughie Gunning came into a good deal of money 
 when he was twenty-five, but at that time he wa* 
 twenty-three. 
 
 The visit to the villa quite put an end to the crossing 
 of Donna Mabel's fingers, but alas ! for Lambe, it 
 confirmed her in her idea that Villa Acquadolce still, 
 ethically, belonged to her. She greatly enjoyed ad- 
 vising Lambe about the alterations he found neces- 
 sary to be made in the house, but after some six weeks 
 she discovered that her advice had never once been 
 taken and there was a storm. Lambe, with his hands 
 in his trousers pockets, listened quietly. He had now 
 been long enough in Italy to learn to appreciate
 
 64 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 the reasonableness of young Gunning's alarm about 
 the Evil Eye. He knew that he could not afford to 
 acquire such a reputation and willingly paid the price 
 necessary for avoiding it, but he could not allow 
 Donna Mabel Acquadolce or anybody else to dictate to 
 him about what should be the arrangements and de- 
 tails of the house in which he intended to spend the 
 rest of his life. 
 
 "Ah, yes, I see," he said; "you object to the verdi 
 antico pillars in the big drawing room? That is be- 
 cause you know nothing of building. You see, I have 
 pulled down the wall between that room and what 
 used to be the little red boudoir, which makes the ceil- 
 ing too long for safety; without those pillars, the 
 whole ceiling might fall down on our heads some day 
 after dinner. How would you like that?" 
 
 "I don't," declared Donna Mabel, "approve at all 
 of the wall being torn down and " 
 
 He interrupted her, his blue eyes fixed on her, his 
 small face suddenly rigid. 
 
 "Whose wall is it?" he said. 
 
 "Of course if you're going to be rude " 
 
 Then Lambe took her hand. 
 
 "Dear Donna Mabel, you know I am not rude, you 
 know how great is my regard for you, but after all it 
 is I who am going to live in the house, so why grudge 
 me my green pillars? I quite acknowledge the suc- 
 cess of the crimson brocade that you chose in the 
 library as well as the decoration of the west wing, but 
 in this I fear I cannot take your advice." 
 
 Now Donna Mabel knew as well as he did that she
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 65 
 
 had suggested neither the crimson brocade nor the 
 decorations in the west wing, but supposing he had 
 forgotten and believed both these successes due to her, 
 it followed, as day follows night, that he must admire 
 her taste. So why remind him that she had suggested 
 things quite different? 
 
 A month later she was clamoring for applause 
 about the beauty of the pillars in the drawing room, 
 due to her inspiration, and Lambe congratulated her 
 bravely. 
 
 Something of Italian subtlety had come to the little 
 man since he had lived in that delightful country. He 
 had been bored by the lady with the chemical com- 
 plexion in a way that put his former boredness to 
 shame, but he rather enjoyed baffling her, and after 
 all in some small matters she was useful to him, for 
 while he developed a very decent artistic sense, he re- 
 mained to the end of his days rfdiculously ignorant of 
 the minor details of housekeeping. Donna Mabel did 
 very well in the matter of drapery and bed linen, and 
 it was she who discovered that the first cook he en- 
 gaged was supplying, by means of a basket, a rope 
 and a boat at the foot of the cliff, his entire family, 
 numbering eight souls or rather eight stomachs, not 
 only with the necessities but with the luxuries of life. 
 
 At the end of the fourth month after her arrival 
 the villa was in perfect order and in the hands of com- 
 petent honest servants. Then Donna Mabel departed 
 to a small house about two miles inland and peace de- 
 scended on Christopher Lambe. 
 
 Lambe had chosen the house for Donna Mabel ; the
 
 66 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 road to it was rough and very steep, but the house 
 itself, formerly inhabited by a German painter, was 
 large and comfortable, suspiciously large and com- 
 fortable for the money she had paid for it. As a 
 matter of fact Lambe had had secret dealings with the 
 late owner and when Donna Mabel's purchase was 
 complete, he found himself some few hundred pounds 
 out of pocket, which was compensated for by the feel- 
 ing that he was henceforth safe from more than semi- 
 occasional visits from his late guest. This sweet hope 
 proved a fallacy, for Donna Mabel, enchanted with 
 what she believed to be the cheapness of her bargain, 
 at once found that she could afford a pony cart in 
 which she made almost daily visits to the villa. She 
 was not exactly a fool, nor was Lambe one of those 
 who suffer fools gladly, but he had no alternative but 
 to receive her with apparent pleasure, and she was 
 perfectly satisfied with the welcome he always 
 gave her. She was the fly in his ointment, she was the 
 cloud on his horizon ; she was the one flaw in his other- 
 wise perfectly happy life, but having made up his 
 mind that he could not afford to make an enemy of 
 her, he accepted her like a wise man, as he accepted 
 occasional rainy days without murmuring, even to 
 himself.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 DEAREST Mother," Hughie Gunning's 
 letter began. "Thanks for yours. What 
 is it you want me to get you? I cannot 
 read the word at all and to whom am I 
 to send the Kipling book? 
 
 "I went to see Aunt Lilias on Saturday, as you 
 asked me. Her new husband must be at least twenty 
 years younger than she and looks an awful bounder. 
 She seems pleased with him. She sent you her love. 
 
 "I think there's no other news, except that Major 
 Luscombe is dead ; he dropped in a fit at his club. 
 
 "I am very well, and have been down stopping with 
 the Grahams at Brighton. Nice cheery people they all 
 are. On Sunday I went over in Bill's motor to see 
 the Lambes. 
 
 "Sylvia is a wonder. She is very tall, and has sim- 
 ply the most beautiful face I have ever seen, even in 
 pictures." 
 
 At this point Donna Mabel stopped, and looked up 
 at Lambe in the midst of a smile. 
 
 "How old is she ?" she said. 
 
 Lambe, who through a long course of coping with 
 the little lady's obstinate omniscience, had grown to re- 
 gard himself, in juxtaposition to her, as a rather 
 determined wise man, greatly disliked exposing to her 
 
 67
 
 68 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 his own weak points. He had no idea how old his eld- 
 est daughter was ; he could not have told, if his life 
 depended on it, how long he had been away from 
 Lambe House, so he had no means of calculating. 
 
 "Oh, she's getting to be a big girl now," he said, 
 with a solemn wag of his head. "She'll be very tall 
 now, as he said. Her mother's people are all big. I 
 have often wondered how Norah ever made up her 
 mind to marry a shrimp like me. Oh, go on, go on," 
 he added briskly, "it is a very interesting letter." 
 
 Donna Mabel continued. 
 
 "The second girl, Susan, would be a beauty any- 
 where else and has a most lovely voice. They are 
 awfully jolly kids, we have great fun together. I 
 have asked Lady Norah to give me their photographs. 
 
 "The littlest one, Daffy, is very plain and small, 
 almost a dwarf, I should think. I was talking to 
 Sylvia and Susan about Italy, when suddenly this lit- 
 tle thing came up to me and asked me in a deep hoarse 
 voice, 'Do you know where my father is?' Poor little 
 mite ! I told her about the villa and she told me to tell 
 him, when I see him, that she wants to come where he 
 is. It was rather pathetic. 
 
 "The people hereabouts take Lambe's desertion in 
 very bad part. Lady Norah seems extremely nice, 
 though rather dull, and is bringing the girls up beauti- 
 fully. The two elder ones are the picture of health, 
 but the mother told me that the little one is disposed 
 to have asthma and the doctor has said that she ought 
 to go to to a warm climate. She was to have gone 
 abroad with Lady Corisande Peplow, but Peplow has
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 69 
 
 been sent to Petersburg on some mission. I believe he 
 is to have a peerage. 
 
 "I shall be with you at the end of the month 
 and very glad I shall be able to get back to the dear 
 place. 
 
 "Remember me to Mr. Lambe, and give my love to 
 Giannina. 
 
 "And, I am, dearest mother, 
 
 "Always, your most affectionate son, 
 
 "HUGHIE." 
 
 "There!" exclaimed Donna Mabel triumphantly, 
 "do you see? It will be perfectly delightful. He is 
 in love with her already and you like him, and you and 
 I are great friends and he can buy Molinari's place 
 and you can buy the olive grove between, and all you 
 will have to do will be to build a bridge over the ravine 
 and there you are !" 
 
 "Who's in love, and why should I buy Molinari's 
 place?" 
 
 Donna Mabel struck at him playfully with the let- 
 ter, with a Victorian kittenishness, quite out of date in 
 these days of fine, manly women. 
 
 "Don't be silly; I mean Hughie, of course. It is 
 quite easy to see that the boy is head over ears in love 
 already and " 
 
 "But with whom? With my wife, or my daughter? 
 And with which one of my daughters, if you mean 
 that? I have three." 
 
 "With Sylvia, of course. The thing to do is to 
 get her over here at once, then they will be thrown
 
 70 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 together, and before she has so much as seen any other 
 young man we can have them safely married." 
 
 Lambe stared at her. 
 
 "But she's only a baby ! She cannot be more than 
 let me see. Oh, well, I don't know how old she is, I 
 should think not more than ten." 
 
 Donna Mabel made a gesture of despair. 
 
 "Nonsense ! You have been away five years and a 
 half; she must have been seven or eight then, if not 
 more. You told me that the littlest one was having 
 piano lessons, so she must have been four or five. And 
 then there's Susan." 
 
 "Oh, yes, there's Susan," admitted Lambe guiltily. 
 
 "Well then, don't you see, this eldest one must be 
 about fourteen. Livio's sisters both married before 
 they were seventeen. Suppose you send a telegram 
 and get them over at once. It would be very good for 
 the asthma." 
 
 But Lambe did not want his daughters. 
 
 "It's the littlest one who has the asthma," he said, 
 "and one of my sisters-in-law will take her somewhere. 
 No, no, I won't have them here. Did I tell you," he 
 said suddenly, "that the Kirklands are coming to 
 lunch?" 
 
 Donna Mabel jumped down from her perch, stuff- 
 ing the letter into her bag. 
 
 "Dio santissimo! No, you didn't. I'm off. I am 
 sorry to seem rude, but you know I cannot stand those 
 people. I don't see why you ask them here." 
 
 "Like 'em," said Lambe shortly. "So you won't 
 stay?"
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 71 
 
 "No, thanks." 
 
 He accompanied her politely through the winding 
 gallery to the library and across the hall to the front 
 door. 
 
 "Thomas, Donna Mabel would like her pony car- 
 riage." 
 
 "Very good, sir." 
 
 A moment later as he returned from giving the or- 
 der, Thomas approached his master. 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir, shall you be in to lunch?" 
 
 Lambe regarded him absently. 
 
 "Yes, but I shan't want any proper lunch. You 
 may bring me some fruit in the Cascade Garden." 
 
 Donna Mabel whirled round on her high heels and 
 fixed him with a reproachful eye. 
 
 "How like you to forget all about the Kirklands ! 
 That greedy old woman would have been pleased to 
 find a lunch of fruit and nothing else." 
 
 "Bless me !" ej aculated Lambe. "I am an idiot." 
 
 The pony carriage arriving at that moment caused 
 a welcome diversion and the little lady drove away, 
 promising, in comforting tones, to come back the next 
 day. 
 
 Lambe turned back out of the sun into the cool, 
 square hall. Thomas stood respectfully looking at 
 him. 
 
 "Fruit in the pergola, sir. Any wine, sir?" 
 
 "Yes," said Lambe, " And, Thomas, I think in case 
 anybody comes to-morrow, you had better say I have 
 gone to Naples for the day. I am very tired, 
 Thomas," he said plaintively.
 
 72 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Thomas Screach nodded. 
 
 "Very good, sir." 
 
 A model servant, this middle-aged man, with the ab- 
 normally long upper lip, and he was Christopher 
 Lambe's only confidant. Long before Lambe left 
 Lambe House, the good Screach had fully understood 
 the silent misery of his master. No one knew better 
 than Thomas the direful effect of Lady Norah on her 
 husband. No one realized better than Thomas 
 how the details of "bringing up" bored Lambe, 
 how he hated the cold, and the wet, how he 
 loathed going to church on Sunday morning, how 
 the solemn dinner parties at his own or neighbor's 
 houses depressed the poor little man, how the 
 very word "nurse" exasperated him in a word, 
 how thoroughly out of place Christopher Lambe 
 was in that state of life to which it had pleased God 
 to call him. 
 
 Yet these things had never been verbally touched 
 upon by either of the two men to the other. What 
 Thomas Screach knew, he knew by intuition and ob- 
 servation, and there was within him a delicate soul 
 that forbade his ever making a mistake by expressing, 
 however subtly, his knowledge. But Lambe knew he 
 knew, and loved him for his silence. 
 
 Screach, for his part, had never disliked Lady 
 Norah, whom he regarded rightly as a "real lady," 
 though dull. Donna Mabel he could not abide, and 
 his faithful heart had for some time been haunted by 
 the fear that Lambe might marry the former owner of 
 his present home. There was always Lady Norah in
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 73 
 
 the background, but to Screach it seemed that if 
 Donna Mabel wished to marry Lambe she would some- 
 how or other manage to do so. Of late, however, this 
 fear had, owing to unmistakable signs on Lambe's 
 part of something nearly approaching dislike of the 
 little lady, subsided, and the man's anxiety had 
 changed into a malicious delight in helping his mas- 
 ter's rigidly unexpressed wish to avoid his pertinacious 
 friend as much as possible. 
 
 So Lambe went back to his unfinished newspaper to 
 await the coming of the post, and Thomas looked for- 
 ward with grim pleasure to the next day, when his 
 should be the task of denying his master to Donna 
 Mabel. 
 
 After a happy, idle day Lambe dined alone in his 
 big dining room and then went for a smoke in the 
 Pompeian garden beyond his breakfast place. Here 
 in niches in the ancient wall lived mutilated stone 
 ladies, each of whom had her name and history. At 
 their feet was a flower bed now full of violets, and 
 opposite to them, across a narrow gravel path, was a 
 square tank full of water, on which floated rosy water 
 lilies, now asleep. Nightingales sang in the cypress 
 thicket between the tank and the sea, and on the 
 cement path that was the end of the property that side 
 and looked over the ravine, the bridge of which Donna 
 Mabel had that morning suggested, Lambe walked up 
 and down smoking. 
 
 Suddenly he was aware of some one coming toward 
 him in the shadow of the cypresses, a tall, broad 
 figure, vaguely familiar, vaguely unwelcome.
 
 74 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Hallo, Kit, arc you there?" cried a round, warm 
 voice. 
 
 "My God, yes, I'm here, what is it?" 
 
 "It is me, Kit," returned the Bishop, emerging into 
 the moonlight. "Don't be alarmed. Norah has broken 
 her leg and cannot be moved for weeks, and none of 
 the rest of the family seem to be able to get away, 
 so 7 have brought Daphne." 
 
 "Daphne!" repeated Lambe stupidly, beginning to 
 shake hands with his self-invited guest. 
 
 "Yes. I suppose you remember that you have a 
 daughter named Daphne? Well, she's seedy and the 
 doctors have ordered her out of England; she must 
 have a warm climate and that sort of thing. She's in 
 the house now." 
 
 But even as he spoke there came the sound of a 
 splash and a little cry Daffy had walked into the 
 little pond. Christopher Lambe fished his last born out 
 of the dark water and carried her back to the house. 
 It was, he felt, the beginning of the end.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THUS came Daffy to Italy. The journey was 
 hurried, and she being ill the most she re- 
 membered of it was the smell of the fur coat 
 in which her uncle, the Bishop, had kept her 
 wrapped. Hurried meals at buffets she recalled and 
 once in the middle of the night when, owing to a flood, 
 they had to change trains, she had for the first time in 
 her life tasted the subtle joys of cafe au lait. The 
 milk had boiled for hours and was full of shreds of 
 cream and on its surface floated millions of little 
 globules of grease. The coffee was most likely chiefly 
 composed of chicory, but to Daphne it was nectar. 
 
 "Don't you like it, Uncle Tom?" she asked the 
 stately gentleman who was personally conducting her 
 to that most romantic, fabulous person, her father, as 
 he set down his cup with a little grunt and a grimace. 
 
 The Bishop waved his hand benevolently. 
 
 "Drink it, my dear, it will do you good." 
 
 In the train into which they changed they were 
 unable to be alone in their compartment. A lovely 
 lady, wrapped in furs, sat in the corner opposite to 
 the Bishop and occasionally smiled at the enraptured 
 Daffy, who, far too shy to smile back, buried her face 
 in the collar of Uncle Tom's coat, her big eyes staring 
 out over it like those of some small furry animal. The 
 
 75
 
 76 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 lady was dressed in dark green and her furs were like 
 Daffy's mother's, only browner and shinier and much 
 more abundant. She had a gold bag, on the edge of 
 which sparkled little red and white stones that Daffy 
 knew were rubies and diamonds, and she smelt most 
 deliciously. Daffy decided that when she was grown 
 she would take measures to ensure her smelling exactly 
 the same. 
 
 Presently the child observed that her uncle was not 
 at all easy in the presence of the lovely lady. He un- 
 folded a huge newspaper and retired behind it, but 
 Daffy, who was sitting next to him, could see that he 
 was not reading. Imagine Uncle Tom reading with- 
 out his glasses! 
 
 "Isn't she pretty?" whispered the child. 
 
 "Hush !" returned the Bishop, his upper lip pulled 
 down to meet the lower one, which Daffy had always 
 thought did not quite fit. 
 
 Night wore on, the light was very dim, the cushions 
 very hard, the foot warmers were long since icy to the 
 touch. Daffy began to think that even the excite- 
 ment of sitting up all night did not compensate for 
 the rest to small bodies conferred by beds. Besides, 
 she was hungry again. This last fact was made known 
 to her uncle and he, with obvious unwillingness, rose 
 and opened his big, pigskin dressing-case, bringing 
 from it a small packet of biscuits. 
 
 "I want a banana, please," said Daffy. 
 
 But the bananas were, as the Germans say, "all." 
 
 The biscuit was dry and turned to dust and ashes 
 in the mouth. Daffy was nearly eleven, although she
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 77 
 
 looked about seven, so very genteelly tried to conceal 
 the fact that she could not possibly swallow her little 
 meal. 
 
 Suddenly the lovely lady leaned forward, a little 
 tiny plate in her hand. 
 
 "May I not give you one of my sandwiches?" she 
 said, with a pretty foreign accent, "and the chocolate 
 is quite fresh." 
 
 "Thank you very much," returned the Bishop 
 stiffly, "my little niece will do quite well with her 
 biscuits. You like biscuits, do you not, Daffy?" 
 
 But Daffy's eyes were glued to the delicate, moist- 
 looking sandwiches. 
 
 "Please, Uncle Tom, the biscuits are rather nasty." 
 
 "Very well, then, my dear, and thank you, madam." 
 
 Daffy helped herself shyly, and oh, that sandwich 
 was good ! It melted in her mouth and was made of 
 she knew not what. 
 
 "Won't you have one of these, too?" went on the 
 lady, obviously delighted with the little girl's pleasure. 
 
 Daffy hesitated. One of the two remaining sand- 
 wiches was like the one she had already had and the 
 other was black and strange-looking, but hers was an 
 adventurous spirit and she took the black one. Oh, 
 woe ! It was salt and strange and unspeakably horrid. 
 She could not swallow it, its bulk seemed to double in 
 her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears ; manfully she 
 tried to choke it down and the lady burst into pretty, 
 tinkling laughter. 
 
 "Poor little thing! Here, put it in this piece of 
 paper and throw it out of the window. Crachez
 
 78 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 how do you say it? speet it out. Don't be 
 afraid." 
 
 Daffy did so, and as she was wiping her eyes the 
 lady went on. 
 
 "And now, Tom Pember, it is time you gave up 
 trying not to recognize an old friend. 'Ow do you do ?" 
 
 Uncle Tom, solemn, religious, imposing Uncle Tom, 
 who was nearly as old as God, blushed. Daffy saw it 
 with her own eyes. 
 
 "I am afraid " he began stiffly. 
 
 But she laughed again. Daffy had never heard any 
 one laugh in quite that way, it sounded like music; 
 and then she went on in voluble French, of which 
 Daffy understood only that her reverend relative was 
 being called "my dear" by this strange lady. 
 
 "Ah, but yes," went on the lady in English, her 
 eyes dancing as she turned to Daffy, "it is very 
 strange, your dear Uncle and I are 'ole frien' but 
 such *ole frien', ma p'tite. It is many, many years 
 ago that we were at Barbizon together; your uncle 
 then was very young and had much less fat than now. 
 He was slim, ah ! of a slimness. But as he had then 
 less 'ow do you say? flesh, so had he then more 
 hair than now." 
 
 Uncle Tom was extremely angry; Daffy knew by 
 the way his ears had turned purple, and he said some- 
 thing in French in a rather sharp voice. But this re- 
 mark had no effect whatever on the French lady, who 
 continued to laugh. Then he again opened his news- 
 paper and continued his transparent pretense of read- 
 ing it.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 79 
 
 "Your dear uncle is ennuye annoyed," she de- 
 clared, shaking her head solemnly. "It is dreadful, 
 and once we were such great 'friens'. But in those 
 days he was not a bishop, oh, no ! he was 'ow you 
 say? a painter, a rather bad painter. Yes, he do not 
 paint well, ce pauvre Tom. But it make nothing. He 
 was young and gay and we all loved him very 
 moch." 
 
 "That," observed Daffy solemnly, "was when he 
 was a curate." 
 
 The lady burst out into her tinkling laugh. 
 
 "Ha, ha ! No, he was not a curate. Tom, did you 
 hear? Put down your silly paper and listen." 
 
 But Uncle Tom read on. 
 
 "You remember the pony race we had at the fair at 
 Neuilly and the fortune teller who told you you were 
 going to marry a girl with a grain de beaute under 
 her right eye and yellow hair?" 
 
 " You have a grain de beaute under your right eye," 
 remarked Daffy, munching chocolate. 
 
 Before the lady could answer Uncle Tom had 
 thrown down his paper. 
 
 "Angele !" he thundered. 
 
 The lady looked at him and smiled. 
 
 "Ah! You remember my name?" she gaid softly. 
 "It is a preety name, is it not, leetle one?" 
 
 "Does it mean Angel?" said Daffy. 
 
 The lady leaned across and put her hand on Daffy's 
 knee. 
 
 "No, dear, not angel; it is jost a name. And now 
 let me make you a leetle bed here on the seat. I will
 
 80 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 lend you my pillow and cover you with my rug. You 
 will allow it, Tom? 'Ow does one say milor'? and 
 you will go to sleep." 
 
 There was something appealing in her eyes as she 
 looked at the Bishop. He assented gravely. The 
 lady's hands were very gentle. Her little crimson 
 leather pillow was very soft and Daffy's little inner 
 woman being comforted with foie gras and chocolate, 
 warmth soon put her to sleep. She woke up once or 
 twice as the train rattled through the darkness, only 
 to stir slightly and drop off again. Once Uncle Tom 
 was saying: 
 
 "I am very sorry, Angele, very," and the lovely 
 lady was blowing her nose softly. The next time they 
 were both laughing and the lady was saying in 
 French : 
 
 "Will you ever forget Suzette Langlois in the 
 swing? Poor Suzette, to her dying day she believed 
 those awful ankles of hers were pretty." 
 
 In the hurry of changing trains at Turin Daffy, 
 who was very sleepy and very cold, held out her 
 hand perfunctorily to the lady, who was going no 
 farther. 
 
 "Good-bye," said the child shyly, "and thank you 
 very much." 
 
 "Good-bye, my dear. Tom, may I kiss her?" 
 
 Uncle Tom hesitated. Then his face changed. 
 
 "Yes, Angele." 
 
 Daffy had never seen him look at once so kind and 
 so sad; it was as if he was very sorry for the lady 
 named Angele. The kiss was gentle and smelt good,
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 81 
 
 and then the little girl and her uncle got into the wait- 
 ing train and Daffy found in her hand a little crooked 
 bit of coral set in tiny seed pearls and gold. 
 
 "Oh, Uncle Tom, look," she said. "The lady, An- 
 gele, put it into my hand. Do you think she meant to 
 give it to me?" 
 
 The Bishop took the trifling thing and looked at it 
 closely. He remembered it. 
 
 "Yes, my dear, I think she meant you to have it, 
 and it can do you no harm." 
 
 Then the train started.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE remainder of the journey was to Daffy 
 uneventful, and the next incident that re- 
 mained in her memory was the arrival at 
 Naples. 
 
 They had breakfast on a balcony looking out over 
 the wonderful thing that was the sea and yet was so 
 utterly different from the gray waters at home. 
 
 And after breakfast came a long rest, and then 
 another short train journey distinguished only by the 
 fact of Daffy's seeing for the first time in her life a 
 man taking snuff. But the drive from Castellamare 
 the child never forgot, as indeed only a dull-minded 
 person could. The gradual unfolding of the view, the 
 winding of the road, the riot of beauty on all sides, 
 and above all the yellow drenching sun that poured 
 down on the world and filled everything it touched 
 save the sea, the blueness of which nothing could 
 change. 
 
 The little girl sat primly with her hands folded on 
 her navy blue lap, her thin face intense and almost 
 grim with ecstasy. 
 
 As for the Bishop, he went to sleep presently and 
 awoke greatly refreshed. He was conscious of great 
 benevolence in bringing his niece on her long journey, 
 and he knew that very few busy men would have been 
 
 82
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 83 
 
 so unselfish, but at the same time he was kind and 
 really enjoyed the child's delight. 
 
 When Daffy had been sent to take a very necessary 
 bath she was put to bed and at once fell asleep. When 
 morning came they did not rouse her, she slept so 
 soundly. After breakfast the Bishop and his brother- 
 in-law took a walk and when they came in toward noon 
 they sat in the library. 
 
 "A very long journey," the large man said, "and 
 fatiguing." 
 
 "It is indeed." Lambe looked very depressed and 
 peeled a peach as if it was an endless job. 
 
 "She is a good little thing, Daphne; doesn't talk 
 much and is hungry only at regular intervals." 
 
 Lambe's eyes twinkled suddenly. 
 
 "Ah, yes ; Norah would see to that. How is Norah, 
 Tom?" 
 
 "Well it's a compound fracture doctors seem 
 satisfied with her progress, but a broken leg is a 
 broken leg, and she won't be about again for a long 
 time, poor thing." 
 
 "I see. I must write to her. And the little one, she 
 is ill, you say ? She doesn't look it." 
 
 "No. She has asthma and she had bronchitis at 
 Christmas. Abdy said she must get away from the 
 fog." 
 
 "Corisande was going to take her somewhere, 
 wasn't she?" 
 
 The Bishop fingered his cross. 
 
 "Yes, she has a villa at Cannes. They were going 
 there and at the last minute something happened I
 
 84 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 believe she is going to Russia now. You know Cori- 
 sande ?" 
 
 "I do. Well, Tom, there's no good in my pretend- 
 ing that I am glad to have Daphne here, for I am not, 
 but as it can't be helped, I'll do my best to amuse 
 her." 
 
 "Don't amuse her, Christopher. I must tell you es- 
 pecially not to amuse her. You must get her a gov- 
 erness and she will be busy all day. She must never 
 go out when it's damp, and you must impress the gov- 
 erness with the importance of seeing that her feet are 
 always kept dry. She goes to bed at eight and gets 
 up at seven." 
 
 "Oh !" 
 
 "She never eats sweets, of course. Her bath must 
 be 60 let me see " The Bishop took a small note 
 book from his pocket and opening it put on his glasses 
 and continued : "Sixty degrees yes and you are to 
 see that she drinks her milk hot. It appears that she 
 dislikes milk and is inclined to make a fuss about 
 drinking it. She must be watched in regard to her hat, 
 as she has a way of going about bareheaded, which is 
 bad for her. I think that's all, except that you are not 
 to forget to give her a mutton chop or a bit of under- 
 done beefsteak for her lunch every day " 
 
 "Oh, my God !" said Christopher Lambe. 
 
 The Bishop stared, offended and annoyed, as his 
 brother-in-law rose. 
 
 "What's the matter, Lambe?" 
 
 "Nothing. Or everything. Look here, Tom, I 
 am perfectly willing to do my best for the child, but I
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 85 
 
 won't do Norah's best. Do you see? Norah sent her 
 here to me for me to look after and I'm going to do it 
 in my own way. Tell Norah this, will you? Tear up 
 your notes, they're no good to me. Now, it's lunch 
 time. Come along and eat." 
 
 He led the way through a long, cool marble corri- 
 dor into the dining room, and as Thomas was already 
 at his post, no more was said. 
 
 They sat down and Lambe turned to Thomas. 
 
 "Miss Daphne has come," he said. "She is in the 
 yellow room. Tell her that luncheon is ready." 
 
 Daphne, whose small face was thin and pointed, 
 came in quite quietly and slid up into her great chair 
 by some queer system of leg movement invented by 
 herself. Then as Thomas set a plate of macaroni 
 before her she smiled suddenly. 
 
 "Are there no chops?" she asked. 
 
 "No," said Lambe. 
 
 "Oh, dear, I'm so glad !" 
 
 The Bishop frowned, but Lambe laughed. 
 
 "The mutton here is very bad. I haven't seen a 
 chop for months. Now, then, eat your macaroni. 
 Here, have some cheese in it." 
 
 With a liberal hand he sprinkled grated Parmesan 
 on the child's plate and then turned to his brother-in- 
 law. 
 
 "Red or white wine, Tom?" 
 
 Daffy loved cheese, which she had never tasted be- 
 fore. And she loved the queer little dark fish fried in 
 oil, and the sweet made of she knew not what, but 
 which was covered with what she at first thought was
 
 86 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 grated cheese, but which her father told her was cocoa- 
 nut. 
 
 The Bishop, a mighty trencherman, was hungrier 
 than usual after his long journey and his long sleep, 
 and, after all, Daphne was Kit's daughter, not his. 
 He had done his best. So he ate his strange luncheon 
 with a relish and gave Lambe various items of family 
 news as he did so. Otho's new baby was another girl, 
 a very great disappointment. Otho had bought the 
 Sandf ord farm, a rather dear purchase, but it rounded 
 off the north end of the estate. Little Birdie Sarre 
 was engaged to one of the Herefordshire Wilbrahams 
 a chap who left one arm in South Africa. Sarre 
 himself was awfully in debt, borrowing from every- 
 body. 
 
 "He hasn't borrowed from me," declared Lambe, 
 building a tower of glasses, to Daffy's tremulous 
 delight. 
 
 "No, he hates you." 
 
 Lambe looked up surprised. 
 
 "You mean to say he still resents my having mar- 
 ried Norah?" 
 
 "Hush!" The Bishop's eyes traveled rapidly from 
 Lambe to Daffy and back again, but Lambe took no 
 notice whatsoever of his signal. 
 
 "That's extraordinary after all these years. Poor 
 old Bill!" 
 
 He was hopeless. Mentally the Bishop rehearsed 
 the way in which he should explain Lambe's attitude. 
 "He always behaves," he would say, "as if he and the 
 person to whom he speaks were quite alone. He dis-
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 87 
 
 regards the presence of any one else. What he will 
 make of Daphne, heaven only knows !" Here he was 
 interrupted by the voice of the child, the making of 
 whom was in such strange hands. 
 
 "Father, may I have another of those green 
 things?" 
 
 The green things were pistachio sweets, and Lambe 
 promptly gave her two. 
 
 After lunch the Bishop took a nap and at about 
 six he left to go back to Naples. 
 
 "I am very busy just now," he said, half apologeti- 
 cally, half from an ungenerous wish to convey to the 
 ungrateful Lambe how difficult it had been for a man 
 of his importance to take such a long journey out of 
 pure kindness of heart. 
 
 "I dare say. It was very good of you to bring her. 
 Tell Norah I'll do my best for her. And I hope 
 Norah's arm " 
 
 "Leg," corrected the Bishop. 
 
 "Leg will soon get all right. Good-bye, Tom. 
 Many thanks." 
 
 But his thanks were obviously those of pure per- 
 functoriness. When the carriage had rolled away 
 among the great palm trees to the lodge gates Lambe 
 and Daffy went down the stone steps to the little 
 beach. 
 
 "Wouldn't you like to paddle?" 
 
 "Oh, father I don't think mother'd like it," she 
 answered, her eyes shining. 
 
 He sat down on the side of a disabled fishing boat 
 and he stood her between his knees.
 
 88 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Now, look here, Tiny Tim," he said seriously, "I 
 must talk to you. When you are in England it is 
 quite right that you should obey your mother. You'd 
 be a little beast if you didn't, and besides she'd pun- 
 ish you. But now you are in Italy, and with me. 
 Your mother is very good. Much more good than I 
 am in every way. But she isn't here, and as little girls 
 have to obey some one, it's me you'll obey here. It 
 won't hurt you to paddle in this warm water. It won't 
 hurt you to eat Italian food, and so you are to eat it. 
 You are not to have a governess for the present, and 
 as I don't know how to teach you, you'll have to do 
 without lessons. Mrs. Screach will help you dress and 
 so on. The rest of the time you can do what you like 
 unless I tell you not to. Do you understand?" 
 
 Daffy, very naturally, did not understand, but the 
 vista of unholy joys thus opened to her was too en- 
 chanting for words. So she said nothing, answering 
 only by a smile. 
 
 Lambe smiled back. Then he touched the brown 
 mole on her cheek with one finger. 
 
 "Now, then, off with your shoes and stockings. I'll 
 sit here." 
 
 While she played at the edge of the sea he smoked 
 and presently sauntered away back to the house by 
 way of the Cascade Garden. 
 
 Then realizing the distance thai lay between her 
 and that arbiter of fate, she gathered up her shoes 
 and stockings and sped barefoot up the stone steps.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE next few weeks passed uneventfully to 
 outward seeming, but they were of the great- 
 est importance to Daphne Lambe. The sud- 
 den change from a life of the narrowest and 
 most incessant supervision to one of almost absolute 
 freedom was in itself memorable enough to a child, but 
 to her the greatest charm of the wonder-worked situa- 
 tion was her father. She had been nearly a baby when 
 he left home; now she was nearly eleven and an ex- 
 ceptionally observant small person whose solemn dark 
 eyes saw much more than most grown people's. 
 
 And Lambe interested his daughter as much as her 
 mother had bored her. 
 
 The little man's innocence of fixed hours, his disre- 
 gard of "must," were a source of the most fascinated 
 surprise to the child. 
 
 "Lunch? Oh, any time from twelve to two. De- 
 pends, you see, on what I'm doing. Dinner well, 
 yes, you must have your dinner at a Christian hour, I 
 suppose. I am told that children's insides must be 
 considered. You may dine at seven always, and I'll 
 dine with you sometimes. Do you like roast, kid?" 
 
 Then there was the all-important question of bed- 
 time. 
 
 "Sleepy?" he asked her the first evening about 
 eight.
 
 90 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 No, Daffy was not sleepy. 
 
 "Well, the bed is there, you know. You may go 
 whenever you care to. Mrs. Screach will put you to 
 bed." 
 
 "I can put myself to bed," returned Daffy with dig- 
 nity. "Mother says every child of six should be able 
 to undress and at eight every child should be able to 
 dress all except washing, and that's on account of 
 the ears." 
 
 "Dear me," murmured Lambe. 
 
 "Yes, I can't do my ears yet, but Sylvia and Susan 
 can." 
 
 This piece of domestic intelligence left Christopher 
 Lambe quite cold. 
 
 Mrs. Screach, a full-bosomed, highly colored Ital- 
 ian peasant, taken to wife by the impressionable 
 Screach a year before, was the proud possessor of a 
 small Screach of six months. Angiolino was a nice 
 baby and to him Daffy at once became deeply at- 
 tached. This attachment in its turn drew Aurora to 
 her new charge, and Daffy was well looked after by 
 the light moraled Italian woman, whose touch 
 would have been regarded by Lady Norah as contam- 
 ination. 
 
 Aurora was the owner of a very soft and pretty 
 contralto voice, and every evening when Daffy was in 
 bed (the tiny Angiolino being tucked away in his bed 
 in the servants' quarters) the pretty woman sang the 
 songs of the countryside to her master's little daugh- 
 ter. Daffy's voice was the voice of a crow, but she 
 had a quick memory, and in a short time was herself
 
 THE GREfcN PATCH 91 
 
 singing in the Sorrento dialect as she roamed about 
 the garden. 
 
 Her aptitude was vast and it amused Lambe to see 
 her serious application to her food. 
 
 One day Donna Mabel Acquadolce came in while 
 Lambe and Daffy were at lunch. 
 
 "A little daughter? And you never let me know?" 
 
 Donna Mabel's faded eyes rolled reproachfully at 
 Lambe. 
 
 "Why should I?" he asked. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "You surely knew I'd take an interest?" 
 
 Poor Lambe was a very impolite man sometimes 
 through a lack in him of a certain quality hard to 
 define the quality of seeing the other side. But even 
 he could hardly express to his well-meaning neighbor 
 his inward groan and ejaculation of "Take an in- 
 terest ! Good Lord, if only you didn't!" So he said 
 nothing. 
 
 Donna Mabel then proceeded to that awful task of 
 making herself agreeable to the little girl. 
 
 Daffy regarded her solemnly, answering her ques- 
 tions with civility, but volunteering, Lambe observed 
 with a spasm of unjustifiable pleasure, not one word 
 of unnecessary information. 
 
 "And how you must long for your dear little sis- 
 ters," Donna Mabel said at last. 
 
 Daffy, who was eating a banana, shook her head. 
 
 "No, I don't," she declared. 
 
 "Don't wish your sisters were here?" 
 
 "No." The banana was good, but there was an-
 
 9$ THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 other in the dish before her and Daffy was afraid 
 that Donna Mabel might take it, so she was in a hurry 
 and spoke curtly. 
 
 "But why? Surely you love them?" 
 
 Daffy bolted the last bit of banana number one and 
 helped herself to banana number two before she an- 
 swered. Then she said: 
 
 "Y-yes I suppose I love them." 
 
 Donna Mabel was honestly shocked. A real red 
 crept under her paint, turning it a slightly bluish hue. 
 
 "My dear, what a naughty little girl you must be !" 
 
 "I ain't a naughty little girl," retorted Daffy stol- 
 idly, busy with her banana. 
 
 "But" 
 
 "Donna Mabel," interrupted Lambe in Italian, 
 "please don't tease her." 
 
 "I am not teasing her. It it interests me. I 
 can't understand it at all. And such a good mother, 
 too." 
 
 "Bad father, remember," he murmured. But he 
 sent Daffy from the room and then laid down to his 
 injured guest the law that was to govern her future 
 intercourse with his daughter. 
 
 "Queer? Of course she's queer, thank God. The 
 other two are commonplace enough, judging by what 
 my brother-in-law said about 'em. They will be ironed 
 out as smooth as linen collars all the interesting little 
 creases in their minds starched and smoothed away. 
 Let this one alone. I I am beginning to like her 
 and I'm not going to have her spoiled." 
 
 Donna Mabel drove home in one of her ineffectual
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 93 
 
 little rages that invariably died away within an hour 
 or so. She loved new people and adored what she 
 called taking an interest in people. 
 
 Daphne Lambe was only a rather ugly, very badly 
 dressed child of eleven, but she was new to her, and 
 being Christopher Lambe's daughter lent an added 
 charm to her. Donna Mabel would have loved to 
 "mother" Daffy. But it was not to be. Daffy was to 
 be let alone. 
 
 And through a series of unforeseeable circumstances 
 the letting alone system was allowed to flourish for 
 several months. 
 
 When June came and the child was to be taken 
 home, Susan suddenly developed measles, and as both 
 Lady Norah and Sylvia caught the disease from her, 
 Lambe was informed by wire that Daphne was to stay 
 on with him. 
 
 To his surprise, his dominant feeling was one of 
 satisfaction. Daffy was a pleasant person in one's 
 house. She was never in the way, never at a loss for 
 an occupation or amusement, and her look of improved 
 health pleased and flattered her father. 
 
 "You are glad you are to stay?" he asked, on the 
 receipt of the wire. 
 
 "Oh, father!" She said no more, but it was enough. 
 
 Then came the journey to Paris. 
 
 It came over Lambe one very warm June evening 
 as he smoked on the terrace. Paris ! He had not been 
 there for a year and a half, and on such a night as 
 this Paris would be at its or her best. He closed 
 his eyes for a moment and different aspects of the
 
 94 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Ville Coquette passed through his mind in a visionary 
 pageant. 
 
 Yes, he must go. After Paris he would go some- 
 where in the mountains to get a thorough cooling 
 down. "St. Augustin; or yes, St. Augustin, by 
 Jove, and I'll eat their Louvois cream cheese and go 
 to sleep to the music of the waterfall !" 
 
 He threw his cigarette over the parapet and walked 
 quickly to the house. 
 
 "Thomas, pack up. We are going to Paris to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Thomas bowed and went away to make his arrange- 
 ments. Presently he came back. 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir, but the wife says you can't possi- 
 bly go to-morrow," he said. 
 
 Lambe looked up from his book. 
 
 "Can't go? Your wife says I can't go? What on 
 earth" 
 
 "Because Miss Daphne 'asn't no clothes that would 
 do, sir," he returned, "and they couldn't be got no- 
 how before Tuesday or Wednesday." 
 
 Lambe sank into the chair from which he had risen 
 in his amazement. 
 
 "Oh, yes, Miss Daphne," he said faintly. "Does 
 does Mrs. Screach think I must take her with me, 
 Thomas?" 
 
 Thomas Screach was a big, heavily built man with 
 a stupid, honest face. Now he looked at his master as 
 if he, Lambe, were an irresponsible child. 
 
 "In course she does, sir." 
 
 So Daffy went to Paris. Not, however, before
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 95 
 
 Lambe asked her if she would not prefer to stay up 
 on the hill with Donna Mabel. 
 
 "No, father, I'll come with you, please," she an- 
 swered. "I don't like Donna Mabel." 
 
 The clothes problem was solved very simply. They 
 would do the necessary shopping in Paris. This they 
 did and it may be remarked that they both thoroughly 
 enjoyed it. 
 
 They put up at a cheerful white and gold hotel in 
 the Champs Elysees, they lunched wherever they hap- 
 pened to be when hunger attacked them, and Daffy 
 was shown the Venus, the Eiffel Tower, the Concierg- 
 erie, Notre Dame, and the Jardin des Plantes. When 
 she was in bed Lambe went to the plays he loved or for 
 long, aimless, delightful walks through the vivid 
 streets. 
 
 Lady Rayburnham, Daffy's eldest Pember aunt, 
 wrote home about this time to her sister : 
 
 "I had a most amusing rencontre yesterday in the 
 rue de la Paix. I was coming out of Worth's when 
 I heard my name bellowed very loud, and turning, I 
 saw a little man in white flannel clothes of weird cut 
 and a shabby Panama hat. With him a thin-legged 
 monkey of a child in a preposterously short white em- 
 broidered frock (the skirt like a ballet skirt), a huge 
 hat made of stiff white frills, a blue sash and blue 
 shoes and socks. Its arms were bare but for short 
 blue mitts and it carried a ridiculous scrap of a blue 
 sunshade. 
 
 "I didn't know them from the dead, for I hadn't 
 seen him for ten years and her for four, but you will
 
 96 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 guess who they were. They seemed very glad to see 
 me and insisted on taking me to a cafe for tea. He 
 looks well, and in spite of his many wrinkles (far more 
 than Dick has, in spite of our six years in India!) he 
 looks very boyish, as if he had changed his skin for a 
 red man's, more than anything else. Daphne, poor 
 little figure of fun, chattered away to him as if he 
 were her brother. They had bought the clothes at 
 one of the big shops the day before and were very 
 pleased with them. 
 
 "They are going on into the Vosges to-morrow. I 
 wish you could have her back, my dear Norah, for 
 while I am sure poor Christopher means well, he is 
 certainly spoiling the child and rendering her quite 
 unfit for Lambe House. . . ." 
 
 Lady Norah telegraphed the day she received this 
 letter, but Lambe, with a chuckle, crumpled the blue 
 paper into his pocket and left it unanswered. It 
 amused him to have his wife wish for Daffy. He liked 
 the child and they enjoyed each other's society in a 
 way he would have thought impossible a few weeks 
 ago. 
 
 They went to St. Augustin, a scrap of a village, 
 set in an enclosed, green valley not far from La 
 Schlucht, and stayed there for a month. Then, on their 
 return to Paris he found letters which forced him to 
 hand the child over to Lady Corisande Peplow, who 
 was on her way home from Russia and who had ar- 
 ranged with her sister to conduct her charge to the 
 very doors of Lambe House.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE change was very marked to the child. 
 She had been in warm, sunny places with a 
 merry little madman for her companion, and 
 her own wishes her only rules in life. 
 
 She came back into a cold, wet August, into an 
 iron-ruled household, into the unsympathetic atmos- 
 phere of her two sisters. 
 
 There is a suggestion of the Cinderella situation in 
 the foregoing sentence that must be at once explained 
 away. 
 
 Daffy Lambe was not of the stuff of which Cin- 
 derellas are made. 
 
 Her father had spoiled her and given her a quite 
 new and most delightful sense of her own importance 
 in the scheme of things. 
 
 She had learned to talk, to express her thoughts, 
 and her tongue, when she was angry, was fluent and 
 viperish. 
 
 Susan, who enjoyed baiting her, found to her sur- 
 prise that "the little brown one," as Daffy was known 
 by the fisherf oik, was no longer an enemy to be under- 
 rated. 
 
 Battles were frequent and Susan on one occasion 
 went to the length of weeping under some onslaught 
 of her junior. 
 
 97
 
 98 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Lady Norah was deeply distressed. To her mind 
 there was something vulgar in the idea of sisters quar- 
 reling. In her own family life the brothers had bullied 
 the sisters in a polite British way, but the girls had 
 consistently held together in a band against the boys. 
 And here was Daffy, spoiled by her Italian experi- 
 ences, making Susan cry ! 
 
 Susan possessed the gift of being as disagreeable 
 as she chose to one person, and at the same time main- 
 taining her innocence in the eyes of all but her vic- 
 tim. Lady Norah never to the end of her life saw 
 why Daffy became so furious with her sister; but it 
 was evident to the meanest comprehension when Daffy 
 meant to be nasty. The child's eyes held on these 
 occasions a positive blaze of light and her too short 
 upper lip lifted in the middle, showing a glint of 
 white teeth. 
 
 "Daphne, you are being very naughty indeed," was 
 poor Lady Norah's constant cry, and to it Daffy gave 
 no answer whatever. 
 
 For about a month the battle raged continuously, 
 and at the end of that time Susan retired, worsted, 
 from open conflict and a kind of armed peace reigned. 
 
 It was now September, and a golden and blue one, 
 such as is but seldom vouchsafed to our gray shores. 
 It is as if beaming, sunny days came to us from across 
 the sea, only to retire, frightened by the dull clouds 
 and, heavy atmosphere presented to them. 
 
 Lambe House was at its best that year and the chil- 
 dren were down by the sea for hours every day. The 
 neuralgic Ruggles had some time since been super-
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 99 
 
 seded by what was known in the household as "a f raii- 
 lein." It is to be supposed that the four-cornered 
 Teutonic lady with the porous nose had a surname, 
 and Lady Norah must have known it, but on entering 
 Lambe House the surname was lost and its owner be- 
 came once and for all "Frawline." She did not mind. 
 She was a good soul and minded nothing, apparently. 
 Lady Norah believed her state of acceptance to mean 
 perfect bliss, reasoning, "poor soul, she has certainly 
 never before been comfortable," and Lady Norah was 
 very kind to the alien. 
 
 But if Frawline's mind could have been read what 
 would have been Lady Norah's amazement to find that 
 the governess's quiescence was that of any white man's 
 while in lucrative captivity among some negro tribe in 
 Africa. 
 
 "Ach!" she wrote to her Verlobter, a Koniglich 
 Wiirtemberg'sche Postbeamter, "I get sometimes so 
 hungry for some really good food, my heart beloved. 
 For some of your mother's potato dumplings and 
 some herring, what would I not give ! They are very 
 kind to me. The lady is pleasant, but it is not gemuth- 
 lich, and they live in a draught. What the winter will 
 be with no stoves the dear heaven only knows. The 
 children are beautiful as angels (two of them), but 
 their clothes are not at all praktisch and to my taste 
 very ugly, but then English people cannot be expected 
 to have good taste." 
 
 Frawline taught the children German, French, 
 geography, arithmetic, history and music. She was 
 an excellent teacher and the children liked her. Sylvia,
 
 100 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 who was fundamentally stupid, learned her little les- 
 sons with ease, Susan exactly what was strictly neces- 
 sary, and Daffy, but for languages, presented to the 
 onslaught of education an impenetrable and impreg- 
 nable front. She learned during that year absolutely 
 nothing. It was not wilfulness nor stupidity, it was a 
 kind of temporary paralysis of the acquiring nerve. 
 
 "I do try," she told her mother, "only I don't seem 
 to be able to hear. To listen, I mean." 
 
 Frawline was patience itself, for was she not earn- 
 ing the wherewithal to build for herself and the bow- 
 legged idol of her life a nest in delightful and highly 
 civilized Wiirtemberg? She was patient and kind, but 
 occasionally she called Daffy dumm, and this word was 
 cherished by Susan. 
 
 In the matter of music things went better for Daffy. 
 Her long, thin, brown hands were possessed of an ex- 
 traordinary agility; they flew over the keys in un- 
 stumbling haste that delighted her instructor, and 
 while Susan, who was really musical, was still strug- 
 gling with the simplest melodies, Daffy soared far 
 above her in selections from Schumann and even 
 Chopin, to say nothing of some obscure masters. The 
 fact that Daffy was utterly unmusical never occurred 
 to any of the household ; she could play, and that was 
 enough. 
 
 Poor Susan, blundering up the thorny path, adored 
 the music she could not make and when quite alone 
 "she could pick out things by ear" quite remarkably. 
 
 Sylvia's piano lessons had been given up as hope- 
 less after a few months' practice, owing to the fact
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 101 
 
 that she literally could not tell one tune from another. 
 At this time the Lambe girls were respectively fifteen, 
 thirteen and eleven. 
 
 Sylvia was tall, and, as it were, beautiful through 
 her fat, for too fat she was. Her wonderful hair was 
 now plaited, but it curled above her brow and hung in 
 a thick cable to her hips. Her little nose would have 
 been a joy to any sculptor, whereas her coloring, in 
 spite of an almost constantly out-of-door life, was as 
 delicate as the inside of a beautiful shell. Her beauty 
 was too great to be ignored even by herself, but it 
 was luckily too great to be a source of vanity to her. 
 Even at that time her faults were almost entirely 
 negative, whereas Daffy's were like her virtues, when 
 these latter began to develop, distinctly positive. 
 
 Alas, that year when she was eleven Daffy's virtues 
 were invisible to the naked eye of outside observation, 
 whereas her faults loomed large. She lied, she stole, 
 her temper was furious and reusable by the slightest 
 word. 
 
 The story of the necklet will illustrate what life 
 in the schoolroom was at that time at Lambe House. 
 
 Just before Christmas Hughie Gunning came down 
 for a few days and brought each of the girls a necklet. 
 Daffy's was of green-blue iridescent shells from the 
 South Sea, an exquisite trifle that looked like moon- 
 light and fire and deep sea waters. 
 
 Susan's was of coral, smoothly polished beads of 
 a deep pink, and Sylvia's was a little twisted coil 
 of tiny seed pearls with an enchanting tassel at the 
 clasp.
 
 102 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 None of the children had the slightest idea of the 
 relative value of the gifts ; to them the shells might 
 have been more precious than the pearls. The trouble 
 came, as usual, through Susan. 
 
 One mild afternoon a few days after Christmas they 
 went for a long walk over the downs toward Rotting- 
 dean. Frawline, puffing along behind them, contented 
 herself with keeping them in sight, so their talk was 
 unrestrained. 
 
 "I wish Hughie hadn't had to go," remarked Daffy, 
 gazing at the sea, "he is so nice." 
 
 "I suppose his mother wanted him." Sylvia's ob- 
 servations were never brilliant. 
 
 "Yes. But I don't see why he had to go so soon. 
 Donna Mabel would have forgotten she wanted him 
 if he had waited. I know her !" 
 
 Susan laughed. "You needn't remind us that you 
 have been to Italy," she answered, "we know that quite 
 well, thanks." 
 
 "I wasn't reminding you " 
 
 "Don't squabble, girls," put in Sylvia, yawning. 
 
 "Susan's so disagreeable," growled Daffy in the 
 absurd deep note that came to her voice when she was 
 moved. 
 
 Susan, who was bored by the walk, laughed. 
 
 "Oh, yes, Susan the wicked is always to blame, isn't 
 she ? And the angelic Daffy " 
 
 "Shut up, girls." Sylvia yawned again, showing 
 every one of her wonderful teeth that to this day are 
 untouched by a dentist's hands. 
 
 "All right, dear. Come along, Syl, let's walk on
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 103 
 
 ahead and let Daffy come with Frawline. I have 
 something to tell you." 
 
 Daffy made a hideous face at her immediate senior. 
 
 "Sylvia's my sister as well as yours, Susan Lambe," 
 she cried, "and you are disagreeable. Hughie was 
 awfully cross with you the other day for being nasty 
 to me. He called you a little beast, and you know it." 
 
 "He was joking." 
 
 "He wasn't. And anyhow " 
 
 Susan's bow-shaped mouth stretched into a perfect 
 smile. 
 
 "Anyhow, your beloved Hughie likes me better than 
 he likes you." 
 
 "He doesn't" roared Daffy, now thoroughly 
 roused. 
 
 "Then why did he give me a nicer necklace than 
 yours?" leered Susan. 
 
 "Pooh ! Corals aren't half so nice as my lovely lit- 
 tle shells. Peasant girls wear them in Italy " 
 
 Susan stood still in the path and assumed her most 
 grown-up air. 
 
 "Listen to this, Daphne," she said, "this very morn- 
 ing I heard nurse tell Frawline that those shells cost 
 four-and-six in her own brother's shop at Bexhill. So 
 there!" 
 
 Now Daffy, with all her faults, was not sordid. 
 The actual fact that her necklet was less valuable than 
 Susan's meant nothing to her, but she loved Hughie 
 Gunning and she was bitterly jealous of his affection 
 for Susan. It was, even then, an understood thing 
 that he loved Sylvia the best of the three, but Daffy
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 had believed herself to be his second favorite, as in- 
 deed she was. 
 
 This story of Susan's, however, convinced her that 
 even Susan was preferred to her by the young man. 
 It was as if the sky had darkened. 
 
 Then the elder girls walked on with linked arms and 
 Daffy followed in unbroken silence. 
 
 That night when the whole household slept a small 
 white figure crept from her bed to Susan's little dress- 
 ing-table and extracted from the silver box where 
 Susan kept her treasures the coral necklet. Then, 
 wrapped in her ugly brown flannel dressing-gown, 
 Daffy went downstairs and out into the foggy dark- 
 ness. Going to the tree where the cache was, she with 
 some difficulty, hampered by her long garments and 
 knitted slippers, dropped the corals into the hollow. 
 
 The next day, when accused by the frantic Susan 
 as the probable author of her loss, the child denied so 
 obstinately any knowledge of the necklet that Lady 
 Norah perforce believed her. 
 
 "It is very strange," she added, still a little doubt- 
 ful. 
 
 "Lots of things are strange," returned Daffy, the 
 wisdom of which remark there was no gainsaying. 
 
 But Susan knew and did not forget. 
 
 Poor Daffy, she was so utterly wicked and unprin- 
 cipled in spite of all the religious instruction con- 
 scientiously doled out to her by her mother, it is a 
 wonder that any good thing could exist in such a little 
 mass of sinfulness. And yet she was warm-hearted, 
 loving violently those few people whom she loved at
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 105 
 
 all, and she would have gone to the stake for either 
 her father, Hughie Gunning or little Angiolino 
 Screach, the three creatures in the whole world who, 
 she believed, loved her. 
 
 Gunning still has the letter she wrote him a day or 
 two after the episode of the necklet : 
 
 "DEAR HUGHIE: 
 
 "You do love me more than Susan, don't you? She 
 says you love her most, so I've done an appalling 
 thing. I stole her necklet you gave her and hid it in 
 my cache. She shall never, never see it again. I 
 have lied and lied and said I didn't take it, but I did, 
 and so I am a felon. If you tell I shall be flayed alive, 
 but I don't care, I had to tell you. 
 
 "Oh, Hughie darling, I want to go back to Italy. 
 I loathe England and Susan, and I want to see my 
 father, who has forgotten all about me. I was never 
 so devilish with him; it is being here that corrupts 
 your loving DAFFY."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 L1AMBE never wrote to his wife or to Daffy, 
 but he had not forgotten the child, as she 
 thought. 
 
 On the contrary, he missed her, greatly 
 to his own surprise, and would have sent for her to 
 come out to him had he not feared that his so doing 
 might again open a discussion about his taking to his 
 unwilling bosom his whole family. 
 
 So he let things drift and made no sign, and by the 
 time April came Daffy was convinced that he would 
 never again think of her unless he was violently forced 
 to it. 
 
 Hughie Gunning had not been to England ; he had 
 gone to see his mother, but had left before Daffy's 
 letter arrived, and that tragic epistle found him in 
 Constantinople. 
 
 He dared not answer it confidentially, but wrote a 
 friendly note to her, hoping she was well and happy 
 and adding, "I trust, dear old Daffums, that for the 
 sake of us who love you you are trying to get the 
 better of that nasty temper of yours." 
 
 Daffy, such is the ingratitude of women, did not 
 like this letter and mentally stigmatized its writer as 
 a prig. 
 
 To her great disgust, her health continued all 
 106
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 107 
 
 through the winter to be very good; she could not 
 muster up the ghost of a cough or a solitary attack 
 of the blessed asthma that the foregoing year had pro- 
 cured for her the joys of foreign travel. 
 
 On her twelfth birthday she began a diary with the 
 words, "I, Daphne Lambe, being of sound mind," and 
 in that same first entry she declared her disbelief in a 
 personal God of any kind, that she loved her mother, 
 but did not like to be with her, that she liked her sister 
 Sylvia sometimes, and that she at all times hated her 
 sister Susan. 
 
 A horrid document this. Its entries, though fairly 
 regular, were non-exciting in nature until that of the 
 evening of the nineteenth of October, which day had 
 been celebrated by festivities in honor of Sylvia's six- 
 teenth birthday. 
 
 Daffy had by this time acquired a literary fluency 
 astonishing in one of her conversational curtness, and 
 the description of the birthday may speak for itself. 
 There is no excuse for the spelling, for if asked to 
 spell any word she could do so correctly, but the 
 diary was full of faults : 
 
 " I went downstairs early because Hughie 
 
 was coming in time for breakfast. I went to the green- 
 house and cut about forty malmaisons and put them 
 in vases in his room. Mother scolded me, but it didn't 
 matter. Mother gave Sylvia: ivory things for her 
 dressing-table, a lovely blue frock without any collar 
 and with short sleeves. Susan gave her a dozen real 
 tortoise shell hair pins and a beautiful lace collar and 
 cuffs. I gave her my red ring because I lost my purse
 
 108 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 the other day and hadn't any money and mother said 
 I might. Sylvia had on her new coat and skirt. It 
 is to her ankles. She had on white silk shirt and a 
 blue tie with a little gold fox head pin that Uncle 
 Tom sent her. Her hair is up, only it keeps falling 
 down. It is plaited and twisted up in a lump on her 
 neck. She is a dream of beauty, as exquisite as a 
 flower. We had late breakfast and in the middle of it 
 in came Hughie. He had a big box full of orchids 
 for Sylvia and a little gray leather box which he kept 
 by his plate. 
 
 "I could see at once that he was excited about it. 
 He kissed me and I was awfully pleased at -first. 
 
 "After breakfast he and mother went into the 
 green drawing-room. I tried to hear what they were 
 talking about, but couldn't. The door is very 
 thick. 
 
 "At last they came out and mother looked very 
 much agitated for her. 
 
 "Hughie then approached Sylvia. 
 " *Sylvia,' he said (and his voice gave a little squig- 
 gle). *I have a little present for you.' Then he 
 opened the box and there was a row of little pearls, 
 not seed ones but real, proper pearls, grown-up ones. 
 They are too adorable for words. 
 
 "Sylvia was much pleased, but she didn't kiss him or 
 scream. He clasped them round her neck. I am only 
 twelve and small for my age, but at that moment I 
 realized that it was love. Imagine Hughie being in 
 love with Sylvia ! They will have very handsome chil- 
 dren.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 109 
 
 "This afternoon the Vicar and Mrs. Dabney called, 
 and Sylvia being grown up had to see them. So I 
 took Hughie for a walk. 
 
 "First he scolded me for being savage and for tell- 
 ing lies. (He says it is ungentlemanly) and then 
 I said to him, 'Hughie, my dear, I know your 
 secret.' 
 
 "He really jumped with surprise and I was awfully 
 pleased. 'I mean that I know you love my sister 
 Sylvia.' 
 
 " 'I love all of you, when you are good,' he an- 
 swered, very red, but I only shook my head. 
 
 " 'You don't want to marry us all, do you?' 
 
 "He sank down on a garden seat just like Guy in 
 'Barbara's Fate,' and I took his hand in mine. 
 
 " 'Do not fear to hurt me,' I went on soothingly, *I 
 am your friend.' 
 
 " 'You are a silly little goose,' he said rather 
 crossly, 'and you have been reading some rubbishy 
 novel. Cut along and don't bother me.' 
 
 "But I didn't cut along. Instead I said gently : 
 
 " 'Sylvia is too young to marry yet.' 
 
 "There was a long pause and I went on, 'Besides, 
 she isn't at all grown-up inside. She never thinks the 
 way I do.' 
 
 " 'Then perhaps I'd better marry you instead,' he 
 retorted with a laugh. So I was angry and walked 
 away with my head held high. 
 
 "Aunt Corry and Uncle Fred came over to dinner 
 and after dinner I was in the library reading. Sud- 
 denly I heard mother say, 'You must promise me,
 
 110 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Hugh, to say nothing for two years. She is only a 
 child.' 
 
 "Hughie gave a sort of groan. 
 
 " 'All right, I'll try, Lady Norah, only I'm bound to 
 give myself away. I I'm an awful ass. Even little 
 Daffy saw to-day.' 
 
 "I sat quite still behind the big sofa by the fire. 
 Mother said a few unimportant things and then 
 Hughie promised her solemnly and she went out. 
 
 "The names he called me because I hadn't got up 
 and screamed that I was there weren't very gentle- 
 manly, and I called him a pig, but we became friends 
 again and he said after all he wasn't sorry I knew and 
 asked me to write and tell him about her. He is very 
 silly about her, and I never before realized how blind 
 love really is. Now I know. 
 
 "Susan sang for Uncle Fred and her voice is lovely. 
 She looked pretty, too. Sylvia sat in a big chair and 
 went to sleep as usual. 
 
 "Aunt Corisande said my frock was awful and I was 
 glad, for it is. She called me Cinderella. She is very 
 kind, but her face is all plastered with white stuff that 
 rolls up in the wrinkles. It is not pretty at all. 
 
 "Well, the eventful day is over. 
 
 "Hughie went at ten and is not coming back till 
 summer, because mother won't let him. He is going 
 to Sorrento and is going to give my love to father. 
 
 "Sylvia is now sixteen and has a lover, though she 
 doesn't know it. Susan is fourteen and wears stays. 
 I am twelve and plain, but I am the most intellectual. 
 Tempus fugit and chi vivia verra, as Italians say."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 NO one ever knew quite how Christopher 
 Lambe finally settled matters with his wife. 
 Quite suddenly, just after Sylvia's sixteenth 
 birthday as chronicled by Daffy, Daffy 
 again went to Sorrento and did not return until the 
 following May. 
 
 Lady Norah never left England again, but appar- 
 ently the arrangement satisfied her perfectly. 
 
 As a matter of fact the arrangement came about in 
 a quite simple give-and-take way. 
 
 Dunstan Pember, the youngest of Lady Norah's 
 brothers, a good-looking giver of suppers to musical 
 comedy ladies, managed a short time after Daffy's 
 return to England, after her visit to Italy, to involve 
 himself seriously with one Miss Olive St. John of the 
 Gaiety. This young lady, a really very pretty girl 
 named Slamm, was wise in her generation and a posi- 
 tive dragon of virtue. 
 
 Mrs. Slamm, unfortunately doing time for some 
 minor offense, was replaced by a highly presentable 
 stage-mother, who chaperoned her "daughter" with 
 the vigilance of half a dozen society parents rolled 
 into one. 
 
 And poor Dunny Pember of course fell into the 
 trap ! He bought diamonds "on tick" which the young 
 
 111
 
 112 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 lady would not accept, but which after much persua- 
 sion she at last consented to wear just to please him. 
 He presented Mrs. St. John (who once in a moment of 
 after-supper expansiveness confided to him that her 
 husband had been a Major in the navy) with a very 
 pleasing little motor, in which The Divinity took her 
 ease. They lunched and supped at the Savoy and bills 
 grew up like wild dragons' teeth. 
 
 At length, bothered to death by urgent creditors, 
 unable to obtain another shilling from Jew or Chris- 
 tian, haunted by an awful fear of losing his bliss as a 
 matrimonially bent Viscount had (so Mrs. St. John 
 told him) appeared on the immediate scene, the boy 
 asked the young woman to become an Honorable Mrs. 
 Pember. 
 
 After a week of reflection, during which he nearly 
 went mad from uncertainty, she deigned to accept him, 
 and he, trusting to Pemberley's good nature, went to 
 his eldest brother and confessed. Whereupon Pember- 
 ley used language and swore that he'd be d be- 
 fore he'd accept a d for a sister-in-law. 
 
 He would not pay a single penny of a single bill in- 
 curred in the wooing of the said and his 
 
 young of a brother had better waste no more 
 
 breath in trying to persuade him. 
 
 "I'll have to go bust then, Otho," returned the boy, 
 "you won't like that." 
 
 "I'll like anything rather than have a low down 
 hussy for my sister-in-law. Our family has hitherto 
 kept clear of the music hall comedy style of wife and 
 I won't have you marrying this person."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 113 
 
 "She's a damn sight better than lots of girls of 
 one's own class." 
 
 But Pemberley had an unexpected fund of class- 
 feeling and his red nose glowed with ardor. 
 
 "That doesn't matter, my boy. Any one who isn't a 
 born idiot realizes that there are good women every- 
 where, even half-naked ones in choruses that can't 
 sing. And God knows our own women aren't all an- 
 gels. But they are our own women. That's just the 
 point. If you must marry some one who isn't fit to be 
 the mother of your children get one of your own class 
 and go to H like a gentleman." 
 
 Dunstan couldn't persist and left the room at once. 
 He was annoyed by his brother's attitude, amazed as 
 well as indignant. Pember was a queer old bird. 
 
 But Pember was close-fisted as well as proud, and 
 his resolution not to help his brother pay his 
 debts lived out against two piteous appeals made by 
 letters. 
 
 Then Dunny, as was his way, went to Corisande 
 Peplow. She had no money herself, but she had a cer- 
 tain useful wisdom and on this occasion his trust in it 
 was fully justified. 
 
 "Ask Kit Lambe," she said promptly, lighting a 
 cigarette. "He has pots and is a good-natured old 
 thing." 
 
 Lady Corisande never remembered her own age and 
 spoke thus of Lambe in perfect good faith, quite for- 
 getting that she was twelve years older than he. 
 
 So Dunstan Pember wrote to Lambe, who was then 
 in Paris.
 
 114 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 The answer came by cable : 
 
 Will see you in London to-morrow Wednesday at 
 eight at Bagg's in Albemarle Street. 
 
 Dunny had not seen his eccentric brother-in-law 
 for a long time, and the minute he came into the room 
 the young man was aware of a kind of suppressed ex- 
 citement in his manner. 
 
 "How d'ye do, Dunny?" Lambe said, "what's all 
 this about a girl?" 
 
 "I I love her," returned the youth sulkily. 
 
 "I see. Well, love her. It won't hurt you. Only 
 you mustn't marry her. That won't do, you know." 
 
 "You are suggesting " 
 
 "Hold your tongue and don't be an ass. I am not 
 suggesting anything except that you don't tie your- 
 self up for life to a half-educated product of the 
 slums." 
 
 They dined, the two men, and only when they were 
 comfortably full of food, did they return to the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 "I am rich, you know, Dunny. In fact, I am now, 
 thanks to a kindly tip about copper from a gum- 
 chewing individual from Ohio, a very rich man. Sup- 
 pose I bribe you." 
 
 Then he made bids. Dunny was in love with Miss 
 Slamm, but he had been impressed by Lord Pember- 
 ley's attitude toward the lady, and for a long time 
 he had been tormented to death by his creditors. Gone 
 were the peaceful nights of yore, gone the careless 
 days. The boy was only twenty-two, and, after all, 
 constant association with Miss Slamm had revealed to
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 115 
 
 him one or two harmless vulgarities of thought and 
 phrase that startled him. 
 
 "I'm not such a cur as to be bought off," he pro- 
 tested. "Haymon wants to marry her if she's good 
 enough for him " 
 
 "Haymon ? I don't believe he wants to marry her," 
 Lambe returned. He knew Haymon. 
 
 "Well, he does." 
 
 "Did he tell you so?" 
 
 "No. Mrs. Mrs. St. John told me." 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. St. John. A relative of the lady, I sup- 
 pose. Good name," he pursued, reflecting. Young 
 Pember writhed. "Her real name, of course?" 
 
 "No," the boy burst out. "Her real name is 
 Slamm, if you must have it, and I don't care a damn." 
 
 They talked for another hour and then Christopher 
 Lambe went to bed. 
 
 The next morning, Lady Norah in answer to a wire 
 from him appeared at his hotel, and after a short con- 
 versation, they parted with something almost like cor- 
 diality. 
 
 Results: Young Pember's bills were paid and his 
 passage round the world, together with that of a 
 cousin, a youth very little older but much wiser in his 
 day and generation than he. Miss St. John was found 
 to be easily satisfied. She accepted a fat cheque, she 
 kept the jewels and the motor, and confessed to Mr. 
 Lambe that poor old Dun had always rather bored her. 
 
 Bribery and corruption on all sides, a very discred- 
 itable arrangement, and Christopher Lambe should no 
 doubt have been ashamed of himself. However, he
 
 116 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 was neither ashamed nor compunctious, and Lady 
 Norah for her part after in vain opposing her will to 
 his, and after having been startled by his extraordi- 
 nary attitude into saying one or two very unpleasant 
 things to him, gave into his terms which were simply 
 these : That in return for his saving the family from 
 an undesirable sister-in-law and from a bankruptcy 
 case, Daffy was to be allowed to spend six months out 
 of every year with her father. "I can't understand 
 your wanting her," Lady Norah pleaded, "if you 
 liked her why did you leave her?" 
 
 "I know ; I am perfectly illogical. But the fact re- 
 mains that I do like her and as I have a perfectly de- 
 sirable home for her, I wish to have her with me every 
 winter. You have the other two, and from what young 
 Gunning tells me, they are both of 'em far more at- 
 tractive than the little one." 
 
 "Yes, they are. But I greatly prefer not to sepa- 
 rate them." 
 
 However, he had from the first made it clear that he 
 was willing to come to the family rescue in the matter 
 of Miss Slamm on purely selfish grounds and on no 
 others. He did not, he said, care a blow about young 
 Dunstan and his debts, and nothing but his sensing a 
 possible arrangement about Daffy had led him to make 
 any move in the matter. 
 
 So Lady Norah gave in, and it may have been with 
 a little sigh of relief that she said good-bye to her 
 youngest daughter a fortnight later. 
 
 Daffy was not a comfortable inmate of Lambe 
 House. She was too absolutely unlike the Pembers
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 117 
 
 for Lady Norah ever to understand her, and if she was 
 to prove a failure it would be some small comfort to 
 her mother that her bringing-up should not exclusively 
 have been her doing. 
 
 But poor Lady Norah at the same time loved her 
 daughter, and many were the words of advice given to 
 her these last days. 
 
 "You will try to be so good, Daffy, won't you ?" she 
 said at the door of the first-class compartment at Vic- 
 toria. 
 
 "I am always good with father," was the discon- 
 certing reply. 
 
 Then as the train started, the girl leaned out. 
 
 "Oh, mother," she called. "I do love you, you 
 know. And I will try to be good. Good-bye !" 
 
 Lady Corisande, one of whose constant little "flings 
 in Paris" had occasioned the choosing of that particu- 
 lar day for Daffy's departure, watched her niece curi- 
 ously during the journey to Calais. 
 
 "I wonder what will become of you, Daffy," she 
 said. "Christopher will spoil you, of course, and you 
 haven't the looks to bear spoiling. If it was Sylvia 
 now, she would be allowed any amount of eccentricity, 
 or even worse, she is so lovely." 
 
 "I may improve," suggested Daffy with a view of 
 consoling her aunt rather than from any personal 
 feeling. "Some girls do." 
 
 Lady Corisande burst out laughing, an indulgence 
 that did dire things to her complexion. 
 
 "Like the Ugly Duckling, eh? Well, you certainly 
 ain't dull, my dear, and that is something. Still you
 
 118 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 ought to go in for something, if it's only golf. Do 
 you like sports ?" 
 
 Daffy made a face. "No, I loathe 'em. I don't 
 mind tennis, but I don't really love it like the Vicarage 
 girls. Swimming is the best of all." 
 
 Lady Corisande brightened. "Well, you can join 
 the Bath Club and swim there, your figure won't be 
 bad, though your legs are too long." 
 
 Daffy's personal appearance and lack of accom- 
 plishments gave Daffy herself no uneasiness at all. 
 She was going to her father and was to be away from 
 Lambe House and Susan for six blessed months in 
 every year. That was enough to make her perfectly 
 happy. 
 
 She was going back to the dear villa, she could sit 
 in the Poggio and swim in the blue sea and there was 
 Angiolino Screach for her to play with. 
 
 At Calais, Christopher Lambe awaited his daughter. 
 
 "Hello, Tiny Tim," he said, "had a good crossing?" 
 
 She kissed him shyly. After a hasty, but extremely 
 good meal in the restaurant, the trio made its way on 
 to Paris. 
 
 Here they separated, Lady Corisande going to the 
 house of a friend, Lambe and Daffy to the gorgeous 
 hotel that they loved. 
 
 The next day they went on to Italy and three days 
 later arrived just at dinner-time at the villa.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 ON the seventeenth of May, two years and a 
 half after the making of the arrangement 
 by which Daphne Lambe henceforth was to 
 live every winter with her father, a small 
 young girl dressed in smartly cut, French-looking 
 clothes, got out of the train at Victoria and made her 
 way through the crowd with the air of one thoroughly 
 used to traveling and its happenings. 
 
 There was no one to meet her and she had no maid. 
 Alone she engineered her box through the perfunctory 
 customs examination and then hailed a four-wheeler 
 and told the man to take her to Grosvenor Place. This 
 young girl was Daffy Lambe. 
 
 She had failed in her own prognostication regarding 
 her looks. Her small brown face was without any par- 
 ticular beauty, but for an almost classically cut nose ; 
 her dark eyes were not very large, nor were their thick 
 lashes particularly long. Her black hair which was 
 dry and rather bushy was plaited compactly to the 
 back of her head, but sprang out on either side of her 
 face quite independently of artificial support. Her 
 mouth, which was fairly red, was too long and not full 
 enough for beauty and the upper lip was too short, 
 whereas her chin was a little too long, and rather 
 pointed. The plain Miss Lambe, even then at fifteen. 
 
 119
 
 120 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 The plain Miss Lambe watched London from the 
 window of her cab with something like disgust. It was 
 a wet day and the muddy streets and umbrella'd pe- 
 destrians were not attractive to her. She, like her 
 father, had no patriotism at all, and while her 
 thoughts were that day necessarily at Lambe House, 
 her heart was in Italy in the sunshine. 
 
 When the butler opened Lord Pemberley's door to 
 her, the look on his face stopped her coming question. 
 
 "Oh," she faltered, "am I too late?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss. The wire came an hour ago. 'is Lord- 
 ship would have gone to the station, but was afraid of 
 missing you in the crowd." 
 
 "I see. Where is His Lordship now ?" 
 
 Lord Pemberley, as she spoke, came out of a room 
 opposite the door. He looked subdued and rather 
 nervous. 
 
 "Oh, you have come, my dear. Come in and I will 
 tell you. Bring tea, Lubbock." 
 
 Daffy followed her uncle, and as he shut the door 
 she said quietly: 
 
 "I I know, Uncle Otho. Lubbock told me. Can't 
 I go down at once?" 
 
 Pemberley looked at her. "We are starting in an 
 hour," he answered. "I am afraid you will be very 
 tired." 
 
 She sat down. "No, I am not tired. Poor mother." 
 
 It was a way of taking the news of her 
 mother's death that shocked her uncle. Was she 
 heartless ? 
 
 "It was very sudden at the last, heart failure, the
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 121 
 
 wire says. Where is your father? I must telegraph 
 him." 
 
 "He's in Paris. He brought me that far. I I 
 hope she didn't suffer much, Uncle Otho?" 
 
 "No, not much, so far as I know. Daffy, you you 
 amaze me. Don't you care at all?" 
 
 The girl looked at him, her dark eyes steady. 
 
 "Of course I do. But what's the use of crying? I 
 never cry. Father says " 
 
 "Oh, bother your father ! I mean to say " 
 
 The arrival of tea saved the situation and Daffy 
 partook of hers with a good appetite. 
 
 When the wire came, three days before, saying that 
 Lady Norah was ill, the girl had at once felt sure that 
 her mother would die. All through the journey she 
 had told herself that she would arrive too late, and 
 now that she had indeed done so, she was fully pre- 
 pared. In very truth she had never greatly loved her 
 mother, who was in her mind too closely linked with the 
 obnoxious Susan to be very dear to her, and in the last 
 few years she had grown to adore her father with a 
 strength of love that seemed to leave no room in her 
 heart for other affections. 
 
 The summers at Lambe House were to her ever pe- 
 riods of probation, of waiting the hour when she could 
 go back to her father in Italy. To Lady Norah's re- 
 lief, the child's temper was better than it had been, 
 but her continued silence was oppressive and the mute 
 disregard presented by her to Susan's teasing only 
 barely less unpleasant than her former rages. 
 
 The mother found herself watching a nature that
 
 122 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 was utterly closed to her observation. She knew no 
 more of Daffy than she knew of the Dowager Empress 
 of China. 
 
 "I can't understand her in the least," the poor lady 
 told her friend the Vicar, "she is like a complete 
 stranger." 
 
 As for Daffy, used to the peculiar atmosphere of 
 freedom of the villa, Lambe House was like a prison. 
 
 It was a crime here to be five minutes late for a 
 meal, it was a crime to go out without a hat, one was 
 bothered about one's complexion, questions were asked 
 about the books one read, one was obliged to go to 
 church. 
 
 Even the clothes, which now, thanks to a timely hint 
 from Lady Corisande, were made by an artist in ex- 
 pensive simplicity in Paris, were made the subject of 
 not always benevolent criticism. 
 
 In a word, Daffy hated Lambe House. Her father 
 had spoiled her, had developed the lawlessness she had 
 inherited from him, had encouraged her impatience of 
 contest, her disregard of detail, until she was literally 
 unfit for any kind of discipline. At Lambe House she 
 was accounted as detestable, her sisters frankly dislik- 
 ing her. 
 
 For her part, she felt a certain tenderness for 
 Sylvia, and a very great admiration. Sylvia's beauty 
 was to her as potent as it had already grown to be to 
 men. Sylvia had never been unkind to her and even 
 now made an occasional feeble effort to make Lambe 
 House pleasant for her sister. 
 
 Susan on the other hand derived the greatest pleas-
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 123 
 
 ure from tormenting her younger sister, and but for 
 Daffy's new policy of silence, war would have raged 
 all through the summers. 
 
 "How is Sylvia?" Daffy asked as the train drew up 
 at their station that evening. 
 
 Pemberley did not know. "All right, I suppose. 
 She's uncommon good-looking, I'm told. Haven't seen 
 her for a long time. Hello, who's this?" 
 
 A tall man in a raincoat was approaching them, 
 evidently with recognition. To her uncle's horror, 
 Daffy precipitated herself into the newcomer's arms. 
 
 "Oh, Hughie," she said, "I'm so glad you've come ! 
 Where have you been all this time?" 
 
 Gunning gave her an unemotional kiss, and intro- 
 duced himself to Pemberley. 
 
 "I hope you won't mind my coming down at once," 
 he explained. "As a matter of fact poor Lady Norah 
 wired to ask me to, as soon as she found she was not 
 going to pull through." 
 
 Pemberley resented any one's presence who was 
 neither a Pember nor a Lambe, and his manner plainly 
 showed it. 
 
 "Don't be cross, Uncle Otho," said Daffy in a per- 
 fectly audible voice, "it's quite all right. He's going 
 to marry Sylvia, aren't you, Hughie?" 
 
 Gunning was thirty years old, but at this downright 
 remark, he blushed like a boy, and Pemberley paused, 
 his boot on the carriage step, and looked up at him. 
 
 "Oh, I see. Well, you'd better come with us. I see 
 there's only one carriage sent." 
 
 They drove away in silence, which was broken after
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 a pause by Daffy's asking suddenly, "Hughie, why 
 did you stay in Ceylon so long? We have missed you 
 awfully." 
 
 "Hush, Daffy," he muttered, "I'll tell you after a 
 while." 
 
 "My niece is absolutely without all sense of pro- 
 priety," Pemberly observed crossly, and silence again 
 fell on the trio. 
 
 Gunning, who was taken up with his own thoughts, 
 hardly noticed it when Daffy slipped her hand into his, 
 but her uncle saw it and counted what happened to be 
 a perfectly innocent and childlike action against 
 her. 
 
 Arrived at the house, the wet gravel before which 
 was slashed by many carriage wheels, the older man 
 stalked by the butler without a word and silently shook 
 hands with his brother, the Bishop, who looked a per- 
 fect monument of decorous grief. 
 
 "Ah, my poor Daphne !" 
 
 "How d'you do, Uncle Tom. Where's Sylvia? Oh, 
 here's Hughie, mother sent for him." 
 
 Gunning, feeling very much in the way, but bound 
 in view of the dead lady's appeal to stay, went quietly 
 into the deserted drawing room. After a few minutes 
 Daffy came in. 
 
 "I say, Hughie," she began, as nervous now as she 
 had previously been calm, "they say I must see her. 
 And I don't want to." 
 
 "Don't want to see your mother? Good heavens, 
 Daffy, you aren't afraid, are you?" 
 
 She stood by the fire, very small and slim in her
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 125 
 
 close-fitting coat and skirt, her eyes hidden by the 
 shadow of her quaint little hat. 
 
 "Yes, I am, I I'm awfully afraid of dead people." 
 
 "But your own mother 
 
 "Hughie, please tell them I needn't. I tell you I 
 don't want to. And what good could it do?" 
 
 He was as honestly puzzled as most normal young 
 men would have been by this attitude. 
 
 "Don't be a silly. She loved you, your mother, and 
 3 r ou loved her. Suppose suppose she can see you 
 now. She'd be awfully hurt." 
 
 Daffy unpinned her hat and threw it on the floor. 
 
 "If mother knows what I'm thinking, she wouldn't 
 mind one bit. I I want to remember her alive, 
 Hughie, not all dead," she shuddered. 
 
 "Look here, Daffy," he said gently, laying one 
 hand on her shoulder, "you mustn't allow yourself to 
 get queer. There are times when one simply must be 
 like other people and this is one of them." 
 
 She looked up, very far up, into his blue eyes. 
 
 "Hughie, you remember how afraid I was of things 
 when I was littler?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes. You were a poor little coward, Daffy, only 
 you didn't tell then." 
 
 "Well, I'm just as afraid now; I can't help it. A 
 big dog, even if he doesn't see me, makes me go cold 
 all over, perhaps because I'm so small. And fast 
 horses, oh, dear, I tremble when they go tearing along. 
 And, Hughie don't laugh I always have a light in 
 my room at home. If I don't, the the shadows 
 frighten me. There !"
 
 126 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Her pointed white face was whiter than usual un- 
 der the stress of confession, and he saw that she was 
 telling the absolute truth. 
 
 "Poor Daffy-down-Dilly," he said gently. 
 
 "Well, but most of all I'm afraid of dead people. 
 Oh, Hughie, dear, great, big, brave Hughie, do tell 
 'em I needn't!" 
 
 It is possible that he might have made an effort to 
 save her from the ordeal she so dreaded, but at that 
 moment the door opened and Sylvia came in, and he 
 at once forgot everybody and everything else in the 
 world. 
 
 It is hard to describe great beauty, and all that one 
 can say of Sylvia Lambe sounds conventional and 
 doll-like, yet she was neither in looks. She was very 
 tall, nearly as tall as Gunning himself, and during the 
 .last two years she had grown to be almost too slim. 
 Now, in her loose white dressing-gown, her wonderful 
 hair tied back by a bit of black ribbon, her eyes heavy, 
 but not red, with weeping, she was indeed lovely 
 enough to cause any man to forget dozens of Daffies. 
 
 "Oh, Hughie," she said, holding out both her 
 hands, "I'm so glad you have come." 
 
 "Sylvia, my dear," he stammered, taking her gently 
 into his arms. 
 
 Daffy watched them, feeling suddenly as if a door 
 had been closed in her face. 
 
 "Hughie, come and see her. She is so lovely." Then 
 Sylvia saw her sister and went to her just as she 
 had gone to Gunning, both hands extended. "Daffy 
 dear, oh, my dear little sister," she cried brokenly.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 127 
 
 Then she broke down and cried with her arras round 
 the younger girl. After a long moment she withdrew, 
 and turning to Gunning said, her face dimpling into a 
 faint smile, "Lend me your handkerchief, Hughie. I 
 forgot to bring one, and now come, Daffy will want to 
 see her." 
 
 Daffy shot a look of agony at Gunning, but he did 
 not even see it, and unable to resist any longer, Daffy 
 allowed herself to be led to the death chamber.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE house was full for the next few days. 
 The Pembers were of those who always 
 gather in full force at family functions of 
 any kind, and their strongest feelings were 
 involved in the matter of funerals. 
 
 None was ever too busy or too ill, unless at death's 
 very door, to hasten from all parts of the kingdom 
 when one of their numerous clan took unto him or her- 
 self a life partner or left this world. 
 
 Even Lady Corisande, the frivolous one, had only 
 missed one funeral and two weddings since she was of 
 an age to go to them, and Lord Pemberley was sup- 
 posed to have been seriously annoyed with her because 
 at the time of the second of the weddings she had been 
 no farther away than Berlin. 
 
 So Lambe House was now packed almost to dis- 
 comfort with solemn-eyed Pembers, leavened only by 
 two outside Lambes, Christopher's old uncle, who was 
 well over eighty and not quite right in his mind, and a 
 Mrs. Larbord, Christopher's cousin. These two were 
 his nearest relations. 
 
 The Bishop's wife arrived the day after Daffy, 
 Lady Rayburnham, Lady Corisande and her small dry 
 husband, Fred Peplow, came in the same train, then 
 there was poor Lady Pember who always felt herself in 
 
 128
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 129 
 
 disgrace because of her unsuccessful efforts to pro- 
 duce an heir, Bill and his wife (both big and burly 
 and louder- voiced than the others), Charles who had 
 never married, and whose open preferences for Paris, 
 where he had a flat, was considered by the family to 
 be peculiar almost to the verge of infirmity. Charles 
 was Susan's godfather, and sent her twenty pounds 
 every birthday. 
 
 Lady Mary Grainger-Clay, the youngest sister, was 
 there, but without her husband, as he had died a year 
 before. Her eyes were still wet for him. 
 
 Young Dunstan, just back from his travels, com- 
 pleted the list of brothers and sisters, but not of 
 guests, for there were cousins as well, and even one 
 uncle' and an uncle-in-law as well. 
 
 After the excitement and tragedy of poor dear 
 Norah's death, the favorite subject of conversation 
 was of course Christopher's behavior. 
 
 He arrived as soon as he could get there after re- 
 ceiving Pemberley's wire, and his demeanor was that 
 of any other well-behaved guest in a house of mourn- 
 ing. The Bishop played host, and did it very well, by 
 general consent. 
 
 When Christopher had been discussed to satiety, the 
 mourners fell back on the great beauty of the two 
 elder girls. 
 
 "I never saw a lovelier girl than Sylvia," each and 
 every one declared, "I suppose Corisande will bring 
 her out." 
 
 It rained steadily for three days, so there was little 
 or no fresh air to be had and tempers grew restive.
 
 130 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Fred Peplow, the best little man in the world, got on 
 everybody's nerves, and Lady Mary and Dunny had a 
 really acrimonious quarrel, regarding the effect of 
 high heels on the health. Dunny, being now engaged 
 to an Australian heiress, had grown vastly in self-im- 
 portance, and considered that his opinion should be 
 more valued than it was by the family. 
 
 The evening before the funeral Daffy sat alone by 
 an open window in the old schoolroom. The rain had 
 ceased and from the soaked earth came pleasant and 
 hopeful spring smells. The trees were just breaking 
 into a foam of delicate green, hardly yet to be called 
 leaves, for the winter had been a long one, and the 
 tulips in the large formal parterres were hardly out 
 of their prison although the middle of May was past. 
 
 Daffy was very pale in her black frock and her small 
 face had a worn, drawn look. 
 
 What she had told Hugh Gunning about her own 
 cowardice was perfectly true. It was a constitutional 
 thing and while her self-control was great enough to 
 hide it as a rule, no amount of effort could steady the 
 inward quivering that came to her when she was 
 frightened. The house of death had got on to her 
 nerves to an extent almost unbearable ; she was nearly 
 ill and recollections of the ghoulish conversation of old 
 uncle Gerald, to whose particular entertainment the 
 Bishop had told her off, kept her awake at night. 
 
 Uncle Gerald could remember the funeral of every 
 Lambe of the last twenty-five years, and his memory 
 for gruesome detail was terrific. 
 
 "I like you, Sarah," he said to Daffy, over and over
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 131 
 
 again, "because you are all Lambe, and because you 
 like to listen when I talk." 
 
 Why he called her Sarah no one knew, but it was 
 useless reminding him that that was not her name. 
 
 Now, after a full hour of memories connected with 
 the death from cancer of his eldest daughter in '69, 
 Daffy, quite ill with horror, had run away here to the 
 schoolroom for a rest. 
 
 No one ever came here. It was a shabby and unat- 
 tractive room, looking out over the least beautiful part 
 of the grounds, but at least it was quiet and Uncle 
 Gerald did not know of its existence. 
 
 The young girl sat on the floor by the window, her 
 elbows on the sill, her head leaning against the window 
 frame. It was nearly seven o'clock and soon she must 
 go and dress. 
 
 She was very tired; it had been a dreadful day. 
 They talked so much, all the relations, all except 
 Uncle Fred, and he stayed upstairs most of the time. 
 Daffy's father, whom she so loved, was very busy. 
 The Bishop had much to say to him and the greater 
 part of each day he was not to be found except at 
 meal times. Sylvia and Susan, both of whom were 
 heart-broken over their mother's death, were allowed 
 by the relations to stay upstairs without comment, but 
 Daffy, who was clearly not nearly so distressed as she 
 should have been, was expected to be useful, and no 
 one knew better than herself how really useless she 
 was. 
 
 The Vicar had to be seen, and introduced to such 
 of the tribe as did not know him, and this duty fell on
 
 132 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Daffy, who strongly disliked the smug occupation. 
 Certain tenants, too, called, and it was felt that they 
 deserved a polite word from one of the afflicted, which 
 one was always Daffy, who invariably said the wrong 
 thing, or, still more, called them by the wrong name. 
 
 She was so tired ! The stable clock struck the three- 
 quarters. Fifteen minutes more she could sit there in 
 the restful quiet and then she must go. 
 
 Suddenly the light of a cigar caught her eye in the 
 shrubbery. It was high up from the ground and so 
 could not be in the mouth of little Uncle Fred. Who 
 else would be smoking so brazenly? 
 
 Then suddenly the sinner emerged into the open 
 space near the house, and Daffy, leaning out of the 
 window, called him. 
 
 "Hughie ! I say, Hughie !" 
 
 Gunning looked up, his cigar in his hand. 
 
 "Is that you?" 
 
 Daffy knew by a something in his voice that she was 
 not the "you" he meant. 
 
 "No," she said regretfully, "it's only me, Daffy. 
 But do come up here, Hughie. You may smoke here." 
 
 "All right. Where are you?" 
 
 "In the schoolroom, you know, you go past the 
 yellow room and up the little stairs " 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know." 
 
 He disappeared, and a few minutes later came into 
 the room. 
 
 "This is a good idea," he commented, drawing a 
 chair to the window and sitting down. "I got so fed 
 up with the family, I couldn't stand it ; the old man is
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 133 
 
 looking for you, and the Bishop wanted you a while 
 ago." 
 
 "Let 'em look. Oh, Hughie, what a horribly bar- 
 barous thing a funeral party is !" 
 
 "Beastly. And yet, what else could one do ? I say, 
 Daffy, how is Sylvia ? I haven't seen her all day." 
 
 "She's been asleep since four. She's all right." 
 
 "Asleep !" The rapture on his good-looking, rather 
 severe face gave it, to Daffy's critical eyes, a look al- 
 most idiotic. 
 
 "Yes, wonderful of her to go to sleep, isn't it ?" 
 
 "Don't be nasty. You're a good little thing, Daff, 
 but sometimes you seem just a little " 
 
 "Spiteful. That's my envious disposition." She 
 finished calmly, "Don't be an ass, Hughie." 
 
 "Well, you don't appreciate the girls ; that much is 
 true." 
 
 Daffy stared at him. 
 
 "Oh, you you really Hughie ! Even you bracket 
 'em together. Why can't you see that Sylvia really 
 is good and kind in her rather stupid way, and that 
 Susan is a a cat ?" 
 
 "Sylvia stupid !" returned the man impatiently, "I 
 am ashamed of you, Daphne." 
 
 "You needn't be, and you needn't call me Daphne. 
 I like Sylvia, yes, I do, and if Susan wasn't always 
 there, I'd love her. But, well, she isn't clever. Her 
 brain is half asleep, I think. But she's all right and 
 Susan is all wrong. You wait and see. That's what 
 I wanted to say to you. Marry her quick, Hughie, 
 and get her away from Susan."
 
 134 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 She spoke, he now saw, without spitefulness and 
 with the reasonable dislike of a grown person. After 
 a pause he said slowly: 
 
 "How am I to marry her quick, Daffy ? I've never 
 said a word to her about it. I promised your poor 
 mother I wouldn't. And now, it wouldn't be decent 
 for a while, anyhow. Besides, suppose she says 
 no!" 
 
 Daffy rose to her knees and looked at him very 
 earnestly. 
 
 "Look here, Hughie," she said, in a way that im- 
 pressed him in spite of her youth, "listen to me. 
 Sylvia is getting old. She will be nineteen in Novem- 
 ber and she would have come out this season if mother 
 hadn't been seedy, I mean to say, ill. Well, she is a 
 great beauty. Dunny told me that there isn't a woman 
 in London as good-looking as she is. And Aunt Corry 
 and Aunt Mary and even Aunt Maud want to take 
 her to live with them with her you know what I 
 mean, and then she'll meet all the men in England 
 and they'll all want to marry her, and then where'll 
 you be?" 
 
 "I know, Daffy," he answered humbly, his smooth 
 brown head in his hands. 
 
 "You see," went on his mentor, "it isn't as if she 
 was in love with you. She isn't. And I'd marry you 
 like a shot myself if you wanted me to, Hughie, and I 
 love you dearly, but, well after all, you aren't much 
 of a catch for a great beauty, are you ?" 
 
 "Course I'm not." 
 
 "When they used to play with dolls, Susan's al-
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 135 
 
 ways used to marry great musicians, but Sylvia's 
 never married anything under a Duke. So you see !" 
 
 Gunning forgot that he was thirty and his adviser 
 fifteen. 
 
 "Well, what do you think I'd better do?" he asked, 
 looking at her, his blue eyes suddenly haggard. Her 
 answer was ready. 
 
 "Ask her at once. Father will be glad and she is 
 almost bound to say yes, because she's never seen any 
 other men. Besides, she's not a bit conceited, Sylvia, 
 I don't believe she has an idea what her looks are 
 worth. Now Susan " 
 
 "Never mind Susan. Look here, Daffy, your 
 mother wired to me a week ago, asking me to come. 
 And she also said look," he took the bit of paper 
 from his pocket and handed it to her, " *I am dying. 
 Please come. You have my full permission regarding 
 what you asked me two years ago. Norah Lambe.' ' 
 
 Daffy read it twice and gave it back to him. 
 
 "My dear Hughie, you are as good as engaged, 
 now, with that to show her. Sylvia adored mother, 
 and she'd marry Phipps if mother had sent him such 
 a wire." 
 
 Phipps being the head gardener, one of the ugliest 
 men extant, Gunning burst out laughing. 
 
 "Yours is certainly a sootherin' tongue, oh, young- 
 est Miss Lambe," he chuckled, "am I as awful as 
 Phipps?" 
 
 Daffy paid no heed to his question. 
 
 "We must go and dress now. I say, Hughie, to- 
 morrow after the funeral, I'll get her in here and then
 
 136 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 you come. I may have to chloroform Susan, but I'll 
 manage somehow." 
 
 "Good little Daffy!" Suddenly he saw her once 
 more as the child she really was and he reddened. 
 "Funny, you helping me with my my wooing," he 
 said, rising. "I am not shy as a rule, but with her 
 ah, Daffy dear, some day you'll care for some man as 
 I do for her, and then you'll understand." 
 
 She laughed. "Poor old Hughie !" she answered.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 MOST of the guests left the afternoon of the 
 funeral. Uncle Gerald stayed, being sup- 
 posedly too tired, at his age, to leave after 
 the excitement of burying a niece, and 
 Uncle Fred and Aunt Corisande Peplow and Dunstan 
 Pember. The others departed in small groups of twos 
 and threes, their minds, it is to be hoped, calm with the 
 consciousness of duty done. Another Pember gone 
 and the family had, as ever, risen to the occasion and 
 graced it. Now they could go home in peace. 
 
 On two points were they unconsciously agreed : the 
 perfect correctness of Sylvia and Susan, the strange- 
 ness of Daphne. 
 
 "She did not cry at all," commented the Bishop's 
 lady, in the carriage on the way to the station. 
 
 "And she looked frightened out of her wits the 
 whole time. Evidently no Christian belief," added 
 Lady Mary. "Now Sylvia and Susan perfect!" 
 
 Meantime the three girls, left at last to themselves, 
 dined quietly with the Peplows, Dunny Pember and 
 Hugh Gunning. Uncle Gerald had gone to bed. 
 
 Sylvia, in black, was, like most fresh, fair women, at 
 her best, and Susan to some people was very nearly as 
 lovely. She was not so tall, but equally slim as her 
 sister, her slightly darker hair grew in perfect even 
 
 137
 
 138 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 waves that would have made the late Mr. Marcel die of 
 envy. Her mouth was more classically perfect than 
 Sylvia's, and her eyes only less good. 
 
 Analysis failed to show why Sylvia was indisputably 
 the more beautiful, but so it was, and it was, even in 
 the jaundiced Daffy's eyes, greatly to Susan's credit 
 that she was quite free of all taint of jealousy of her 
 sister. The two girls were devoted to each other and 
 even the Vicar had been moved to comparing them to 
 twin rosebuds on one stem. 
 
 Lady Corisande, who had, in the relief of the re- 
 turn from the funeral, made up her complexion in a 
 positive riot of color, watched the two lovely young 
 faces in the silence of the early part of the meal and 
 then suddenly burst out. 
 
 "Of course, Christopher, I shall bring 'em out next 
 spring !" 
 
 Lambe looked up from his fish. "The girls? I 
 don't know; Lady Pember has offered to see Sylvia 
 through it." 
 
 "Nonsense, Maud's girls are out and their dullness 
 couldn't help affecting Sylvia. Besides, Maud's rela- 
 tives are the dullest fogies on earth. I am obviously 
 the one to do it. Give 'em to me and I'll guarantee 
 them a success such as hasn't been made for years !" 
 
 "We shall see," returned their father. "But why 
 should they be such a success? They aren't clever. 
 That is, Sylvia isn't." 
 
 Sylvia smiled faintly. "No, father, I am not a bit 
 clever. But Susan is. You haven't heard her play 
 yet."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 139 
 
 "I'll bet on Susan," remarked Dunstan, "if I 
 weren't her uncle I'd marry her myself." 
 
 He was an unbaked-looking young man with a mad- 
 deningly supercilious smile. He was dull, incapable 
 and unbeautiful, but his conceit was like the sea, be- 
 cause it was infinite. 
 
 Susan looked at him with a smile approaching a 
 sneer. 
 
 "Would you?" she asked. "Don't turn my head, 
 Dunny." 
 
 Fred Peplow fidgeted. Rows upset him. 
 
 "Are you going back to Italy, Kit?" he asked, to 
 avert the one that threatened. 
 
 "Of course. I am going," continued Lambe with no 
 expression whatsoever on his face, "to take all three 
 girls back with me until July. Then we are going to 
 Switzerland." 
 
 A bomb-shell could hardly have created more sur- 
 prise, though it would have been more devastating. 
 
 The Peplows gasped, Dunny Pember upset his wine 
 and Sylvia and Susan clasped hands under the table. 
 
 "Well," asked Lambe impatiently, "why shouldn't 
 I take my own daughters to my own house ?" 
 
 "My dear Christopher, nobody has said a word," 
 protested Peplow wildly. "And that we are surprised 
 as well as gratified ought not to surprise you. In 
 any other father it would be regarded as perfectly 
 natural, but your attitude has hitherto been " 
 
 "Don't talk literature, Fred," interrupted his wife, 
 "eat your dinner like a good old dear." Fred as a 
 rule was merely chatty in a delicate, superficial way,
 
 140 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 but on occasion his tongue assumed a terrible fluency 
 and a curious poignancy. This threatened to be an 
 occasion. 
 
 Dunny laughed. He enjoyed a row. 
 
 The three girls, the objects of this discussion, sat 
 quite mute, the two elder ones seemingly indifferent ; 
 Daffy's mouth closed firmly over something she 
 evidently wished against her better judgment to 
 say. 
 
 "I am glad," put in Gunning, "my mother will be 
 there through July, and I am going out, too, if if 
 things are all right." 
 
 The interview with Sylvia had not yet taken place, 
 and immediately after dinner Daffy engineered it. 
 When Sylvia was safely settled in the schoolroom and 
 told to go to sleep, a task always willingly performed 
 by her, and Susan had with some difficulty been pre- 
 vented from following her, Daffy went back to the 
 drawing room. 
 
 "Oh, Hughie," she said, "I want to speak to you. 
 Do you mind coming for a minute?" 
 
 Gunning followed her, his face very white. It was 
 a very momentous thing for him, this talk with Sylvia. 
 He had loved her for years, although she was even now 
 hardly a woman, and in the realness of his love he felt 
 himself so greatly her inferior that he wondered even 
 at the eleventh hour if he should have the courage to 
 ask her to marry him. 
 
 "Oh, how cold your hands are," the friendly Da.ffy 
 exclaimed as she accompanied him to the foot of the 
 little staircase. "Buck up 1"
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 141 
 
 "I say, Daffy, don't let any one come in, will you?" 
 
 He turned and looked anxiously at her. 
 
 "No, I'll sit here on the stairs, and if any one comes 
 I'll say she is asleep." 
 
 Even at such a moment he was shocked at the readi- 
 ness of her lie. "I say, you mustn't," he began in an 
 admonitory tone, but she cut him short. 
 
 "Oh, do go on, Hughie, and don't preach. If I say 
 'you can't go in because Hughie is asking her to be 
 
 his w ' they'd all go in of course! Now do be 
 
 quick. 1 ' 
 
 He went on upstairs. She heard his knock at 
 the door, then its opening and closing and all was 
 still. 
 
 Sitting down on the stairs in the dark, Daffy 
 mounted guard. It was really frightfully grown-up 
 of Sylvia to be having proposals. They could not be 
 married for some time yet, of course, but they would 
 be engaged and she'd have a ring and Hughie would 
 kiss her occasionally. "I hope some one will marry 
 Susan soon ; I couldn't stay on with her after Sylvia 
 left," mused the sentry, her chin in her hands. "But 
 I daresay one of the aunts will take her. Father is 
 doing his duty, but he will be glad to be rid of them. 
 Then he and I shall be alone again. Poor mother. Oh, 
 I wish " she shuddered as the memory of the dead 
 face they had forced her to see, came back to her. If 
 only they had let her remember her living mother. 
 That person on the bed with roses on her breast wasn't 
 her mother at all, it 
 
 It was dark on the stairs and the great House was
 
 142 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 very quiet. If only some one would come. !Any one, 
 even a housemaid. But no one came. 
 
 Somewhere in the distance a clock ticked slowly, 
 Daffy counted the ticks. Then she told herself that 
 she was fifteen, nearly grown up, and in her own 
 father's house; that her sister was only ten yards 
 away, and that with her sister was big, friendly 
 Hughie Gunning; that there was absolutely nothing 
 to be afraid of. 
 
 And yet in spite of all this wisdom, she was afraid 
 and her fear grew every minute. 
 
 Without rising, she crept a step or two higher, 
 nearer to Sylvia and Hughie. For a moment she felt 
 better, but the terror came back again and now she 
 was cold all over. 
 
 She crept up three more steps and was now at the 
 top of the stairs. There was the door. Behind it 
 were those two. If she were with them she would no 
 longer be afraid. 
 
 Before the door lay a black wooly rug, attached to 
 that particular place in the days of poor, neuralgic 
 Ruggles. It seemed to Daffy that if she could lie on 
 the rug, her troubles would be over. She crept to it 
 on all fours and sank softly into it, one hand 
 touching the lintel. After a minute the beating 
 of her heart subsided to its normal rate, her breath 
 came. 
 
 With the cessation of terror, however, came her old 
 feeling of shame at her own silliness and a deep blush 
 burned her ears. "I will never be a coward again," 
 she vowed, "never, never."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 143 
 
 Thus suddenly Gunning's voice came to her 
 through the door : 
 
 "Sylvia, darling," he was stammering, "I will do 
 my very best to make you happy. I I know I am 
 not nearly good enough for you." 
 
 Daffy raised her head excitedly. Good! She had 
 said yes, then, so poor old Hughie was happy. "I am 
 glad!" She had no thought of eavesdropping, her 
 one conscious sensation was that of benevolent satis- 
 faction in the success of her plan, and she was about 
 to rise, now no longer frightened, and go back to her 
 place on the stairs, when the door opposite suddenly 
 opened and Susan came out, followed by a stream of 
 light. 
 
 "What's that?" the elder girl exclaimed sharply, 
 and she broke off with a little laugh; "little sneak," 
 she said, crossing the passage, "is Hughie in there 
 with Sylvia? Yes, I hear him. Really, Daffy, you 
 ought to be ashamed of yourself." 
 
 Daffy scrambled to her feet. "I'm not a sneak," 
 she declared fiercely, "I've only just this minute come, 
 and didn't come to listen at all !" 
 
 Susan smiled. "Oh, no, of course not. You lay 
 down there to rest, of course, it's the usual place, isn't 
 it? 1 wonder what Sylvia will say?" 
 
 "You you won't tell," stammered Daffy, "honor 
 bright, Susan, I wasn't sneaking. Oh, please don't 
 tell!" 
 
 But Susan was enjoying herself. She opened the 
 door sharply. 
 
 "Sylvia, I say," she began, when she drew back as
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 if something had struck. Sylvia lay on the battered 
 old sofa, and by her Hugh Gunning was kneeling, his 
 face, with a wonderful expression on it, in the full 
 light. "Oh !" gasped Susan. 
 
 Sylvia moved slowly and raised her head. 
 
 "Is it you, Susan, dear? Come in," she said calmly. 
 "Who is that behind you?" 
 
 "It's only me, Sylvia," declared Daffy, coming into 
 the room, "and don't believe her. I wasn't sneaking 
 at all, indeed, indeed, I wasn't." 
 
 Gunning, who had risen, turned toward her. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked sternly. 
 
 Susan entered with slow steps ; her face was white 
 and her mouth drawn a little to the left as Daffy had 
 seen it once or twice when she was very angry. 
 
 "Nothing," she said, "only I found Daffy listening 
 at the door." 
 
 It must be remembered that Susan believed herself 
 to be speaking the truth. 
 
 "At the door?" Sylvia gave a little puzzled frown. 
 "But she didn't know, Hughie^I mean to say " 
 
 Gunning's frown was one of anger and drew his 
 straight dark brows together in a kind of knot above 
 his nose. 
 
 "Were you listening at the door, Daffy ?" he asked. 
 
 "I was lying on the rug, and I heard you say one 
 sentence. And I didn't come because I wanted to 
 hear," she said obstinately. 
 
 "Then why were you on the rug?" He remembered 
 her proposed falsehood of a few minutes before. 
 
 "I was on the rug, because I won't tell you why,"
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 145 
 
 she flashed back. Then her face settled into an ex- 
 pression of dogged sullenness. 
 
 Sylvia, always gently disposed, came toward her. 
 
 "Daffy, dear, do tell us. If you were on the rug, 
 what else could Susan think?" 
 
 But Daffy retreated slowly toward the door. 
 
 "I won't tell. You may all think what you like, 
 particularly Hughie. I don't care." 
 
 When she had gone, the three looked at each other. 
 
 "Surely she must have had some reason," Sylvia 
 began, but Gunning, his shyness up in arms at the 
 thought of his first and only love-making being lis- 
 tened to, cut her short gently. 
 
 "She is not truthful," he said, "and no doubt she 
 was listening." 
 
 Daffy, on her way downstairs, heard this speech, 
 and stood for a moment rooted to the spot. Then she 
 went slowly to her own room and locked the door.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THERE was a terrible storm that night on the 
 Sussex coast. The wind, which had been ris- 
 ing rapidly all day, reached its climax 
 toward midnight, and swept like an army 
 of wild things round Lambe House, bearing on its 
 wings the deep sound of the thundering sea. 
 
 Hugh Gunning, too happy to sleep, spent the 
 greater part of the night by his window, closing it 
 from time to time when the driving rain threatened to 
 do serious damage to the room behind him, opening it 
 again when the tempest seemed to quiet down. 
 
 Once the young man went downstairs and fetched a 
 book, but he could not read and soon put out his light 
 once more and watched the night progress toward 
 morning. 
 
 The episode of Daffy's listening at the door had 
 quite faded from his mind, which was naturally occu- 
 pied with the future which was so golden to him. 
 
 "How frightened I was," he mused, laughing in- 
 dulgently at that strange, inglorious young man of 
 the evening before, that Hugh Gunning to whom no 
 Goddess had bent from Olympus ! "Lord, how my 
 voice shook when I asked might I come in ! The dear ! 
 Oh, the blessed angel, how lovely she looked asleep on 
 that old sofa." 
 
 146
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 147 
 
 It would have amused Daffy to know that Sylvia 
 had been asleep when the momentous interview be- 
 gan. "And her Jovely hair was like a golden veil. 
 What was it she said? Oh, yes, 'Is that you, Susan?' 
 And then when she saw it was me, and she pinned her 
 hair up in a big lump, and said so sweetly, 'Come in, 
 Hughie dear !' " 
 
 Sylvia had, once she was thoroughly awake, been 
 glad to see her friend. Her mother had loved him, and 
 Daffy had explained that Lady Norah had sent for 
 him, and so he was doubly welcome. 
 
 He showed her the telegram and she had cried a lit- 
 tle, so he had lent her his handkerchief, and for a few 
 minutes they had talked of the poor lady who had 
 died. 
 
 Then Gunning had asked her to marry him. Seek 
 in his memory as he might, he could not recall the vital 
 words in which he had couched the great question. 
 Had he said, "Sylvia, dear, I love you. Will you 
 marry me?" Or had he been humbler and begun by 
 self-belittlement ? 
 
 It seriously annoyed him that he could not remem- 
 ber, but as a matter of fact he had burst out, "Oh, 
 Sylvia, she said I might ask you do you think you 
 could ever marry me?" 
 
 And Sylvia, whose mind was always more or less of 
 a blank on which any hand might inscribe ideas for 
 her, had said almost without hesitation that if darling 
 mamma had wished it, and he did, she didn't see why 
 she shouldn't. 
 
 Then he had kissed her hands and said the words
 
 148 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 the unfortunate Daffy had overheard, and Susan had 
 opened her door. 
 
 Sylvia, as he sat by his window through the night, 
 was sleeping soundly, dreaming of nothing, hardly 
 moving in her utter peace, as the hours passed. 
 
 It is much easier to describe a complicated mind than 
 to give any outsider an idea of a mind like the beauti- 
 ful Miss Lambe's. 
 
 She was kind, she was not abnormally selfish, she 
 was not precisely dull. She had been well educated 
 and her occasional necessary speeches were not re- 
 markable for stupidity. She was like a wound-up 
 automaton more than a living girl, and she went 
 through the movements accurately, but she had not 
 one single original idea or one pulse in her whole com- 
 position. 
 
 This Gunning did not know, and it would have been 
 a very exceptional man who, looking at such beauty as 
 Sylvia's, would have noticed her deficiencies. If she 
 said it was fine, she looked so lovely that her words 
 seemed perfection, too. 
 
 When they were interrupted and Sylvia suggested 
 that they should all go back to the drawing room, 
 Gunning had been disappointed, but even that had 
 seemed perfect. Susan, who had said nothing of what 
 she saw when she opened the door, left them at 
 the foot of the little stairs and went to her own 
 room. 
 
 There Sylvia had said, "Hughie, am I very un- 
 tidy?" And, emboldened by the dark of the corridor 
 and its emptiness, he kissed her and she smiled at him.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 149 
 
 She was, he reflected, too young, too perfectly uncon- 
 scious to be confused by a kiss. 
 
 They sat for another hour listening to the dull, 
 tired-out talk of their elders in the drawing room, 
 and the party had then broken up for the night. 
 
 In all the vast house only three people were awake. 
 Of the others, Susan sat crouching in her bed, 
 her eyes fierce and bright. Susan, though only seven- 
 teen, was much older in some ways than Sylvia. 
 She was cleverer, in the first place, and then no 
 part of her mind was asleep, as Sylvia's seemed 
 to be. 
 
 And Sylvia had been hers. 
 
 Twofold jealousy raged in the girl that night; 
 jealousy of Gunning for taking Sylvia from her, and 
 jealousy of Sylvia for taking Gunning from her. She 
 loved only these two people in the whole world, and 
 they were each robbing her of the other. 
 
 It is a curious thing that Susan Lambe, of the three 
 sisters, undoubtedly the worst in character, was the 
 only one with a strong maternal instinct. 
 
 She was not only perfectly innocent, but as nearly 
 ignorant in some aspects of life as a girl of her age 
 could be. Yet she not only loved Gunning, but her 
 chief hurt in the conflict she so suddenly found herself 
 engaged in was that now Sylvia and not she should 
 be the mother of Gunning's children. She loved Sylvia 
 passionately, but she had never been other than wide- 
 eyed to her sister's strange lack of personality. "She 
 is beautiful," had always been the unformulated 
 thought, "but she isn't a real person ; she has no inside
 
 150 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 self." And thinking thus she had underrated Sylvia's 
 effect on the male imagination. 
 
 Gunning liked Sylvia best, yes, but when they were 
 grown up his mind would naturally turn to hers to 
 Susan's. 
 
 She had never once seen, what Daffy had known 
 for years, that Gunning had loved Sylvia with a man's 
 love for the one woman almost before she had grown 
 away from childhood. 
 
 And now the shock was so much the greater. 
 
 Susan Lambe was unscrupulous and strong-willed. 
 The end of her stormy night was the thought, as she 
 finally dropped asleep exhausted, "He shall not marry 
 her. I'll prevent it somehow." 
 
 Meantime Gunning was being led by his restless 
 happiness into an adventure. 
 
 The stable clock had struck half -past three when 
 he put on a long coat and a cap and crept through 
 the silent house to the front door. The storm was 
 still raging, but the rain had ceased, and there were 
 breaks in the lead-colored clouds. Day was close on 
 the heels of night and he felt that he must have a 
 walk. 
 
 The ground slopped about under his feet, the lawn 
 was like a great sponge, and the trees oozed water 
 from every pore. 
 
 Gunning crossed the lawn to the left, went up a 
 flight of steep stone steps, and after a quick tramp 
 under thick-set trees came out on the downs. Here, by 
 comparison with the darkness he had left behind him, 
 day seemed to have come.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 151 
 
 He sniffed eagerly at the fresh air and stuffed his 
 cap into his pocket. 
 
 It was good to be out of doors. He would like to 
 shout to the coming dawn that Sylvia was his, that 
 he was a king among men. 
 
 Instead of which he whistled softly between his 
 teeth as he went toward the sea. The great waves 
 roared angrily on the beach, singing and whirling 
 round the little jetty off to the right. Their noise was 
 deafening. 
 
 He stood at the edge of the cliff looking down. The 
 water was dashing up to the foot of the wooden steps, 
 which looked very frail and unsafe under its on- 
 slaught. 
 
 Suddenly Gunning gave a little exclamation and 
 looked fixedly down the steps to where at the water's 
 edge a little dark heap lay. 
 
 At first he thought it was somebody lying 
 there, and then he saw that it was only a heap of 
 clothing. 
 
 "What on earth" 
 
 No one was in sight and it was only four o'clock. 
 Whose clothes could be lying there, almost in the sea, 
 and where was their owner? 
 
 Stricken by a sudden fear, he went slowly down the 
 steps into the darkness of the little cave. 
 
 "Are you there?" he called. 
 
 No one answered. 
 
 Down he went, farther and farther, and then as he 
 reached the foot of the steps he recognized a dark 
 cloak that Daffy had been wearing of late.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 All round him stretched the sea, cold and dark and 
 menacing. He stood still and shouted. 
 
 "Daffy!" 
 
 Still no answer. Then he saw, a quarter of a mile 
 out, a small dark thing coming slowly toward him. 
 It was Daffy's head. She came nearer and nearer, 
 and before she, battling with the waves, had seen him, 
 he could see that she was very pale. 
 
 When she saw him she paused. 
 
 "Go away," she called. "What do you want?" 
 
 "Come in out of that freezing water." 
 
 "I can't come in till you go away," she called back, 
 "I have no clothes on." 
 
 Relieved in spite of his amazement, he retired to 
 the top of the steps, and in a few minutes she joined 
 him, clothed, staggering a little and very white. 
 
 "What on earth have you been doing?" he asked 
 her, now that she was safe, thoroughly angry with her. 
 
 "Hughie," she laid one icy little paw on his sleeve 
 and looked solemnly at him, "I wasn't listening. On 
 my word of honor I wasn't. Do you believe me?" 
 
 "Of course I do. But what were you doing?" 
 
 So she told him the little tale, of her senseless ter- 
 ror, of her creeping closer to the door for mere human 
 companionship. "You know what a coward I am," 
 she added. 
 
 "Yes, I know. Poor little Daffy. Well, I believe 
 you, but why didn't you tell them?" 
 
 It was day now and Gunning always remembered 
 the queer luminousness of her cold little face in the 
 uncanny light.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 153 
 
 "Because," she spoke slowly, "I hate Susan and I'd 
 rather have her think me a sneak than know I am a 
 coward." 
 
 "Oh, I say !" Gunning's power of speech fled under 
 his surprise at her words. 
 
 "Yes, far rather. But you said that I told lies and 
 so had probably eavesdropped." 
 
 "Well you do tell lies," he protested. "I've often 
 meant to go for you about it, Daffy, and now that I'm 
 going to be your brother " 
 
 "Wait a minute, Hughie and if you don't mind 
 I'll lean on you. I am never going to tell another lie 
 as long as I live. You must believe me. You know 
 how frightened I am of of things. Well " she 
 was indeed leaning on him and he was alarmed by a 
 queer look in her face, "I went to-night at one o'clock 
 through the storm, all alone to to the churchyard, 
 and I swore it on mother's on mother's grave " 
 
 She did not so much fall as slide, like something 
 liquid, through his arms to the ground. 
 
 For a moment he talked to her, telling her to be 
 good and get up and go home with him, and then, 
 seeing that she was quite unconscious, he picked her 
 up and carried her back to the house.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 IT always seemed to Gunning that Daffy was 
 never again after that night quite the same child 
 that she had been before it. 
 
 She did not seem exactly older, for in some 
 subtle way her efforts to overcome her life-long habit 
 of telling comfortable little lies gave her a childlike 
 earnestness about trifles that increased her youthful 
 aspect rather than decreased it. 
 
 It was to Gunning almost piteous to watch her 
 pause in the full flight of some harmless fib and take 
 it back with a stony face. 
 
 But nevertheless she had changed in some way he 
 could not exactly define, and occupied though he was 
 with his own happiness, he yet found time to study 
 her. 
 
 Ten days after the funeral Lambe took his family 
 abroad and Gunning, in his character of accepted 
 suitor, accompanied them. 
 
 It was an exceedingly warm day and the boat was 
 crowded. Lambe and Gunning having secured a cabin 
 for the girls, Lambe walked away and sat reading all 
 the way across. 
 
 Gunning found chairs and the four young people 
 sat down. Suddenly it occurred to him that Susan 
 looked ill. 
 
 154
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 155 
 
 "Anything wrong, Sukey ?" he asked her, using an 
 old nickname of his own for her. 
 
 She looked up from the book. 
 
 "What should be wrong?" she asked coldly, "and I 
 wish you wouldn't call me by that obnoxious name, 
 Hugh." 
 
 "All right, sorry. Let me," his voice changing 
 suddenly as he turned to Sylvia, "put that cushion be- 
 hind you, dearest." 
 
 Susan's upper lip stirred scornfully as she sat with 
 her eyes fixed on her book. 
 
 Sylvia fanned herself. "How very warm it is, 
 Hugh," she said presently, "quite uncomfortable. I 
 think I'll take a little nap if you don't mind." 
 
 She closed her eyes and in a moment was sound 
 asleep, her delicate coloring brought into relief by the 
 deep blue of her pillow. 
 
 Daffy, who sat opposite to her, leaned toward Gun- 
 ning. 
 
 "Hughie, look at those two men. How they stare 
 at Sylvia. They can't be English." 
 
 They were not. They were obviously Latins, in 
 spite of their London made clothes, and the elder of 
 the two was extremely handsome in his exotic way. 
 After a few seconds' talk with one of the hovering sea- 
 men, the strangers were provided with chairs, and sit- 
 ting down, settled themselves for the crossing. The 
 handsome one's velvety black eyes wandered ostenta- 
 tiously round the neighboring faces, and once or twice 
 he directed his friend's attention to some one off to the 
 right or left, but invariably his gaze came back and
 
 156 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 settled on Sylvia. It was a strange gaze, extremely 
 pertinacious and at the same time inoffensive. He 
 stared, it was plain, because he could not resist doing 
 so, but he had no wish to be observed in it, and 
 when he met Gunning's eyes he at once looked 
 away. 
 
 "Isn't he funny?" whispered Daffy, "and did ever 
 you see such eyelashes in your life?" 
 
 Susan continued to read and Sylvia slept on as 
 peacefully as if she were in her bed at Lambe House. 
 Gunning and Daffy exchanged a few remarks from 
 time to time, and the exotic one continued his gaz- 
 ing. 
 
 "I've seen that chap somewhere," said Gunning to 
 Daffy, as the boat neared the pier, "and I can't think 
 where. He might be a small royalty now they're 
 gone, thank goodness." 
 
 Sylvia opened her beautiful mouth and showed 
 many teeth in a yawn as unconscious as that of a kit- 
 ten. Then she opened her eyes and rumpled up her 
 nose. 
 
 "Ah-h, I've been asleep," she said, with the air of 
 one declaring an astonishing fact. 
 
 "You have, indeed, and here we are in Calais. The 
 first time you've been in France." 
 
 Sylvia rose, still yawning, but now suppressing the 
 fact with a slim hand. 
 
 "I am so sleepy," she answered. France or Tim- 
 buctoo, it was all the same to her. 
 
 Susan was different, history interested her and in 
 her schoolgirl mind at once appeared a vision of Mary
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 157 
 
 Queen of Scots waving her hand to the fair land she 
 was leaving. 
 
 Daffy meantime was helping the excited and hen- 
 like Judd, her sisters' maid, to get the luggage on 
 shore. 
 
 Judd, who was extremely indignant that the porter 
 she had chosen spoke in French, was driving several 
 people to desperation by her antics in the gangway. 
 Her own bag was lost and of course was to her of 
 far more importance than the ninety and nine bags, so 
 to speak, of her young ladies ! 
 
 "I 'ad it when we came on board," she kept saying, 
 "I 'ad it in my 'and" 
 
 "Oh, do be quiet, Judd," said Daffy good-na- 
 turedly, "don't yell so. If it's in the boat you'll find 
 it. Now, where's your landing- ticket ? Give it 
 to the man no I don't want it. Give it to the 
 man" 
 
 Judd, who was now weeping, declared that the only 
 thing she desired in life was a speedy return to her 
 own country, and Daffy, leaving her to look for her 
 lost bag, went on with the infuriated porter to the 
 douane, where she got her things through with the 
 rapidity and facility of the born traveler, who most 
 decidedly nascitur non fit. 
 
 When her task was over she prepared to follow her 
 sisters and their bodyguard into the restaurant, when 
 the handsome dark man of the boat came up to her, a 
 small black bag in his hand. 
 
 "Pardon, mademoiselle," he said in bad French, "I 
 believe this is the object lost by your maid?"
 
 158 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Daffy took it. "Oh, thanks so much, it is very 
 almablc of you," she returned hastily. Then she went 
 on to the restaurant. 
 
 At a table at the far end of the crowded room sat 
 Judd, but she failed to see Daffy's signal, so the girl 
 took the bag to where her father had conducted his 
 party and where a strange-looking but extremely 
 toothsome ragout of beef and onions was being par- 
 taken of. 
 
 "That good-looking man, the foreigner, found 
 Judd's bag and brought it to me. Nice and civil, 
 wasn't it? I think he had been back on to the boat 
 for it." 
 
 "My dear Daff, we are the foreigners now, not the 
 French and Italians," commented Lambe. "I've seen 
 the fellow somewhere. He's not French, I should 
 think, too big." 
 
 "My word, this stew, or whatever it is, is good," re- 
 marked Sylvia. "More, please." 
 
 And she looked as if honey dew and the milk of 
 Paradise were fit food for her. 
 
 Just as the party was leaving a small and corpulent 
 German, with his hair cut so like a hair brush as to 
 obviate all necessity for his possessing such an article, 
 came up to the table. 
 
 Making a lengthy and gruff remark which none of 
 the party understood, he glared at Lambe and awaited 
 an answer. 
 
 "Sorry, sir, we none of us have the privilege of 
 speaking your beautiful language," returned Lambe 
 civilly in French.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 159 
 
 The man began again, this time with the obvious 
 intention of being offensive. 
 
 Lambe called a waiter. "Ask this person what the 
 matter is," he said impatiently, "we don't understand 
 him." 
 
 But the waiter unfortunately knew only his own 
 language and English. 
 
 "I will call anozzer waiter," he said, and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 A train whistled, the train for Brussels-Cologne. 
 The German became violent. Two Americans at the 
 next table attempted to come to the rescue, and then 
 as the train whistled again the German made a dive 
 at Judd's bag and fled with it toward the door. 
 
 "Hi, stop him that's my bag," called Lambe, now 
 thoroughly angry, "he's mad or drunk stop 
 him." 
 
 Two waiters caught the raging Teuton, whose lan- 
 guage was apparently extremely inflamed, and while 
 the train slid away a fat German lady came forward 
 and engaged in conversation with her countryman. 
 
 "The gentleman say he will his loggage have ; that 
 the bag to him certainly belongs." 
 
 "The bag, certainly not," declared Daffy, "it's my 
 sister's maid's bag ; it was left on the boat and a gen- 
 tleman went back and got it." 
 
 "He says it his own bag is. He will have it or he 
 will the police call," continued the old lady gently. 
 "He is very aufgeregt, the gentleman." 
 
 There was now a crowd gathered round the dis- 
 putants and the train was going in a few minutes.
 
 160 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Call Judd," suggested Susan sensibly, and Gun- 
 ning went for her. 
 
 "Come here, will you, Judd," he said, "the young 
 ladies want you." 
 
 Judd, murmuring something about leaving her cup 
 of tea, made her way through the crowd. 
 
 "Yes, miss?" she asked sourly. 
 
 "Oh, there you are." Daffy held up the bag which 
 had been wrested from the adversary. 
 
 "This lunatic thinks your bag is his, Judd a gen- 
 tleman brought it off the boat." 
 
 Judd swallowed her last bit of bread and butter. 
 
 "Beg pardon, miss," she returned, "that isn't my 
 bag at all. I never see it before." 
 
 As she spoke she produced her own bag and the 
 German uttered a loud yell of rage and danced up and 
 down. 
 
 "The gentleman says he has his train missed; he 
 was going to Coin and the train has several minutes, 
 before during the talking, gone." 
 
 Daffy turned a deep red. 
 
 "Oh, dear," she moaned, "what an idiot I am. That 
 man told me it was Judd's bag and I took it. 
 I had never seen Judd's bag in my life. Oh," to 
 the old lady, "please tell him how dreadfully sorry 
 I am." 
 
 The old lady explained, but the man continued to 
 prance and scold. 
 
 At last Lambe, with a polite apology, forced on his 
 acceptance gold pieces for his lost train and a large 
 bottle of beer for his immediate consolation.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 161 
 
 No one of the Lambe party spoke until they were 
 in the train. Then Susan said: 
 
 "Really, Daffy, you are too stupid ! Why couldn't 
 you at least ask Judd?" 
 
 Daffy's humiliation was extreme, but she would 
 stand no correction from Susan. 
 
 "Oh, do shut up, Susan," she answered rudely. "I 
 was at least working when it happened, and however 
 stupid I am, I was trying to help your maid." 
 
 Susan subsided. 
 
 At Amiens, as Sylvia dozed in her corner, Daffy, 
 leaning out looking for the macaroon man, turned ex- 
 citedly to Gunning. "Oh, Hughie," she cried, "there's 
 the dark man again the man who brought the bag." 
 
 "I dare say," laughed Gunning.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 ONE day in late June Donna Mabel Acqua- 
 dolce was sitting in her high-perched per- 
 gola on one of the hills behind Sorrento 
 reading a novel. 
 
 It was very warm, even now at five o'clock, but the 
 little lady was used to heat and did not mind it. She 
 sat at one end of the pergola and before her spread 
 a very beautiful view, at which she hardly glanced. 
 
 Near her, on a little rustic table, stood a jug of iced 
 barley-water and two glasses, one of which was un- 
 used. 
 
 Donna Mabel wore a short-sleeved frock of pale 
 mousseline de soie, on which sprawled roses, and on a 
 chair near lay an elaborately frilled pink sunbonnet. 
 Her make-up, innocently obvious, was carefully put on 
 that day, but her hair, hitherto of a bright reddish 
 brown, was now frankly gray, so that her faded face 
 looked the younger for its softening effect. 
 
 Below the pergola lay the little formal garden, its 
 trees and plants now gray with dust, for there had 
 been no rain for a month, then came the villa, newly 
 painted a delicate shell pink, and beyond and below it 
 trees and more villas down to the distant bay, very 
 blue in the sun. 
 
 "Arrigo!" 
 
 162
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 163 
 
 Donna Mabel closed her book impatiently and called 
 in a highly pitched voice, "Arrigo !" 
 
 After a long pause an old man in brand new livery 
 came out of the house, one wrinkled hand to his eyes. 
 "Excellenza !" 
 
 Slowly he came up the slope, and pausing at the 
 foot of the steps that led to the pergola, he drew a 
 deep breath and began the ascent. 
 
 "You needn't come up, Arrigo," his mistress called 
 down to him kindly. "I only want to know the time. 
 Clara forgot to give me my watch." 
 
 "It is twenty minutes to eighteen o'clock, Excel- 
 lenza," he answered, referring to his own timepiece. 
 
 "The carriage is late." 
 
 "Si, Excellenza, the train is probably late it is so 
 very warm " He broke off as he spoke, turning and 
 looking across the garden to his right. "It seems I 
 hear wheels even now," he murmured, "but my ears are 
 bad." 
 
 Donna Mabel rose excitedly. "Your ears are right 
 for once, good old man," she declared kindly, "it is 
 the carriage. Run, Arrigo, and see that everything is 
 ready for him." 
 
 Tying her absurd sunbonnet under her chin she ran 
 along the upper terrace to the garden wall and leaned 
 over it. 
 
 A carriage was struggling up the last steep bit of 
 the ascent, almost completely hidden by a cloud of saf- 
 fron-colored dust. 
 
 Convinced that her expected guest really was ar- 
 riving, Donna Mabel went down the steps at the June-
 
 164 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 tion of the terrace and the wall, where she stood, and 
 ran back through the garden as lightly as if she had 
 been a young girl. 
 
 Crossing the cool dark hall of the villa, she went 
 out into the little courtyard on its farther side and 
 stood by the gilded iron gates which the gardener was 
 then opening. 
 
 The carriage lumbered in and stopped. 
 
 "Well, Mother" 
 
 "You dear, dear boy !" 
 
 Hugh Gunning kissed her affectionately and then 
 held her out at arm's length and looked at her. 
 
 "Prettier than ever," he said. 
 
 "Nonsense! But come in out of the heat. How 
 dreadfully dusty you are. It's a good thing you have 
 not come to marry me; I should be afraid of such a 
 great untidy person!" 
 
 "The journey has been fearful. I'll have a wash at 
 once, if I may, and then we'll talk." 
 
 "Arrigo has gone to draw your bath." 
 
 "Good." 
 
 Half an hour later they sat together in the greenish 
 light of the brick-floored drawing room, Gunning 
 drinking tea like a true Briton, his mother sipping at 
 an iced drink of a rich crimson color. 
 
 "And now tell me all about it. The house is quite 
 ready?" 
 
 "Yes. Everything is ready. It's a dear old place, 
 Mammina. I was so glad to be able to get the furni- 
 ture, too, new stuff looks so out of place in an old 
 house, and all this is good. The drawing room is really
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 165 
 
 exquisite, all delicate spindly things, the walls hung 
 with very faded gray satin brocade, like silver chas- 
 ing, and even the pictures are deliciously suitable 
 pastel portraits, for the most part. It was a great bit 
 of luck, wasn't it ?" 
 
 "It was, indeed. Very dear, I suppose?" 
 
 "Well, yes, rather, but so exactly what I wanted 
 for her, so absolutely suited to her. Wait till you see 
 her there. I can't believe it even now, mother. It's so 
 extraordinary that she should really care for me" 
 
 She bridled at the humility of his voice. 
 
 "Nonsense, my son. She may consider herself a 
 very fortunate girl to have a husband like you. That's 
 what / say. By the way, we dine with them to-night 
 at half -past eight. The girls were here yesterday in 
 colors for the first time, poor dears." 
 
 Gunning smiled dreamily to himself. "What did 
 she wear?" he asked, ignoring the very existence of 
 the other two. 
 
 Donna Mabel clapped her hands. 
 
 "I knew you'd ask, so I took particular mental 
 notes. Palest pink it was, and a silver gray hat, and 
 one of those long chiffon scarfs, also silver gray. 
 She looked very beautiful. She has her hair parted in 
 the middle now and bunched up on her neck she sat 
 in that chair where you are and went to sleep after 
 tea." 
 
 "Poor darling, she does go to sleep so easily! I 
 fear she is not very strong, mother." 
 
 "Nonsense, she's simply appallingly indolent. She 
 never worries about anything and very rarely reads.
 
 166 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 She'll never lose her looks, at any rate ; these placid 
 women don't. I met her in the Poggio a few weeks 
 ago ; she had on a Greek-shaped thing, a sort of tea- . 
 gown, and upon my word, one would have said one of j 
 the statues had come down from her pedestal for a 
 little a little very gentle exercise. She will set all 
 London by the ears, Hughie." 
 
 "I shan't take her much to London," he returned, 
 with the calm assumption of future all-wise authority 
 common to engaged men. "She has never been and 
 she wouldn't like it." 
 
 Donna Mabel poured out more tea for him, a 
 doubtful smile on her kind, rather silly little face. 
 
 "You think so? Si vedra. I had a letter from 
 Lady Corisande Peplow the other day. She is very 
 angry with Mr. Lambe for allowing the girl to marry 
 before she has 'tasted blood.' ' 
 
 "Faugh ! Nasty expression. The truth is, Mother, 
 no one but me understands Sylvia. She is so wonder- 
 ful to look at that people get no further. Her mind 
 is really very unusual." 
 
 But Donna Mabel, though silly, was shrewd in some 
 ways, and even her maternal patience could not stand 
 an elucidation of Sylvia Lambe's soul. 
 
 "It's nearly seven now, Ugolino mio," she said, ris- 
 ing, "and the drive is long. I must go and put on 
 my war-paint. Can you be ready at ten minutes be- 
 fore eight?" 
 
 He opened and closed the door for her with just a 
 little more ceremony than he would have shown had 
 his bringing-up been strictly English. Then he
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 167 
 
 walked restlessly about the long narrow room, his 
 hands behind him. 
 
 The room was attractive, though very shabby, for 
 Donna Mabel hated new things and clung almost pite- 
 ously to things her beautiful young Italian husband 
 had lived among. 
 
 The chintz, therefore, was very faded, and every- 
 thing looked old-fashioned, though nothing was really 
 old. 
 
 There were three pictures of the late Marquis, one 
 a badly done oil portrait of him at about sixteen, a 
 bold, handsome boy with thick, clustered curls, and 
 the other two were photographs. These stood on 
 Donna Mabel's writing-table and showed him as he 
 had been at the time of the marriage one very dash- 
 ing in cavalry uniform, the other in ultra-British 
 clothes, a bulldog by his side. 
 
 "Poor little Madre," said Gunning aloud, as he 
 stood looking at those two. His mother was very dear 
 to him. In the year that had passed since the jour- 
 ney hither from England with the Lambes his face had 
 changed very markedly. He looked much older, but 
 stronger and more decided than before, though 
 strength and decision had, even in his boyhood, been 
 his greatest characteristics. 
 
 It was a wonderfully happy face, but grave with 
 the gravity of one who carries in his breast the great- 
 est treasure in the world. His love for Sylvia was to 
 him a kind of consecration and his face shone with its 
 light. Not many men are capable of love such as he 
 gave to Sylvia ; from his earliest youth she had been
 
 168 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 his ideal, his mind had never wavered from the thought 
 of her; he had had no flirtations, no fancies, he had 
 never been "taken in hand" by a married woman. 
 Since that night when he had found the Lambe chil- 
 dren adrift in the boat, he had loved Sylvia, and now 
 that their wedding day was close at hand the result, 
 if not the reward, of his constancy was an exaltation 
 of soul such as comparatively few young men can 
 know. 
 
 It was almost as if he were a very devout youth 
 about to attain his coronation of priesthood. 
 
 Hugh Gunning was a shy man, even with himself, 
 and never told himself these things ; he was not given 
 to self -analysis. But the feelings that surged in his 
 heart that evening as his mother drove him down the 
 long hill to Lambe's villa were of an exceedingly devo- 
 tional nature. 
 
 "Let me see," reflected Donna Mabel aloud, "how 
 long is it since you saw your Super girl?" 
 
 "Five months," he answered simply, seeing no 
 wrong in the nickname. "They have been long 
 months, too." 
 
 "You'll find all the girls changed. Sylvia is lovelier 
 than ever, Susan is more I don't quite know how to 
 express it somber is as near a word as any, and Daffy 
 has improved in character. She would be plainish, 
 even in an ordinary family, poor child." 
 
 "Yes, she is certainly not pretty. Good figure, 
 though, hasn't she ?" 
 
 "Y-yes; too thin, but very upright and strong- 
 looking. I never liked her much. Susan is the one I
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 169 
 
 see the most of. She seemed to take to me from the 
 very first, you may remember. She comes up to the 
 villa very often and plays to me. Her music is won- 
 derful, but stormy yes, very stormy. I don't think 
 she's happy." 
 
 "Isn't she?" asked Gunning indifferently as the 
 pony carriage clattered across the piazza of the town. 
 "I am sorry." 
 
 They turned sharply to the left and during the 
 rapid passage through streets so narrow that a grown 
 person could easily have touched the houses on both 
 sides, the silence was unbroken, save by the warning 
 cry Donna Mabel uttered in imitation of cab drivers 
 as they rounded corners. 
 
 "Here we are, Ugolino!" She glanced swiftly at 
 him as she spoke. His sternly set face was very pale, 
 and as the big gates swung to behind them he bit his 
 lip nervously.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 WHILE Gunning was on his way to his 
 mother's house that afternoon Susan 
 Lambe was walking all by herself along 
 the road leading south from Sorrento. 
 This in itself was an unusual circumstance, and that 
 something had just happened or was just about to 
 happen was evident from the expression on the girl's 
 face. 
 
 She had developed and matured in the year that 
 had elapsed since she came to Italy as if the warm 
 sun had ripened her, and she was now a strikingly 
 handsome young woman, rather than a pretty girl, 
 although she was only eighteen. 
 
 She wore a short dark skirt and a well-cut white 
 silk shirt and a mannish Panama hat, and she walked 
 very swiftly along the dusty sunburnt road. 
 
 The heat wilted Sylvia and made her sleepier than 
 usual. It stimulated Susan. 
 
 After about half an hour of rapid motion she came 
 to a path leading directly to the sea. At the foot of 
 the path, which was very narrow and diversified by 
 steps every now and then, was a small bay from which 
 extended into the water an iron pier. Off the end of 
 the pier a long white auxiliary yacht was moored. 
 
 It was very warm indeed close to the tideless sea, 
 170
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 171 
 
 and the only human being in sight was a fisherman, 
 who lay on the sand on his face, sound asleep. 
 
 Susan hesitated, then opening a rose-colored para- 
 sol that she had brought with her, walked slowly past 
 the sleeper across the sands. 
 
 When she reached the rocks that barred her further 
 progress she stood looking seaward from under the 
 fringe of her parasol. The yacht lay on the bright 
 water like a painted ship ; not a sign of life on her. 
 
 Slowly Susan walked back to the pier and again 
 paused. The heat was terrific and even she began to 
 feel it. 
 
 However, she had come for a set though vague pur- 
 pose and meant to accomplish it if it proved accom- 
 plishable. Back she went, twirling the parasol as if 
 she were trying to attract some one's attention. When 
 she again stood by the pier the fisherman awoke and 
 rolled over. 
 
 "Buon giorno," she said politely, "I hope I didn't 
 disturb your siesta." 
 
 The man smiled courteously and sat up. 
 
 "No, signora but you you do not feel the heat? 
 It is bad enough for us others, but for you " 
 
 "I like heat," she returned carelessly, "and am used 
 to it. I thought it might be cooler here." 
 
 "But no, at this time it is hottest of all close to the 
 sea. My gentleman all sleep on the yacht." 
 
 Susan looked at the graceful thing at the end of the 
 pier. 
 
 "Your signore is the tall gentleman who wears 
 white?"
 
 112 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Si, signora. You know him?" the man added with 
 interest so very different from offensive curiosity that 
 seems to be a specialty of the Latin races. 
 
 Susan shook her head. "No. I do not even know 
 his name. But I wish to see him. It is very important 
 to him, not to me." 
 
 The man's eyes sparkled suddenly. 
 
 "The signora has perhaps news of his dog. Ah, 
 Madonna, but he will be glad!" 
 
 Susan disliked lying, but she hedged now. "Their 
 siesta must be nearly over," she said, looking at her 
 watch, which hung from her neck on a delicate pearl 
 chain. "Will you go and tell your signore that I 
 wish to speak to him ?" 
 
 Calmly she eyed the astonished fisherman, knowing 
 well that a show of unquestioned authority usually 
 attains its end. 
 
 "But, signora, I tell the Signor Duca anything? 
 I am only old Benvenuto the fisherman ; I do not be- 
 long to the yacht. Something is wrong with the 
 yacht's dingy and that's why I bring the signore to 
 and from the yacht in my old Stella d' It alia" he 
 made a sign toward a clumsy red fishing boat fastened 
 at the pierhead. "I cannot go on board and demand 
 an audience with the Signor Duca !" 
 
 Susan took her purse from her belt. 
 
 "No, but you can go to the steward and tell him 
 this : 'There is a lady on the beach who must speak to 
 the Signor Duca at once.' Go and tell him it is the 
 lady he saw yesterday afternoon in church. That you 
 can tell the steward."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 173 
 
 'A ten lire piece flashed in her open palm and Ben- 
 venuto il Pescatore drew a deep breath. 
 
 "Ebbene, signora, I will go. The steward may 
 tell me to go to the devil your servant! but I can 
 try." 
 
 Susan sat down on the edge of the pier. 
 
 "Go at once and when I have seen the steward with 
 you on the deck I shall know you have done what I 
 told you and you shall have the money." 
 
 The man smiled in unwilling admiration of her pru- 
 dence and started off* along the pier, his red cap pulled 
 down over his eyes. 
 
 Susan sat quite still till she had seen him board the 
 yacht. Then she walked to the edge of the sea and 
 stood looking out over the water from a place whence 
 from the yacht she was plainly visible. 
 
 First the white figure of the steward came on deck 
 with the fisherman, and then after further parley the 
 fisherman went down over the side and sat leaning on 
 his oars. It seemed that the Duke, whoever he might 
 be, was not asleep, for Benvenuto was obviously await- 
 ing him. 
 
 Presently a very tall man came to the rail and gazed 
 eagerly landward. Susan lowered her parasol for a 
 moment, but when he produced a glass she again con- 
 cealed her head and walked slowly on toward the 
 rocks. 
 
 When she peeped through the parasol fringe on 
 turning, the boat had nearly reached the pier and 
 there were two men in it. 
 
 "Signora"
 
 174 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 She could see his neat white flannels up to the knees, 
 but her parasol she kept obstinately lowered. 
 
 "May I not beg you," the musical voice went on re- 
 spectfully. 
 
 Then she dropped the parasol and looked up. At 
 the acute disappointment in his face she burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 "I know," she said rapidly, "you hoped it was my 
 sister. Well, I meant you to think so. Will you 
 will you come to the shade somewhere so that we can 
 talk?" 
 
 It is probable that Don Gianf ranco di Ginestra was 
 disappointed on seeing that for whatever reason this 
 eccentric miss had sought him, she was as indubitably 
 a lady as she was eccentric. 
 
 True, he had never doubted the original social 
 standing of the sisters since he had first seen them, but 
 on hearing from his unmoved steward that one of the 
 two was on the beach awaiting him, a faint hope had 
 inevitably sprung up in his mind that perhaps he 
 hardly knew what. 
 
 He followed Susan up a steep path among olive 
 trees in perfect silence and when she at last paused, 
 leaning against a gnarled silver-gray giant of a tree, 
 he bent his head and stood waiting. 
 
 "Will you tell me your name?" she began abruptly, 
 panting a little from excitement as well as from the 
 steepness of the ascent. 
 
 "My name is Gianfranco, Duca di Ginestra at 
 your service." 
 
 "And I am Miss Susan Lambe of Villa Acquadolce."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 175 
 
 Restarted. "AhP' 
 
 Her frankness was to him at once satisfactory and 
 disconcerting. 
 
 "Yes, and we did not see each other yesterday for 
 the first time." 
 
 "No. It was over a year ago on the Dover-Calais 
 boat. I I had not forgotten, signorina." 
 
 Susan studied his face, which was an extremely emo- 
 tional one. 
 
 "You mean that you had not forgotten my sister 
 Sylvia." 
 
 "Sylvia," he repeated softly, his eyes widening. 
 "Sylvia yes I mean that. She is too beautiful to 
 forget." 
 
 With a satisfied nod Susan went on speaking. 
 
 "Well you are a gentleman and I a lady, so I will 
 be quite frank and you will forgive my frankness and . 
 keep my confidence." 
 
 He bowed in silence. Her broken, fluent Italian 
 was very pretty, but he did not notice it. Her voice 
 might have been that of a crow for all the effect it had 
 on him. 
 
 "Are you married?" she asked him. 
 
 "No, signorina." 
 
 "Fidanzata?" 
 
 He pointed to the sea. "Signorina, I am not en- 
 gaged. The blue water there is not freer than I, 
 thank God." 
 
 "Good. Then you have fallen in love with my 
 sister. She is twenty years old, she is rich, and you 
 have seen her. She has never been into society, she
 
 176 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 has never been in a city, even, for more than a day at 
 a time. She is a child. I am nineteen, but I am 
 practically years older than she. Would you like to 
 marry her?" 
 
 Poor Gianfranco, he was as conventional-minded 
 and unromantic as most Italians of his class and man- 
 ner of education. Nowadays many young Italians 
 have English or American blood, which modifies the 
 Latin in them to an extraordinary degree, but the 
 Ginestra were pure-blooded Italians and Gianfranco's 
 recently dead parents had been of the most intran- 
 sigent type. 
 
 In the natural course of events a wife would have 
 been chosen for him, thirty-four years old though he 
 was, by his relatives, and he would have accepted her 
 as docilely as if he had lived in the fifteenth century. 
 A man's romances are his own, his wife is his family's. 
 
 And here was a young English miss offering him 
 her sister. 
 
 It was unheard of and had great possibilities of 
 shocking him, but he was not shocked. 
 
 The reason was not far to seek and the shrewd 
 Susan had counted on it from the first. He had seen 
 Sylvia. From the day a year ago when his eyes first 
 fell on her on the boat he had remembered her, and 
 when the day before he had come suddenly face to face 
 with her in the old dusky church into which he had 
 wandered through sheer lack of anything more enter- 
 taining to do, his heart had given a great leap, and 
 he told himself that he was in love. 
 
 But Susan was very puzzling.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 177 
 
 "Signorina," he said haltingly, "you do me very 
 great honor, but your father, your mother? And 
 besides, the young lady does not know me " 
 
 Susan held out her hand as a sign that she wished 
 to speak. 
 
 "Our mother is dead. Our father never objects to 
 things. But the chief point is this: Sylvia saw you 
 yesterday and well, she admired you. She is a very 
 strange girl, but I know her well. We talked of you 
 afterward and Oh, well, I know. We called you 'The 
 Corsair,' " she concluded in English. 
 
 When she tried to explain to him what a Corsair 
 was she failed utterly, but he gathered the impression 
 that she meant to convey. Sylvia had observed him 
 and been struck by him. 
 
 His pale face flushed. "If you think I might get 
 some one to introduce me to your signer father," he 
 began, but she shook her head. 
 
 "That of course later, but I want her to see you at 
 once. She is romantic, of course. All girls are. And 
 you," she cast a comprehensive gaze over him, "look 
 romantic, whether you are or not." 
 
 Ginestra shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "But I cannot speak to her if I do not present my- 
 self to your father," he protested. 
 
 Susan stamped her foot. "O Dio !" she moaned. 
 
 Gianfranco watched her politely. She was indeed 
 very strange. But in his way he was rather wise, so 
 he waited. He was in love with Sylvia and the knowl- 
 edge that she was well born, and rich as well as beau- 
 tiful, was naturally no damper to his ardor.
 
 178 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 And when presently he found Susan unfolding to 
 him the plan she had made, he agreed to it all. She 
 was a master spirit and he was not, so he could follow 
 her without any hurt to his vanity, which in any case 
 was not very great. 
 
 As they parted he said suddenly : 
 
 "That is her parasol!" 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "Exactly. I borrowed it as a lure! Well, a 
 riverderci, and remember what I have told you." 
 
 "Signorina, never fear, I shall remember !" 
 
 Then he went back to his yacht and Susan emerged 
 a few minutes later from the little olive grove on to 
 the blazing highroad.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 WHEN Donna Mabel and her son arrived 
 at the villa, Lambe met them at the door. 
 Time had made him and Donna Ma- 
 bel very good friends. He had learned 
 to value her in spite of her bouts of meddlesomeness, 
 and she, assimilating little by little the fact that he 
 was utterly unmanageable, had latterly given up her 
 attempts. She was not one of those few people who 
 give up a comfortably rooted bad habit, but she di- 
 rected what she quite wrongly considered her talents 
 in another direction. She was now busy managing a 
 young couple who had settled near Castellamare and 
 whose coming baby afforded great scope to her ideas. 
 
 Lambe shook hands cordially with his prospective 
 son-in-law, whom he liked, and told him that he would 
 find the girls in the Poggio. 
 
 Then gently but relentlessly he led Donna Mabel 
 indoors and removed the tan colored driving coat with 
 which she had covered her evening finery. 
 
 "They're all in the drawing room, except Sylvia," 
 he said. "No good in embarrassing her and Hughie." 
 
 "I am sorry. I wished to see the meeting." 
 
 "No doubt you did, but you are not to. The gods 
 meaning myself have settled otherwise. Susan, 
 here's Donna Mabel." 
 
 179
 
 180 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 But it was Daffy who rose from her chair in one of 
 the balconies and came forward to greet the guest. 
 
 "Susan went into the garden a minute ago," she 
 explained. 
 
 Daffy had not grown much. She was still small and 
 thin, but her figure, as Gunning had predicted, was 
 good, and her movements more graceful than those of 
 either of her sisters. She wore a well-cut white gown 
 that made the most of these advantages, and in her 
 waistband she had stuck a bunch of some very heavy- 
 scented white flowers. 
 
 "Hasn't Hughie come?" she asked as Donna Mabel 
 perched on the balustrade of the balcony. 
 
 "Yes. He had gone to the Poggio to find Sylvia." 
 
 Daffy knew many things about Donna Mabel. She 
 knew that the little lady adored the memory of her 
 second husband, but that she was supposed, neverthe- 
 less, to have done her best to secure a third one in the 
 shape of Christopher Lambe. Daffy almost knew that 
 Donna Mabel's mental attitude had been one of abso- 
 lute loyalty to her poor Livio, and that the projected 
 marriage, had she been able to compass it, would have 
 been entirely one of convenance and a longing for 
 human companionship. 
 
 Moreover, the youngest Miss Lambe shrewdly 
 guessed that her parent had been forced to fairly 
 strenuous measures to avert the catastrophe. For sev- 
 eral weeks early that winter, Lambe's face had been 
 careworn, his eyes wild, and he had been found con- 
 cealed on occasions of visits from his pursuer, in dis- 
 tant parts of the garden. Then quite suddenly after
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 181 
 
 a long tete-a-tete in the library, his brow had cleared, 
 his mouth again settled into its comfortable, whimsical 
 lines and Donna Mabel confided to Susan (who told 
 Sylvia, who told Daffy) that nothing could induce her 
 to marry again, that her whole heart was in the grave 
 with her boy's dear stepfather. 
 
 Donna Mabel, in two words, was a valorous fool. 
 She did the most insane things, but invariably bore 
 the resultant chastisement with a calm courage that 
 was to the understanding very disarming. 
 
 And Daffy, the silent, was understanding. 
 
 Now, as the two women talked in the unlighted 
 drawing room she knew quite well that Susan, as she 
 put it, had not without some strong motive left her, 
 the unconsidered youngest, to do the honors. Susan 
 was undoubtedly "up to something." Only what it 
 was Daffy could not make out. 
 
 For all her observation she was very young, and 
 Susan's changed demeanor during the past year meant 
 to her only that Susan was rather nastier even than 
 before. Susan had kept her secret well. 
 
 And as the second Miss Lambe sped noiselessly over 
 the Cascade Bridge and up the steps to the northeast 
 corner of the Poggio, she was congratulating herself 
 on that same fact. It greatly facilitated the accom- 
 plishment of her present plot. Sylvia, she knew, 
 would be sitting on a curved marble garden seat, called 
 for obvious reasons the Alma Tadema seat. And be- 
 hind the Alma Tadema seat was a thick group of 
 lemon trees. 
 
 When Hugh Gunning came marching up the path,
 
 182 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 his heart on fire with joy at seeing his idol, the idol 
 was indeed sitting where Susan had advised her to go. 
 
 "If you don't want him to kiss you that's the best 
 place, for it's in full view of the gardener's cottage, 
 and besides, it's awfully pretty there." 
 
 Sylvia, the docile, had been reading, but half an 
 hour before had laid down her book, a badly printed 
 copy of Byron, and as was her custom dropped gently 
 to sleep. 
 
 She wore white and in her hair was an old gold 
 fillet of beautiful design, sent her by Gunning for her 
 birthday. 
 
 The sound of his footsteps awoke her and she rose, 
 dropping the book on the marble step with a crash. 
 
 Gunning paused for a moment when he first saw her, 
 and then, very swiftly and quietly for such a heavy 
 man, rushed to her and took her into his arms. He 
 was very gentle, but he ruffled her hair and crushed her 
 winglike sleeves. 
 
 "You are spoiling my frock," she said with a sweet 
 smile, quite unmoved by his vehemence or by the fact 
 she stated. As a matter of fact, love-making bored 
 her. 
 
 "Oh, my dear, my dear," he stammered, drawing her 
 back to the seat and sitting down, "forgive me if I am 
 rough. I I haven't seen you for so long !" 
 
 Sylvia's sweetness was quite unaffected. She was 
 the gentlest creature in the world and it is unfair to 
 blame her for having no mind. Gunning, who had no 
 idea that she had no mind, would not have blamed her 
 for murder, so perfect was she in his eyes. He laid
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 183 
 
 his big brown hand gently on her two little ones that 
 lay clasped on her lap. 
 
 "Sylvia, tell me it's true true, that we are to be 
 married in ten days ! I I can't believe it somehow." 
 
 She smiled. "It is quite true, silly old boy. And 
 now we must go in to dinner. How do you like being 
 anM. P?" 
 
 They walked slowly down the path, a splendid 
 looking couple, had any one been there to see them, 
 but the only witness of their interview had crept away 
 down the steps and was speeding back to the house by 
 way of the tunnel and the heliotrope garden. 
 
 Susan Lambe's beautiful face was none the less 
 beautiful for the unlovely thoughts behind it, and no 
 one but Daffy particularly noticed her entrance into 
 the drawing room, which took place shortly before 
 that of her sister and Gunning. 
 
 "Been in the Cascade Garden, haven't you?" Daffy 
 asked, looking up from her music with an expression- 
 less face. Susan glanced at her not quite pleasantly. 
 
 "No, what makes you think so ?" 
 
 "Sand on your shoes, that's all." 
 
 Sylvia dutifully kissed Donna Mabel's scented 
 cheek and they went in to dinner. 
 
 Christopher Lambe had, to every one's amazement, 
 done his duty nobly by his motherless girls ; late in the 
 previous June, he had taken them to Switzerland and 
 together they had walked and climbed and gone on 
 lakes in small and perilous boats. And only once had 
 his old absent-mindedness manifested itself, and as it 
 even then consisted only of walking out of an inn by
 
 184. THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 the back door and going home without them, no harm 
 was done. 
 
 Once two young men had threatened to attach them- 
 selves to his party, but he speedily disposed of them 
 by a method he confided only to Daffy, who for days 
 afterward used to burst into fits of suppressed 
 chuckles over it. 
 
 Griindorf was a remote and lonely village and their 
 seclusion was not again molested all summer. 
 
 In October they returned to the villa and here Syl- 
 via and Daffy had been ever since. 
 
 Lady Corisande, determined on bringing Sylvia out, 
 met with a flat refusal. Sylvia was going to be mar- 
 ried and did not wish to go to London. This amazing 
 fact was confirmed by the girl herself, so there was no 
 more to be done, but on Susan's suggesting herself as 
 second-best, her aunt decided to accept her proposal 
 and away went Susan to Paris shortly after Christmas 
 and thence to Manchester Square where the Peplows 
 had a house. 
 
 London was to Susan's taste for two reasons. The 
 first was that Hugh Gunning was in town, the second 
 that she heard much good music there. The beautiful 
 Miss Lambe, as in Sylvia's absence she instantly be- 
 came, was much feted, but her mind was possessed 
 almost obsessed by Gunning and music. 
 
 Unlike most young girls, social distractions had ab- 
 solutely no power to turn her attention from the man 
 who loved her sister and the art she had made to a 
 certain extent hers. 
 
 Gunning came fairly often to Manchester Square,
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 185 
 
 for he thirsted for news from Italy and Sylvia's semi- 
 occasional letters were far from satisfying. 
 
 And Susan did all in her power to attract him. It 
 is always impossible to say what any given person 
 would do in any given circumstances. It is therefore 
 out of the question to say what Susan Lambe would 
 have done if Sylvia had loved Hugh Gunning. 
 
 Without a doubt Susan loved her sister, so it may be 
 that she would have played fair. On the other hand 
 she loved herself more than she loved any one on earth, 
 she was fearless even before her own conscience, and 
 he enjoyed being with Susan, who never tired him with 
 chatter and whose music he loved. 
 
 Lady Corisande, very busy herself, noticed nothing, 
 but Uncle Fred used to wonder. He distrusted his 
 niece. 
 
 Thus the winter wore away and spring came, and 
 Susan saw that all her work was in vain. Gunning 
 liked her but he adored Sylvia. 
 
 Then for a fortnight Susan Lambe dashed comet- 
 like into the firmament of London society, and all eyes 
 were on her. She dressed well and in a style all her 
 own, and her desperate gaiety lured several men to a 
 fall, to Aunt Corisande's mingled pride and annoy- 
 ance. She was certainly a strange niece to chaperon, 
 and Aunt Corisande was not altogether sorry to see 
 the last of her. 
 
 Toward the end of May, Gunning, who had made 
 two hurried visits to Sorrento during the winter, an- 
 nounced that Sylvia had consented to be married in 
 June or July.
 
 186 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Susan sat at the piano and listened quietly without 
 a word. But a few days later she went home. That 
 night of his arrival, Gunning who sat opposite her, 
 said suddenly after studying her face for a moment : 
 
 "Aren't you well, Susan ?" 
 
 "Perfectly, my dear Hughie, why?" 
 
 "You look well, I don't know not quite your- 
 self," he returned doubtfully. 
 
 Susan laughed, but in her mind she raged. 
 
 "If I blow my brains out at his feet," she thought 
 furiously, "his one idea would be to keep Sylvia from 
 the shock of seeing me !" 
 
 She was as near hate as love at that moment.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 AT half -past eleven that night, Susan came 
 into Sylvia's room in a dressing gown. 
 "Sylvia, dear, may I come in? I have 
 such an awful head. Are you in bed?" 
 
 No, Sylvia was not in bed. She had a way of 
 dawdling for an hour over the evening rites and now 
 she had not even taken off her frock. She was sitting 
 on her balcony, a book in her hand, but her eyes fixed 
 on vacancy. 
 
 "Come in, dear. I am so sorry your head is bad. 
 There's eau de cologne on the dressing table. Make 
 a cold bandage." 
 
 Susan did so and sat down. "Oh, dear," she yawned, 
 "what a boring evening." 
 
 "Did you think so ?" asked Sylvia simply. 
 
 "I most decidedly did, didn't you?" 
 
 "No. I am never bored, you know. I thought it 
 was all very pleasant." 
 
 "Oh, well, you had your best beloved with you. 
 Poor old Hughie, he certainly doesn't add to the 
 gaiety of nations." 
 
 Sylvia mused for a moment, her slow brain really 
 striving for something. 
 
 "Do you think Hughie dull, Susan?" she asked. 
 
 Susan was wary, and advanced slowly. 
 187
 
 188 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "My dear Sylvia, what does it matter what 7 think ? 
 I'm not going to marry him !" 
 
 But Sylvia, though slow, was possessed of a certain 
 persistency. 
 
 "But do you think him dull?" she repeated after a 
 pause. 
 
 "Yes I do, if you will have it. But he's a dear old 
 thing, just the same, and besides well, darling, you 
 aren't over lively yourself, are you, you blessed dor- 
 mouse !" 
 
 But Sylvia had a sensitive point and this touched it. 
 "Quiet people aren't all stupid," she retorted, almost 
 sharply for her. 
 
 Susan was silent. 
 
 "Susan, I say, all quiet people aren't stupid." 
 
 "No, according to Kipling the elephant's the clever- 
 est of all beasts and he is called 'The Silent!' " 
 
 Sylvia moved uneasily in her chair. "I know you 
 think Hughie is good enough for me because I'm not 
 clever," she declared with a flash of vehemence. "You 
 think I'm too dull for any one else !" 
 
 "Silly Sylvia! That's what you are, goosie. No; 
 but I'll tell you what I do think. I think he isn't 
 nearly good enough, nor handsome enough, nor any- 
 thing. There!" 
 
 This was very soothing to Sylvia's hurt vanity and 
 she drew a deep breath of relief. 
 
 "He's very nice, Hughie. And as I suppose I must 
 marry, it's nice to marry a real old friend. He won't 
 expect me to talk much, or to read newspapers, or to 
 stay awake when I'm sleepy."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 189 
 
 Susan rose. "No. He'll be asleep himself. How- 
 ever, never mind Hughie. Are you very sleepy now, 
 dear? Too sleepy to go down to the lower terrace, and 
 get a little air? I should like to, if you don't mind 
 coming." 
 
 No, Sylvia did not mind. She almost never minded 
 anything. 
 
 Susan put a cloak over her dressing gown, and 
 Sylvia took a long white scarf and the two girls went 
 quietly downstairs and out into the garden. As they 
 reached the steps Susan stopped. 
 
 "Just listen to the singing well, how clearly it 
 sounds in the silence !" 
 
 The soft gurgling of the well at the breakfast place 
 in the pergola sounded almost like a deep chuckle in 
 the night. It was very still. Far up the hill at the 
 back of the Poggio a nightingale sang. Moonh'ght 
 lay faint on the sea, but the sky looked ragged and 
 rather threatening. 
 
 " 'On such a night as this,' " said Susan, and Syl- 
 via smiled 
 
 "Go on, from Romeo and Juliet, isn't it?" 
 
 Susan corrected her and recited a few lines of the 
 scene. "I wish," she added as they went down the 
 steps, "that I had a splendid romantic lover and that 
 he was coming to meet me down by the sea." 
 
 "Why, Susan !" Sylvia was surprised. 
 
 "Yes. A dark, mysterious man with black eyes, and 
 an impassioned voice." Mentally, Susan made a face 
 at herself, at her own words, but they were the words 
 to arrest Sylvia's attention.
 
 190 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Go on, Susan," she begged like a child. 
 
 "He should be dark because I am fair, and he should 
 have a secret grief until he saw me, of course. And 
 he should have rather long hair; curly. Heavens," 
 she warmed up, "how he would worship me !" 
 
 Sylvia twisted one end of her scarf. "He's isn't a 
 bit like Hughie," she said, in rather a troubled voice. 
 
 "Like Hughie, indeed, I should think not ! He'd be 
 like no one you ever saw, so beautiful and so myste- 
 rious." 
 
 "Rather like that man we saw in the church yester- 
 day. Do you remember, Susan?" 
 
 Susan hesitated. "In the church? Oh, yes, I know. 
 Yes, very like him. He is a Duke, Sylvia. Old Mar- 
 garita told me." 
 
 Sylvia had not learned a word of Italian during her 
 year's stay in Sorrento, so it was perfectly safe for 
 Susan to pretend to derive her knowledge from the 
 lodge-keeper's wife. 
 
 "A Duke, is he ? He is very handsome. Rather like 
 the Corsair, we decided last night, didn't we?" 
 
 "We did," assented Susan. "He's here with his 
 yacht. I remember now to have seen him before, by 
 the way. On the boat from Dover to Calais. He sat 
 near us and stared." 
 
 "Did he? I didn't see him ; I suppose I was asleep." 
 
 "Yes, you were. It's rather interesting that he 
 should turn up here, isn't it ?" 
 
 Sylvia thought it was. "I wonder if he has a secret 
 grief," she mused. Then she yawned. "How's your 
 head, Susan ? I'd like to go to bed."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 191 
 
 They were leaning on a marble balustrade; behind 
 them was the cliff, a few feet below them the sea. 
 
 Susan looked seaward in silence for a moment. 
 
 "Oh, Sylvia, it's a good thing you are a dormouse," 
 she burst out, "for if you weren't, Hugh Gunning 
 would bore you to desperation. His hands are so big 
 and so brown, and he is so tiresome. I do wish 
 you had waited, there are so many charming men in 
 London, or even here in Italy, I suppose. However, 
 it's too late now. Think of the Corsair, for instance. 
 What if he came along and fell madly in love with you, 
 you'd have to say you were sorry, but you'd promised 
 to marry Hughie ! Why even Aunt Corisande used to 
 go out of the room when he came to see me, he bored 
 her so." 
 
 Now Sylvia was simple and she was not at all vain 
 of her beauty, but she had from ner childhood been 
 used to having the best of everything. She did not 
 reason about it, or know that she owed this privilege 
 to her beauty, but the fact itself was very apparent 
 to her. 
 
 And Hugh Gunning, the adored big playmate of 
 their childhood, had been to her naturally the best 
 thing in the man line. She did not love him, but she 
 would have been very annoyed had he chosen either of 
 her sisters instead of herself. She had accepted him 
 as she would have accepted the best of three bouquets 
 or three seats in a train. He was the best, so he was 
 for her. And here was Susan, the second Miss Lambe, 
 actually scorning him! Sylvia stirred uneasily, her 
 little characteristic wriggle of discomfort.
 
 192 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "I thought you liked him," she protested. 
 
 "I do. I am very fond of him. But he's not good 
 enough for you, and now it's too late." 
 
 As she spoke, Ginestra's skiff shot round the rocks 
 into view. 
 
 Sylvia started. "Oh, Susan look!" 
 
 "One of the fishermen, I suppose." 
 
 "Susan, it isn't, it's him!" 
 
 Susan leaned over the balustrade. "The Corsair! 
 Talk of the don't let him see you, Sylvia." 
 
 But Sylvia did not move. Her eyes were fixed on 
 the really romantic looking figure in the boat. 
 
 Ginestra pulled in his oars and touched a guitar 
 that lay in the boat. Then, very softly, he began to 
 sing. It was all banal, cheap, theatrical. Beyond the 
 fact that the man really was in love, it was too 
 banal, too cheap, too theatrical for any real poign- 
 ancy of effect, but Susan knew her audience 
 poor Sylvia was enthralled. To her it appealed 
 strongly. 
 
 "Isn't it divine?" she whispered, "how handsome 
 he is !" 
 
 "Superb. And what a voice. Sylvia, isn't it queer 
 that I should just have been wishing for for an 
 adventure ?" 
 
 Sylvia did not answer. 
 
 "He must have asked who I was," went on Susan, 
 "in fact, old Margarita said he stopped and talked to 
 her, and now he's serenading me !" 
 
 Sylvia's sweet expression changed suddenly to one 
 of childish sulkiness.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 193 
 
 "How do you know it's you?" 
 
 "Because, oh, now really ! You are going to be mar- 
 ried in ten days to your entrancing Hughie, no poach- 
 ing !" Susan was clever, but Sylvia had a sledge-ham- 
 mer logic of her own. 
 
 "He doesn't know I'm going to be married," she 
 answered. 
 
 "Hush, he'll hear you." 
 
 Ginestra sang on and on. He had a pretty, light 
 tenor voice and used it fairly well, in a natural way. 
 Susan listened and watched her sister. She had suc- 
 ceeded. Sylvia's jealousy of possession was aroused. 
 Ginestra might have come for her sister, but she was 
 the eldest, she was Sylvia, and if she wanted him, then 
 he should have come for her. 
 
 "How could he know I am engaged?" she whispered 
 sharply. 
 
 "He might have asked Margarita, I suppose?" 
 
 "He's nice and tall, too," said Sylvia, after a 
 pause. "He looks like a Greek God." 
 
 This delectable comparison she had culled from the 
 pages of some novel. There was nothing in the least 
 Greek about Gianf ranco di Ginestra. Under the hood 
 of her cloak, Susan grinned. She felt very kindly 
 toward her sister just then. Sylvia's very silliness 
 was endearing in a way. 
 
 That what she was doing, if it succeeded, would 
 nearly break Hugh Gunning's heart, did not matter 
 to her. He would suffer, she knew, but in his pain she 
 meant him to turn to her. And then, to do the girl 
 justice, there was nothing in the world, except give
 
 194 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 him up and help him to be happy in his own way, that 
 she would not have done for Gunning. 
 
 If he had become suddenly penniless, suddenly a 
 social pariah, she would have married him and worked 
 herself to death for him. So much of good there was 
 in her. In her thoughts she was comforting him for 
 the loss of Sylvia, when the music ceased and she came 
 to herself with a start. 
 
 Ginestra laid down his guitar, rose in the boat, and 
 with a quick movement of his arm, threw something up 
 over the balustrade. 
 
 Sylvia, the sluggish, stooped like a flash and picked 
 it up. It was a large, fat, crimson rose hardly out 
 of the bud. 
 
 "Give it to me," cried .Susan, as the boat, its occu- 
 pant gazing back at them, sped away into the shadow. 
 
 "I won't give it to you, Susan," Sylvia laid the rose 
 against her cheek and drew away from her sister. "I 
 caught it and it's mine." 
 
 "Oh, very well," returned Susan with much majesty 
 of demeanor. "Just as you like. But I must say, for 
 a girl who is going to be married a week from Thurs- 
 day I wonder what your beloved Hughie would say !" 
 
 Sylvia followed her nearly to the top of the steps in 
 complete silence. Then she spoke with a dogged note 
 in her voice that Susan had heard only once or twice 
 in life. 
 
 "I don't care what 'you must say,' and I don't care 
 what Hughie says. The Corsair meant the rose for 
 me, so it's mine and I'm going to keep it." 
 
 They parted without further conversation, and when
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 195 
 
 Susan had locked her door, she sank into a chair com- 
 pletely exhausted. Mental suggestion is a tiring thing 
 to exercise. But Susan, though tired to death, was 
 more than satisfied with her evening's work. "Poor old 
 Sylvia," she thought affectionately, "what a duffer 
 she is, and yet what a dear 1"
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 " V BATHER, what's the matter?" 
 
 LJ It was the day following the serenade, and 
 Lambe was sitting in the grotto leading 
 from the library when Daffy came in. 
 
 He started guiltily and rose from where he had been 
 sitting with his elbows on the base of the unglassed 
 archways that were windows in all but glass. 
 
 "The matter, Daffy ? Nothing, my dear, why ?" 
 
 Daffy jumped up to the ledge, a rather difficult mat- 
 ter to her, she was so little, and folded her hands on 
 her lap. 
 
 "Oh, yes there is," she insisted, disregarding his 
 question. "There's been something the matter for 
 ages. Father, won't you tell me?" 
 
 Lambe's face suddenly went all over wrinkles as he 
 smiled at her and his small eyes nearly disappeared 
 like a face in a slate under slashing scratches of the 
 pencil. 
 
 "Good, Daffy ! Well, I'll tell you, only mum's the 
 word. Go-Fever, my son-daughter. A bad attack of 
 it." She nodded. 
 
 "I thought so. Well, after the wedding you must 
 call in the doctors." 
 
 "What doctors?" 
 
 "Dr. Change, assisted by Mr. Distance. Poor 
 196
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 197 
 
 father, being the heavy parent for so long. Where 
 will you go ?" 
 
 Now Lambe, who had deserted his blameless wife 
 and his three little girls without a qualm, had felt as 
 guilty as a murderer under the urgings of his old rest- 
 less spirit to leave even for a few months his three 
 grown girls. It may have been because he knew them 
 better than he had known his wife, or because he felt 
 that the queer detached pride they caused him claimed 
 the recompense of his continued presence. He himself 
 could not explain it, but he had really struggled 
 against his Go-Fever, and Daffy's advice was a great 
 consolation to him. 
 
 "You don't think it would be bad cricket?" he 
 asked boyishly. "I should like a a " 
 
 "Holiday?" suggested Daffy gravely, and he 
 nodded. 
 
 "I thought a few months in the Swedish mountains, 
 or Canada." 
 
 "Why not do both?" 
 
 He thrust out his lower lip in conscientious nega- 
 tion. 
 
 "Oh, no, I should be back by the first of November." 
 And so it was settled. 
 
 Daffy, who loved her father much as some big boys 
 love their mother, patted his shoulder and then went 
 back to her own part of the house where the small 
 Angiolino Screach was waiting for his daily English 
 lesson. 
 
 It was a thunderous day, and the great heat still lay 
 almost like something visible over the coast line. Daffy
 
 198 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 had been charged by her father to decide where she 
 and Susan and the unpleasing Judd should spend the 
 summer. He had not suggested their inviting some 
 older woman as a chaperon, but Daffy knew that this 
 must be done, under penalty of an incursion of out- 
 raged aunts. And she meant to make this decision, as 
 well as the other, before the plan was unfolded to 
 Susan. 
 
 Since the girls had what seventeen-year-old Daffy 
 called "grown up," her relations with her second sis- 
 ter had been marked by a greater decorum than hith- 
 erto, but it was at best only an armed peace, and 
 meant no kind of companionship to either of them. 
 
 "Hello, Hughie !" 
 
 As she crossed the hall on her way upstairs, she 
 nearly ran into Gunning, who made a feint of leap- 
 ing aside to avoid her. 
 
 "Don't run over me, you great clumsy thing," he 
 laughed, looking down at her. 
 
 The j oke was an old one, but she en j oyed it. 
 
 "Look here, Hughie, I want your advice. Only you 
 mustn't tell a soul." 
 
 He selected a malmaison from a bowl that stood on 
 the table and drew its stem carefully through his but- 
 ton hole. 
 
 "All right, I won't. What is it?" 
 
 "Well, father is going for a holiday, for one 
 thing." 
 
 Over Gunning's happy face a quick frown passed. 
 
 "A holiday from what?" 
 
 "From us. Don't be silly, Hughie. And Susan and
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 199 
 
 I are to go somewhere, with some one. I am to de- 
 cide where and the one." 
 
 "H'm." 
 
 "Yes. Father seems to think Switzerland, but I'd 
 rather like to go somewhere else for a change." 
 
 She looked very childish in her little blue frock 
 standing there in the big hall. 
 
 "One of your aunts," he suggested vaguely. 
 
 "Or Donna Mabel. Do you think she'd go?" 
 
 Donna Mabel was not greatly beloved, but she had 
 certain qualities appreciated by Daffy. For instance, 
 her habit of getting up late and taking a long nap 
 every afternoon." 
 
 "Where is Sylvia?" he asked, before he answered 
 her question. 
 
 "In the pergola. Well, do you think she would I 
 mean, do you think Donna Mabel would go ?" 
 
 They went out into the sun and turned into the 
 shade of the first pergola. 
 
 "I don't know, she might. But she's not a good 
 chaperon, my mother, she's too vague. Upon my 
 word, now one comes to think of it, you are all vague 
 here in Sorrento ! I believe it's something in the air." 
 
 "Father and Sylvia and I were born vague," she 
 laughed, "but I'm better than I used to be, don't you 
 think?" 
 
 He stood still and in a brotherly way took her 
 pointed chin in his hand and looked into her eyes. 
 
 "Yes, I do think so, Daffy," his voice was a trifle 
 sententious, but his thought was very kind. "And 
 better in other ways, too. You're a funny little thing,
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 but I do believe you never forgot your your vow the 
 night of your mother's funeral." 
 
 Up her smooth brown cheeks crept a dark blush. 
 
 "Oh, Hughie, no, of course I haven't forgotten it. 
 How could I? It was so awful in the dark in the 
 churchyard. The wind howled so and " she broke 
 off with a genuine shudder. 
 
 "Do you ever tell lies now?" he went on down- 
 rightly. 
 
 Then ,she laughed. "Yes, sometimes, don't you? 
 But Oh, Hughie, I do try and it gets easier. I never 
 tell important ones now. Funny! It's easier to tell 
 the truth about hard things than about quite silly little 
 ones." 
 
 They walked slowly on, his head nearly touching the 
 tangle of creepers above it. After a minute he asked 
 her again: "And are you still afraid of things?" 
 
 She hung her head. "Yes, Hughie. I shall al- 
 ways be a coward. I I just can't help it. When your 
 mother drives those awful ponies down that awful hill, 
 I always have to get out and walk. And if I try to 
 sleep without a light, I wake up screaming with night- 
 mare. It's no use!" 
 
 Her ruefulness was funny, but he did not laugh. 
 Instead he patted her shoulder kindly and then as they 
 reached the open space where the other pergola joined 
 the one they were in, he changed the subject. A can- 
 vas tent, its sides rolled up, stood in the breakfast 
 place now, and long chairs with green linen pillows. 
 The stone table was covered with books and papers. In 
 one of the chairs sat Sylvia, writing a letter.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 201 
 
 "Another present, Hughie," she said, "from the 
 Vicar. I am thanking him for it." 
 
 Gunning could not have looked more gratified if she 
 had announced that she was doing a miracle. 
 
 "But you look tired, darling," he said, capturing 
 her left hand. 
 
 "My head aches. It's so hot," she answered him. 
 
 "Where's Susan?" Daffy put in, opening a book 
 and throwing it down again. Susan's absence seemed 
 strange to her. 
 
 Since meeting Susan an hour or so before she had 
 felt more strongly than ever that her second sister was 
 up to something. There had been a look in Susan's 
 face before she knew herself observed. 
 
 "I don't know. 1 haven't seen her this morning." 
 
 Gunning frowned. "Has she been annoying you, 
 my beloved?" he asked. Daffy suppressed what can 
 only be termed a grin. 
 
 But Sylvia raised plaintive eyebrows. 
 
 "No, no, oh, no," she said sweetly, and Gunning 
 was convinced that only her nobility of character pre- 
 vented a revelation of black crime about Susan. Syl- 
 via was not consciously deceitful. Susan's deliberate 
 avoidance of her all day had really hurt her, and she 
 really felt the plaintiveness her face expressed. 
 
 At that moment Susan came down the dusky thick- 
 set pergola behind them, and, with a casual "good 
 morning," sat down. 
 
 "Anything wrong, Susan?" 
 
 Gunning looked very grim, grimmer than he felt, 
 poor fellow, on that day of all days.
 
 202 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Wrong?" 
 
 "Yes. Sylvia says she hasn't seen you before and 
 it's now eleven o'clock." 
 
 Susan arched her nearly black brows in comic 
 amazement. 
 
 "Dear me, what a crime! But why is it my crime 
 more than hers? I hope when I have a lover he will 
 mentally draw and quarter every one he fancies is not 
 worshipping me." 
 
 "I don't know what you mean," returned Gunning 
 impatiently, "but you hurt your sister. She didn't say 
 so, but one could see." 
 
 Susan burst into rather harsh laughter. 
 
 "Heavens, Hughie, how boring you are. I think 
 I'll go for a swim. This is too dull to suit me." 
 
 She sauntered off, Sylvia watching her. 
 
 "Oh, Hughie, now you've sent her away ! You are 
 so silly. She'll go down on the beach and bathe !" 
 
 Sylvia looked at him reproachfully, and Daffy 
 came to the rescue. 
 
 "If she's going to bathe, it stands to reason she 
 will go to the beach, Sylvia ! Why shouldn't she ?" 
 
 Sylvia bit her lip and went on writing. Presently 
 Susan came back from the house, her bathing dress 
 and a cloak over her arm, and disappeared down the 
 steps leading to the lower terrace as well as to the 
 beach. 
 
 Sylvia threw down her pen. "It is a horrid day," 
 she said slowly. "I think I'll go for a swim, too." 
 
 Gunning rose. "A good idea. Come along, Daffy." 
 
 But Sylvia shook her head.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 203 
 
 "No, don't come, you two. I I want to talk to 
 Susan." 
 
 Gunning looked disappointed. "All right, dear. 
 But don't apologize to Susan for what she's done, 
 dearest. You are far too patient with her moods and 
 she was very nasty just now. I can't understand her 
 at all!" As he spoke, however, his face cleared and 
 broke into a smile that was not altogether without the 
 lover's fatuity. 
 
 "Or perhaps yes, poor girl, of course that's it ! I 
 am an ass not to have thought of it before. She's 
 jealous." 
 
 Sylvia put on her hat. "Jealous of whom ?" she said 
 vaguely, her eyes on the sea. 
 
 "Why, of me, of course ! You and she have always 
 been inseparable and now she resents your loving 
 me best, my darling angel !" 
 
 He had forgotten Daffy, who was studying 
 in the Sketch an edifying page of plain women 
 in hideous attitudes, the golf heroines of Great 
 Britain. 
 
 Sylvia turned. "I I beg your pardon," she said, 
 "I didn't hear what you said." 
 
 Gunning walked with her to the house, and then 
 came back and sat down. He had not insisted on com- 
 municating his discovery to Sylvia. To him, her ab- 
 sent-mindedness had been, not rudeness, but a semi- 
 divine inability to hear anything even remotely de- 
 rogatory to her sister. He sighed deeply out of pure 
 thanksgiving and then began to read. 
 
 Half an hour later Daffy heard footsteps coming
 
 204 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 from the house, and looking up saw old Father 
 Gregorio, the parish priest, accompanied by a 
 stranger. 
 
 "I say, Hughie, here's Father Gregorio. I do hope 
 he's sober, poor old dear. And who's the other man? 
 I've seen him somewhere." 
 
 Before the two callers were within whisper-shot, she 
 added hastily, "Oh, / know. It's the man who gave 
 me the wrong bag, do you remember? That day at 
 Calais !" 
 
 Father Gregorio introduced his "friend," the Sig- 
 nor Duca di Ginestra. He had come, the old priest, to 
 see il Signer Lamb-a on business. He had hopes of 
 arranging for the Signor Lamb-a the purchase of the 
 peasant Carelli's little olive orchard, and the Signor 
 Duca having expressed a desire to make the acquaint- 
 ance of the Signor Lamb-a, here they were ! 
 
 Daffy rang for wine and sweets, and as the old 
 priest had counted on finding him here at his usual 
 place and had not asked for him at the house, Screach 
 was told to inform his master of the arrival of guests. 
 
 Ginestra, very handsome indeed in his gay yachting 
 clothes, admired the garden, but tremendously he ad- 
 mired. And the signorina liked it? And the sig- 
 norina was not lonely in Sorrento ? She had no broth- 
 ers to amuse her? No sisters? 
 
 Daffy liked him and at once reminded him of the 
 adventure of the bag. They all laughed a great deal 
 over the account of the sequel. 
 
 Presently up the steps came the sound of voices and 
 Sylvia and Susan, wrapped in large burnous like man-
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 205 
 
 ties of Turkish towelling, appeared under the pergola, 
 their long hair dripping wet. 
 
 Ginestra, who sat facing them, rose to his feet. 
 
 "Your sisters ?" he murmured to Daffy. 
 
 Gunning hastened forward to warn the girls of the 
 presence of a stranger, but in some inexplicable way 
 he stumbled over Ginestra's foot, and narrowly es- 
 caped a heavy fall, and as he recovered himself he 
 found Sylvia standing alone, just within the lacy 
 shadow of the pergola. "Oh!" she said. Then she 
 turned and followed Susan.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 LATER, in recalling that week, Daphne 
 Lambe always felt vaguely to blame in that 
 she had not seen the coming of the catas- 
 trophe. She had, she remembered, been in- 
 distinctly conscious of a something in the atmosphere, 
 but she had not connected it with Susan. 
 
 She had, however, felt for some time that Susan 
 would bear watching, so she did not give a thought to 
 Sylvia, who indeed, to all of them but Susan, seemed 
 quite her usual self. 
 
 The house was unusually gay, for Lambe liked the 
 rather solemn Italian, and invited him repeatedly to 
 dine and lunch. 
 
 Then there was a three hours' drive along the coast, 
 to a town on the Gulf of Salerno, where they lunched, 
 and a dinner at Donna Mabel's. And in all these mild 
 festivities Ginestra took part as a matter of course. 
 
 "He seems to like Susan," Gunning remarked once 
 to Daffy. 
 
 "He seems to look more at Sylvia." 
 
 "Ah, but who wouldn't? That's natural enough. 
 But he often talks to Susan, you'll notice." 
 
 Daffy wished Ginestra would fall in love with Susan, 
 and she said so. "Then I could have father all to my- 
 self," she explained, and Gunning understood. He dis- 
 
 306
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 207 
 
 trusted foreigners as husbands, as most Englishmen 
 do, but Ginestra was undoubtedly a man of good 
 standing and, in spite of his curls and his pallor, there 
 was no denying his good looks, and a certain stiff 
 charm that was his. 
 
 "I saw them walking in the Cascade Garden after 
 dinner last night," he reflected ; "perhaps it may come 
 to something. She's hard to please, is Susan. One or 
 two nice fellows seemed to like her in London and she 
 wouldn't look at them." 
 
 Daffy nodded. "She'd make a goodish Duchess, 
 even if it were only an Italian one." 
 
 Meantime, Susan, Sylvia and Ginestra were in the 
 girls' sitting room upstairs. Susan's bedroom was 
 between the sitting room and the head of the uncar- 
 peted marble stairs. 
 
 Presently she went into her own room and closed 
 the door. If any one came upstairs she could be back 
 with the others before the newcomer could reach the 
 landing even. 
 
 It was on a Monday, and the wedding was to be on 
 Thursday. 
 
 Susan sat down by the window and sniffed at a bot- 
 tle of eau de cologne. Time was short, but she be- 
 lieved that success sat at her prow. Ginestra was 
 nearly out of his mind over Sylvia and she as obviously 
 (to her sister) captivated by his Byronesque qualities. 
 
 The difficulty was that while Sylvia thirsted for ro- 
 mance, the Italian was, in matters matrimonial, pro- 
 saic to the last degree, like most of his countrymen. 
 If he had proposed carrying the girl away in his
 
 208 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 yacht to marry at the first place they could land at, 
 Susan believed that her sister would go. 
 
 But Ginestra, who was a gentleman, knew what was 
 due to those future children of his, of whom he spoke 
 with such embarrassing frankness to his virgin ally. 
 
 "It would not do for my sons to know that their 
 mother was on my yacht for hours before we were 
 married," he insisted obstinately. 
 
 On the other hand Sylvia would not hear of his go- 
 ing to her father and telling the truth, nor would she 
 go herself. Also he had not been at all pleased to 
 learn that Sylvia's wedding was only four days off. 
 If he had been less deliriously in love he would, Susan 
 knew, have retired from the field the moment he became 
 aware of Gunning's position. 
 
 "It is dishonorable, ah, yes, but very," he declared, 
 ruffling his glossy curls. "If I were not a coward, I 
 should go away " 
 
 "Then go," Susan told him more than once. "Syl- 
 via likes you as much as she is capable of liking any 
 one, but it won't break her heart, for the best of 
 reasons ; she also likes Gunning. She will soon forget 
 you." 
 
 But the vision of Sylvia forgetting him in Gun- 
 ning's arms was too much for Ginestra, and he stayed 
 on. His always mournful face now stood him in good 
 stead, for no one noticed his gloom, his face being, 
 one may say, expressionless from too much expression. 
 
 And now Monday was nearly over. 
 
 Susan sniffed at her eau de cologne. Her hair, 
 nearly as golden as Sylvia's, was of a different quality.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 209 
 
 Whereas Sylvia's, these very warm days, hung in 
 limp, silky little ringlets round her face and neck, 
 Susan's curled fiercely up, and grew drier and almost 
 metallic, like extremely fine wire. She did not get the 
 blenched look of most foreigners in a hot southern 
 summer. As she sat alone in her room, her intent face 
 was an interesting study. 
 
 Time passed and no one came upstairs. 
 
 The air was full of the music of very distant chil- 
 dren's voices and the laughter of fishermen on the vil- 
 lage beach. The comparative coolness of evening had 
 come, and the people had emerged from their darkened 
 houses for a little air. 
 
 Presently Susan rose, and, listening intently for a 
 moment at the door leading into the sitting room, 
 went in. Sylvia was sitting near a window and Gines- 
 tra stood by her. 
 
 "Signorina," he began abruptly as Susan entered, 
 "you must make her understand. I say I love her, and 
 she loves me." There was none of poor Gunning's 
 humility in the Corsair's manner. "I tell her then, 
 per consequenza, the only thing is for me to go ancl 
 tell your Signor Padre, and then, if it is Signor Gun- 
 ning's wishes to have a shot at me, I am ready." 
 
 Sylvia was crying now ; that is to say, large drops 
 of water were welling slowly from her eyes and rolling 
 down her undistorted face. 
 
 "I don't want Hughie to shoot him," she said, turn- 
 ing to her sister helplessly. Since Ginestra's first word 
 alone with her, Sylvia had returned to her old alle- 
 giance to Susan.
 
 210 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Bosh, can you imagine Hughie doing anything so 
 so exciting? Don't be a goose, Sylvia." 
 
 "But poor Hughie will be miserable." 
 
 "For a day or two. He's not the kind to waste much 
 time in repining. Besides," Susan went on gently, 
 "if you marry him, think of poor Ginestra !" 
 
 Ginestra sketched despair with his hands. 
 
 "I will not live," he declared firmly, "if I lose you." 
 
 This kind of talk Sylvia thoroughly enjoyed. She 
 raised her dripping eyes to his with more feeling in 
 them than Susan had suspected her of possessing. 
 
 "Oh, Gianfranco," she wailed. 
 
 Susan nearly despaired. They were both obstinate, 
 both idiotic, both maddeningly unpractical. Susan 
 sighed and then sat down and drew on her almost 
 hypnotic eloquence. 
 
 At the end of half an hour she rose, fairly satisfied, 
 and was about to go downstairs when Gunning's 
 voice was heard calling as he came up the stairs. 
 
 "Go into my room, Sylvia, and be perfectly quiet," 
 whispered Susan. "I'll say you're asleep." 
 
 As the door closed, Gunning knocked at the other. 
 
 He was sorry Sylvia was asleep, but glad for her 
 to be resting. Also he was glad to find the difficult 
 Susan tete-a-tete with the Duke. Perhaps poor old 
 Daffy would be granted her wish ! 
 
 Susan rose presently. "I must leave you now," she 
 said, shooting a warning glance at Ginestra, "I have 
 an errand to do." 
 
 The two men followed her downstairs and she went 
 on alone into the town.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 211 
 
 Don Gregorio, who was sitting in his little garden, 
 was all excitement as she unfolded her plan to him. 
 Oh, yes, he would marry them. That was his duty, to 
 marry, to baptize, to bury. The Signer Lamb-a 
 would doubtless be angry, but he shrugged his fat 
 shoulders and spilt more snuff on his dirty soutane 
 "young people must follow their hearts." 
 
 He was a kind old man and preached a very amus- 
 ing sermon, which is more than most priests of any 
 sect can boast of, and though he occasionally drank 
 more black country wine than was good for nim, no 
 one minded, and his prestige was lowered thereby not 
 one whit. 
 
 Susan told him at what hour the next morn the lov- 
 ers would come to him, praised the beauty of his tor- 
 toise-shell cat and his few garden-flowers and then 
 hurried home. 
 
 Her work was nearly at an end. By noon the next 
 day, the Duke and Duchess di Ginestra would have left 
 on their yacht, and she, Miss Lambe, could sit down 
 and prepare to catch Gunning's heart on its rebound. 
 
 And then her face softened beautifully, so that a 
 two-year-old baby, sitting in a ground floor window, 
 held out its little arms to her and cooed in response. 
 Then how happy she would make him ! -How she would 
 care for him, anticipate his wishes, worship him. 
 
 And the presence of the yacht made things so sim- 
 ple. Sylvia would be gone before any one knew, so 
 there would be no scenes, no reproaches. Susan was 
 very glad, for in spite of her steel-spring nerves, she 
 was tired. Her task had not been easy.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 But now it was nearly over. Before she went down 
 to dinner she looked from her balcony off seaward to 
 the left, where the yacht lay. She felt positively grate- 
 ful to the graceful craft. 
 
 But, like all managing people, Susan made one mis- 
 take. She forgot that others, beside herself, were pos- 
 sessed of active impulses. In her mind Sylvia and 
 Ginestra were puppets in her hands ; she did not con- 
 sider the possibility of circumstances urging either of 
 them to activity and yet this is what happened. 
 
 Some time after dinner, Gunning asked Sylvia to 
 walk with him to the Poggio. The others sat on the 
 terrace, chatting or watching the moonlit sea. It was 
 cool now, and delightful after the heat of the day. 
 
 Susan, keeping an eye on Ginestra, who was the 
 only moody one of the group, rested quietly in her 
 chair, again thinking gratefully of the yacht. 
 
 Then back across the lawn came Sylvia and Gun- 
 ning. They were not talking, but when they reached 
 the shadow of the house, he, thinking they were in- 
 visible from where the others sat, bent and kissed 
 her. 
 
 Ginestra rose, an oath half suppressed between his 
 teeth. Then, as Susan too rose and tried to lead him 
 away, he drew aside from her. 
 
 "I beg you, signorina," he said hoarsely. 
 
 Every one looked at him and when Sylvia and Gun- 
 ning reached th*em, he spoke. 
 
 "Signor Gunning," he said in a voice that was sud- 
 denly quiet and clear, "may I have a word with you ?" 
 
 "Certainly," assented Gunning, surprised.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 213 
 
 But before the Italian could carry out nis perfectly 
 dignified plan, Sylvia gave a little scream and flew to 
 Gunning. 
 
 "Hughie, Hughie," she cried, clasping his arm 
 tightly, "you won't shoot him ? Promise me you won't 
 shoot him !" 
 
 Her face was perfectly white in the moonlight, and 
 she was frantic with fear. 
 
 "Shoot him? Who?" the Englishman asked stu- 
 pidly. "Don't be frightened, dear." 
 
 "Signor Lamb-a," interrupted the Italian, "it is 
 this : I love your daughter and she loves me." 
 
 There was a pause, broken only by the sound of 
 Sylvia's hysterical sobs. Then Ginestra went on with 
 his exquisite courtesy to Gunning. 
 
 "I am quite at your service, signore." 
 
 Gunning did not answer for a moment, but stood 
 with his hand on Sylvia's hair. 
 
 "Is this true?" he began, and then, correcting 
 himself, "I beg your pardon, Duca, of course it is 
 true. Sylvia, go and stand by him." 
 
 He pushed her gently toward the other man. 
 
 "Go, my dear, if as you love him. And you 
 need not be afraid. I shall not shoot him." 
 
 Christopher Lambe had not moved. Now he rose. 
 
 "Hughie," he said, "I I am ashamed of my daugh- 
 ter. Come into the house with me." 
 
 Gunning shook his head. 
 
 "Thanks, Mr. Lambe, I don't need a drink. Susan, 
 when she stops crying, will you tell her, that that it's 
 all right ! I'll go now."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 He walked rapidly back toward the house and they 
 heard his footsteps cease suddenly as he cut off over 
 the lawn to the left toward the gate. 
 
 "He's forgotten his hat," said Daffy. 
 
 Sylvia burst into a peal of mad laughter at this. It 
 was the last thing Gunning heard as he left the place.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 IT was characteristic of Christopher Lambe that 
 his daughter Sylvia was married the next morn- 
 ing to the Duca di Ginestra. The fact being es- 
 tablished that Sylvia loved the Italian, there was, 
 to his mind, nothing to do but allow her to marry the 
 man, who was perfectly acceptable as a son-in-law, 
 and, as it was to be, the sooner the better. 
 
 This was his simple line of reasoning, unfolded by 
 him to his daughter at breakfast. 
 
 "You have behaved abominably," he added to Syl- 
 via, whose face bore not the faintest sign of the 
 storm of the night before. "I am thoroughly ashamed 
 of you, and I can only congratulate Gunning on his 
 escape. But as you wish to marry Ginestra, I have 
 nothing to say except that it must be at once." 
 
 So good Padre Gregorio had the greatest shock of 
 his life in perceiving to enter his sacristy at the hour 
 stated, not only the romantic runaway couple, but the 
 the bride's father and sisters. 
 
 Ginestra had his papers in readiness, there was no 
 hitch of any kind, and after the short ceremony 
 Lambe shook hands with his daughter, the Duchess, 
 and he and the other girls went back to the villa, while 
 the young couple got into a cab and were driven to the 
 top of the lane leading to the pier. 
 
 215
 
 216 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Susan stood at the dining-room window an hour 
 later, while Thomas Screach laid the table. 
 
 "Oh, has my father told you, Thomas?" she said, 
 without turning round, "Miss Sylvia was married 
 this morning and has gone away." 
 
 Thomas, who had greatly increased in bulk in the 
 last years, and who looked much like Randolph Calde- 
 cott's John Gilpin, nearly dropped a plate. 
 
 "Married, Miss !" 
 
 "Yes. So we shall only be three at luncheon." 
 
 "But, I beg pardon, Miss Susan, but Mr. Gunning 
 only just come in a short while ago and is hi the study 
 this very minute." 
 
 Susan pointed to the beautiful white yacht that was 
 moving slowly away toward Naples. 
 
 "On that boat, Thomas," she said, "are its master, 
 the Duke of Ginestra and the Duchess. The Duchess, 
 until an hour ago, was Miss Sylvia Lambe. Try not 
 to have a fit." 
 
 Thomas had been in the house the day Sylvia was 
 born ; he had carried all three children in his arms ; he 
 considered himself almost a member, although a hum- 
 ble member, of the most important and eye-filling 
 family in the world. 
 
 For a minute he was silent. Then, as he left the 
 room, he turned. 
 
 "Thank you for telling me, Miss Susan." 
 
 When he had nearly closed the door he re-opened it 
 a little and put his wide, red face into the crack. 
 
 "I'm afraid poor master must feel it," he murmured. 
 Then he retired. He had the feelings of a gentleman,
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 217 
 
 had Thomas Screach, and to him was vouchsafed the 
 knowledge, withheld from his young mistress, that 
 Lambe would naturally be ashamed of his eldest girl's 
 behavior. 
 
 Susan shrugged her shoulders. Screach and his 
 opinions did not interest her. 
 
 What did interest her was the fact that Hugh 
 Gunning was even then in the house. 
 
 She longed to see him, and yet she feared to. After 
 hesitating for some minutes she went swiftly upstairs 
 and locked herself in her bedroom. 
 
 She knew that he was suffering and she could not 
 see his pain, not because it was pain, but because of 
 the torments of jealousy it would cause herself. 
 
 In the study, meantime, Lambe and Gunning sat 
 opposite each other by the window. 
 
 Gunning was not pale, but his face looked as if it 
 had suddenly been hardened into a new mold. It was 
 now a stern, cold face, devoid of youth and of hope. 
 To Lambe it was dreadful. 
 
 "It's very fine of you to take it like this," Lambe 
 said, lighting a cigarette as he broke a long silence. 
 
 Gunning laughed. "What else could I do? She 
 loves him, and that's all. I'm glad they were mar- 
 ried at once." 
 
 "Yes I knew you'd understand my hurrying it 
 on. I well, frankly, Hughie, I'm not so strong as 
 you ; I couldn't have stood seeing them about. It's a 
 relief to have them out of the way. I it is unpleas- 
 ant to be ashamed of one's own flesh and blood." 
 
 "Don't be hard on her, sir. She's very young and
 
 218 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 I am not an attractive fellow. He is. Besides, he 
 seems quite all right." 
 
 "Oh, yes ; he's right enough. We had a long talk 
 last night. He didn't care a blow about the settle- 
 ment, which, of course, is exceptional." 
 
 Gunning winced. His settlements, giving his future 
 wife half his income for her own for his life, and every- 
 thing he had in the world in the event of his death, 
 were already drawn up. He recalled signing them 
 in the dusty, musty room in Bedford Row, and the 
 memory of his exultant happiness that day cut him 
 like a knife. 
 
 "From the little I saw of him I should say he was a 
 very decent chap. He also cares very much for her. 
 If he hadn't he he couldn't have done what he did. 
 I suppose she was afraid to let him tell " 
 
 "Oh, obviously," agreed her father dryly, "if 
 he hadn't lost his head we should have been 
 favored with a moonlight flitting. She is a coward 
 Sylvia." 
 
 Gunning rose. "Well I must get back up the hill. 
 I shall stay another week with my mother ; she is very 
 much upset. Then I shall go back to England. I'll 
 see you again before I go " 
 
 They shook hands and Christopher Lambe longed 
 for words in which to express his regret for what his 
 daughter had done and his admiration for the bravery 
 with which the younger man was accepting the blow. 
 But no words came and they parted in silence. 
 
 In the hall, as Gunning went out, Screach and the 
 young footman were superintending the unloading of
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 219 
 
 a cart from the station ; large wooden cases stood on 
 the steps and another was still in the cart. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Gunning" poor Screach tried to be his 
 usual self and to look ignorant of the fact that the 
 cases contained gifts for a wedding that would never 
 take place. But he had known Gunning for many 
 years and the young man had always been kind to him. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Gunning " 
 
 Hugh tried to smile. "Never mind, Thomas I 
 understand. Just let me by, will you?" 
 
 "If ever," declared Screach to himself, but aloud 
 as he disappeared down the drive, "I see a broken 
 'eart, there goes one now." Then he swore very vio- 
 lently at the clumsy carrier. 
 
 That afternoon Susan Lambe drove up the long 
 hill in a fly and got out at Donna Mabel's villa. 
 
 It was raining and Donna Mabel was in the draw- 
 ing room, moving restlessly about, gazing often at 
 the pictures of her late husband, opening and closing 
 the windows, beginning letters and tearing them up, 
 and often pausing to listen for the sounds that occa- 
 sionally came from the room above. 
 
 She had cried, poor lady, and her complexion was 
 streaked and blotched. 
 
 When Susan, trim and shipshape in a new linen 
 frock, came in, Donna Mabel burst into tears again. 
 
 "Oh, Susan Lambe, aren't you ashamed to show 
 your face to me ?" she cried, even while she reached up 
 to kiss her caller. 
 
 Susan straightened a scrap of lace on her hostess's 
 disheveled head.
 
 220 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "No, dear Donna Mabel, I'm not. 7 haven't jilted 
 Hughie. You know how much I love him, so you must 
 realize how sorry I am for him. But you don't know 
 Sylvia, so you can't realize how utterly helpless I 
 was!" 
 
 "Helpless ? Then you knew ?" 
 
 Susan sat down. "Of course I did ten days ago. 
 He told me ! I had to promise not to tell, so I couldn't. 
 Besides well, I'm sure that after the first shock poor 
 old Hughie will find he's well out of it !" 
 
 "His heart is broken," protested his mother. "He 
 will never get over it." 
 
 They sat there in the pretty, shady room listening 
 to the beating of the long-wished-for rain, and little 
 by little Susan succeeded in convincing Donna Mabel 
 that Hugh had had a lucky escape. 
 
 "I never realized that she was quite so so empty- 
 headed," she faltered, for, after all, had not her won- 
 derful son adored the empty-headed one? 
 
 Susan shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Sylvia has never had one single idea since the 
 day she was born," she declared gently. "You know 
 that I love her, but I have lived too intimately with 
 her not to know that. Hugh would have found it out 
 and she'd have bored him to death. I am sure of 
 this." 
 
 Donna Mabel blew her nose. "I can't understand 
 it. You are clever, why should she be so so queer?" 
 
 Susan kissed her. "7'ra not clever, dear Donna 
 Mabel," she protested prettily, "it's only that you 
 happen to be fond of me that makes you think I am.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 But Sylvia, poor beautiful darling and no one knows 
 better than I how sweet and dear she is she is really 
 almost abnormal. Her brain simply doesn't work. 
 And Hughie never saw it. I never saw Sylvia in the 
 least interested in anything until this man came along. 
 She is in love with him. And I hope he will wake her 
 up." 
 
 "She is a wicked, wicked girl and doesn't deserve 
 to be happy " 
 
 "Ah, please, Donna Mabel ! Don't be cruel to me. 
 I have told you all this, that I never before told a 
 living soul, because I thought it might console you 
 for Hughie's loss, but you must remember she is my 
 sister, and I love her." 
 
 As she finished speaking the door opened and Gun- 
 ning came in. 
 
 "Did I leave my fountain pen " he began and 
 broke off. "Oh, is that you, Susan ?" He held out his 
 hand, and hers, as she took it, was so cold that he 
 looked at her pityingly. 
 
 "You look tired," he said. "Give her some tea, 
 mother." 
 
 Suddenly a strange thing happened to Susan. Her 
 long strung-up nerves gave way with a crash, as it 
 were, and she burst into a fit of dry sobbing. If her 
 life had depended on it she could not have stopped, 
 but if she had feigned the breakdown it could not have 
 been better timed. 
 
 Gunning laid his arm over her shoulders and drew 
 her to him. "Poor old girl," he said soothingly. 
 "Don't do that! Come, come, Sukey."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Still sobbing hysterically, but with dry eyes, she 
 looked up into his stony face. For a moment she 
 studied it and then for the first time real pity for him 
 touched her, and the tears came. 
 
 He, of course, took her emotion to mean sympathy 
 and regret mingled, and he was moved and surprised 
 by it. He held her gently in his arms as a brother 
 might have done, and even in her nervous state it 
 was an exquisite thing to her to have her head on his 
 breast. 
 
 When at last she drew away he lent her his hand- 
 kerchief and she wiped her eyes, half laughing. 
 
 "Oh, Hughie, to think that I should be such an 
 idiot!" 
 
 "Never mind, Susan ; after all, you aren't very old, 
 and last night was pretty bad for us all, wasn't it?" 
 
 Donna Mabel had gone out on the terrace to see 
 if the sudden cessation of rain meant a fine evening 
 or was merely a trick of the weather. 
 
 "Hughie do you really care so so dreadfully 
 much?" Susan looked away as she spoke. 
 
 There was a long pause and then he gave a half 
 laugh. 
 
 "Do I care, Susan ? Why, she was to have been my 
 wife by this time the day after to-morrow. And I 
 never cared for any other woman in my life. So 
 there's an end to that. Let's not discuss it. I am 
 not angry, and I hope I'm not bitter, but I can't talk 
 about it." 
 
 He followed his mother to the terrace and shortly 
 afterward went upstairs again.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 223 
 
 Susan did not see him again for many months, but 
 she was wise and bided her time without impatience. 
 He did not come again to the villa and none of the 
 family saw him again except Daffy, who alone of the 
 three would have let him go without an effort to have 
 a word with him. 
 
 On the Thursday that was to have been the wed- 
 ding day Daffy was alone in the Poggio after dinner. 
 The moon was waning, but the night was clear and 
 from the Alma Tadema bench the sound of the cas- 
 cade made music in the still air. 
 
 The girl sat quite quietly on the marble seat, her 
 head leaning back against its low curved back, so 
 that she looked through the trees into the sky. 
 
 She was thinking about Hugh, as she had been 
 thinking without ceasing for the past three days, and 
 when she heard footsteps at some distance off on the 
 gravel path she seemed to know that it was he. 
 
 The footsteps stopped and she sat up straight and 
 looked for him. 
 
 He stood near one of the Poggio's most beautiful 
 treasures, the one the site for which Lambe had de- 
 cided, she knew, the very day the Bishop had brought 
 her, so long ago. 
 
 It was a kind of memorial stone, beautifully and 
 richly carved on four sides, and Daffy knew the in- 
 scription by heart. 
 
 She wondered why Gunning was kneeling by it 
 now. But she did not move, her little figure in its 
 filmy gray gown being quite unnoticeable to him as 
 he knelt.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Presently he rose and came slowly toward her. 
 
 "Ah, Daffy " 
 
 She rose and they shook hands rather formally. 
 
 "I didn't expect to find you here," he went on, sit- 
 ting down as if he were very tired. "I didn't go to 
 the house " 
 
 "I'll not mention it," she returned promptly. 
 
 "I I came to do a rather childish thing," he went 
 on after a pause. "The bridal bouquet arrived from 
 England this morning it was a fancy I had and 
 well, come, little Daffy, and I'll show you." His hand 
 as he took hers was very hot. 
 
 They walked in silence back to the beautiful broken 
 pedestal and she saw at the foot of it a mound of 
 freshly moved soil. 
 
 "It's it's the bouquet," Gunning explained labori- 
 ously, "it was ordered for the wedding, you see, and 
 it has served at a burial instead " 
 
 Poor cowardly Daffy, she was frightened to death, 
 his voice was so strange. 
 
 "Hughie, come to the house and rest awhile. Father 
 will be so glad to see you he is so fond of you." 
 
 "Ah, yes, you are all fond of me, aren't you? Par- 
 ticularly Sylvia." 
 
 He knelt down and she knelt with him. 
 
 "Can you read this?" he asked suddenly, in a per- 
 fectly natural voice. 
 
 "Yes I can read it," she faltered. 
 
 "Read it to me, will you? My head aches so " 
 
 In the ancient stone most of the inscription was 
 still legible in its lovely garland of flowers.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 225 
 
 " 'Mutae Tutelae, 
 
 " 'Sanctissimae, 
 
 " 'Sacrime, 
 
 " 'Hortensiae ' " spelled out Daffy, whose Latin 
 education was by no means comprehensive. 
 
 " 'Conjugia carrissimae, 
 
 " 'Dominae dulcissimae, 
 
 " 'Indulgentissimae ! " but at this point Gunning 
 interrupted her. 
 
 "Let me do it, dear,?' he said gently, "I'll put it 
 into English for you ; it's so pretty. I'm I'm going 
 to have it put on Sylvia's grave if she should die 
 first. Listen. This Roman gentleman had it put on 
 this stone in the year 276. His wife had died, you 
 understand, and this is her memorial stone: 
 
 " 'To the silent, tutelar Diety, 
 
 " 'A place dedicated to the most sainted Hortensia 
 Ennoea, a most dear spouse,' " he faltered for a mo- 
 ment and then went on haltingly, " 'a most charming, 
 kind and devout lady, generously furnished with an 
 excellent mind, most courteous, sincere, genial and 
 distinguished; well deserving of every good, a most 
 worthy lady with whom I, Titus Claudius Horus, have 
 lived a good life for very many years for very many 
 years,' " he repeated vaguely. "Do you like it, 
 Daffy?" 
 
 "It is beautiful, Hughie," she answered with stiff 
 lips. 
 
 "Shall I go on?" 
 
 "Yes, please." 
 
 Drawing a deep breath, he continued:
 
 226 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 " 'She was rendered free from care on the llth of 
 October and was buried during the consulate of Cor- 
 nellius and Vettonianus. By command of her husband 
 this altar was dedicated on' it's indistinct here 
 'about the 7th May.' " 
 
 He stopped. "I think I told you that I buried the 
 bridal bouquet here? Well that's all. I'm going 
 away to-morrow. I thought I'd stay longer, but my 
 mother is calmer and I wish to get away." 
 
 They rose and he brushed the dry earth carefully 
 from the knees of his trousers. 
 
 "Good-bye, Daffy-down-Dilly." 
 
 "Good-bye, Hughie your hands are so hot " 
 
 "Oh, I'm all right. I shan't be ill, you needn't be 
 afraid. I think I've a little fever, but that doesn't 
 matter. This was to have been my wedding day, you 
 know," he added, looking a little wildly at her, "and 
 it isn't. That's all. Good-bye." 
 
 She watched his tall figure until it was lost among 
 the trees and then went slowly back to the house. 
 
 It was two years before she saw him again.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 SUSAN LAMBE was a born tactician and un- 
 cannily wise for so young a woman. It may be 
 said that in her campaign for winning the 
 heart of the man she loved, she made, as far as 
 he was concerned, only one mistake. 
 
 Hugh Gunning, in spite of his feverish condition 
 the night that was to have been that of his wedding, 
 did not have what is known as brain fever. But he 
 had managed to get a very bad cold and for the next 
 few days was in bed with something unpleasantly like 
 pneumonia. When he was better Susan went to see 
 him, and having laid out a line of conduct for herself, 
 she never wavered from it. 
 
 She seemed to the weak and unhappy man the very 
 ideal of a young sister. He reproached himself for 
 having hitherto misjudged her, and repaid her gentle 
 ministrations with the dawnings of a real affection. 
 Donna Mabel, to whom Susan had always paid court, 
 nodded triumphantly when her son commented on 
 Susan's kindness. "What have I always told you? 
 She is by far the nicest of the three. She is coming 
 this afternoon with a new book for you and to-morrow 
 or the next day she is sending the victoria for us to 
 have a drive. That will cheer you up." 
 
 Poor Gunning, these cheerless words were often on 
 327
 
 228 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 his mother's lips, but he was made of patient stuff and 
 always accepted them as they were meant. They used 
 to sit in the loggia leading from his room, and then 
 in the afternoon shade, a bowl of ice on the table 
 nearby and flowers in vases, he lay stretched out in a 
 long chair and listened to Susan's musical voice as she 
 read aloud. 
 
 He was very weak for a few days, which was a 
 merciful thing, and at times he almost forgot his sor- 
 row and lay in a kind of mist of restfulness, feeling 
 vaguely that at any minute the mist might roll away 
 and leave him face to face with horrors, but that for 
 the moment he was very comfortable. 
 
 And Donna Mabel, passing restlessly in and out of 
 the loggia, believed that the luminous idea that had 
 come to her about her beloved son and her favorite 
 Susan was as unsuspected by the girl as it was by the 
 man. 
 
 Thus Susan made friends with Gunning and before 
 he went away, looking very thin and taller than ever, 
 she had, she knew, won his confidence as well as his 
 friendship. 
 
 "You will look after my mother, dear Susan," he 
 said as they parted. "I shan't come back here for a 
 long time I shall be very busy." 
 
 "Trust me, Hughie," she replied. "I shall be all 
 alone, you see, for father and Daffy are going to Can- 
 ada, and I will do all I can to cheer Donna Mabel 
 up." 
 
 He smiled at the phrase she had adopted from his 
 mother and shook her hand warmly.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 229 
 
 "Good-bye, my dear, and thanks for all your good- 
 ness to me. I shall never forget it." 
 
 She watched the carriage drive away he had 
 stopped at the villa on purpose to see her and then 
 with a sigh she went into the house. 
 
 Lambe and Daffy were in Naples that day making 
 a few hasty purchases for their suddenly decided 
 journey. Daffy was in a state of almost delirious 
 though perfectly silent joy over the prospect of the 
 summer and autumn in Canada, alone with her beloved 
 father. The two were closer to each other than ever 
 since Sylvia's marriage, for each felt, although they 
 had not discussed it, that they shared the same dis- 
 gust for the beautiful Duchess's behavior. They were 
 both ashamed of her and the feeling somehow drew 
 them closer together. Subconsciously Lambe loved 
 Daffy less as a daughter than if she had been some 
 sympathetic youth bound to him by no troublesome 
 duty ties, but to whom a chance similarity of nature 
 attracted him. 
 
 And when the great idea of her going with him on 
 his aimless roving expedition occurred to him, he sug- 
 gested it to her as he would have done to the hypo- 
 thetical youth. 
 
 "Canada must be a fine country. A change of air 
 wouldn't hurt you, Daffy. Why don't you come with 
 me?" 
 
 And Daffy had agreed as simply. 
 
 Four days after Gunning's departure the Canadian 
 bound travelers left Sorrento and the breathless hush 
 of midsummer fell on the villa.
 
 230 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Lambe had called once on Gunning, but they had 
 not mentioned Sylvia, and Daffy had not gone to 
 Donna Mabel's house at all. 
 
 "Why should poor old Hughie want to see me ?" 
 she returned when the gentle Susan suggested that 
 Donna Mabel might wonder why Daffy did not call. 
 "Besides, I'm ashamed." 
 
 Shortly after, when left alone, Susan invited Donna 
 Mabel to come down and stop with her. 
 
 "We are both lonely," she said, "and it is cooler 
 here than up there. You can have the yellow rooms 
 and I'll try to make you comfortable." 
 
 Donna Mabel jumped at the chance. She was quite 
 contented with her shabby old rooms, but while she 
 could live simply and be satisfied, yet she loved luxury 
 as she loved strong scents. These natures are not un- 
 common, though they are illogical. 
 
 So down she came with the two photographs of her 
 poor Livio, her canaries, her embroidery frame with 
 its apparently hopeless entanglement of silks, her nu- 
 merous shapeless tea-gowns, her favorite books, and 
 her mandolin. 
 
 Susan was indeed very good to her, but Donna 
 Mabel, quite without bitterness, wondered how it was 
 that she was so often alone. 
 
 The long summer drew out its golden length, the 
 neighboring hotels were filled for a time with chat- 
 tering Neapolitans come for the bathing, the beaches 
 were crowded every morning with a shrill-voiced, vol- 
 uble crowd in costumes, many-colored and vivid. 
 
 Most of the villa people went away, so that Susan
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 231 
 
 in her early morning or evening walks rarely met a 
 familiar face except those of the peasants. 
 
 Several yachts anchored under the cliffs ; Neapol- 
 itan singers, in boats trimmed with paper lanterns, 
 stationed themselves under all lighted windows and 
 their crews made the night hideous with "Santa 
 Lucia" and "Addio, mia Bella Napoli." 
 
 Melons were sold in the streets, donkeys wore straw 
 hats with holes for their ears, people slept in the mid- 
 dle of the day and ladies repaired the ravages of the 
 heat with increased toll from their rouge pots. 
 
 Leigh Hunt summed up a hot summer very beauti- 
 fully in two lines that Susan frequently recalled dur- 
 ing those blindingly bright days : 
 
 "When ladies loiter in baths 
 And people make presents of flowers." 
 
 But behind their high walls the two ladies lived in very 
 great comfort. 
 
 Twice letters came from Canada, one rather descrip- 
 tive from Daffy, who evidently, in the joy of words, 
 forgot to whom she was writing. 
 
 "She is mad about pine trees and sunsets," com- 
 mented Susan rather scornfully, "and it all sounds 
 very rough. I should hate living in a tent." 
 
 The other letter was a short note from Lambe di- 
 recting his daughter where to send his letters and 
 adding that they were both very well and enjoying 
 themselves hugely. 
 
 Gunning, on the other hand, wrote often. His let- 
 ters were addressed to his mother, but they were meant
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 for Susan as well, to whom he invariably added, "ray 
 love." 
 
 Parliament was sitting late that year and Gunning 
 was evidently deeply interested in his new duties as a 
 member. He was working very hard "learning the 
 ropes," as he put it, and apparently he found little 
 time for social doings. 
 
 "He will do big things, dear," Susan once said to 
 his mother, who now lived, one may say, in the shadow 
 of her wing. "How proud we shall be." 
 
 Donna Mabel picked at her mandolin and the horrid 
 instrument gave out little disjointed twinges of mel- 
 ody under her fingers. 
 
 "Madame Sylvia will be sorry some day," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 "Poor Sylvia ! She is very happy. It was a clear 
 case of natural selection. They exactly suit each 
 other, so why be grudging?" 
 
 Donna Mabel admired Susan's charitableness as well 
 as her kindness. She herself was one of the women 
 whose natures never grow old. There were times 
 when she quite forgot that she was thirty-two years 
 older than the girl, but Susan's sway, though abso- 
 lute, was benevolent. Only once that summer and 
 autumn did Susan write to Gunning. Her letter, be- 
 ing characteristic, may be quoted: 
 
 "September 20th. 
 "DEAR HUGHIE: 
 
 "Your mother is lying down with a headache, so I 
 am writing for her to thank you for the books and
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 the silks. Will you please go to Heads and buy three 
 more skeins like this sample I enclose? There is no 
 news except that father and Daffy are going to 
 Japan. They are both well and seem to be having a 
 very good time. 
 
 "Your mother and I are living the life of nuns, but 
 we enjoy it. It is so nice for me to have her, and I 
 think she is quite happy as happy as she can be 
 while you are away. Are you not coming for Christ- 
 mas ? I wish you could, for I am to be away. Sylvia 
 is not very well and I am going to her. I haven't told 
 your mother yet, but I feel that I ought to go. Do 
 say you can come to her if only for a few days, and 
 then she will not so mind my going. 
 
 "We read every word of your two speeches but 
 she will have written you that. Glad you are resting. 
 Sorry to see by the papers that Scotland is having so 
 much rain. 
 
 "Well, I'm being very dull, so I'll say good-bye. 
 "Always yours affectionately, 
 
 "SUSAN LAMBE." 
 
 Naturally enough, Gunning was impressed by the 
 spirit of unselfishness breathing in this communica- 
 tion and his answer to it was full of gratitude and 
 affection. 
 
 A few days before Christmas Susan accompanied 
 Donna Mabel back up the hill and settled her com- 
 fortably in her own house and the day before Gunning 
 came the girl left for Rome.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 "FT^HERE'S the motor surely ! Look out, 
 Susan, and see !" 
 
 Lady Corisande sat by the fireplace, 
 which was filled with maiden-hair ferns, 
 and absently held her hands to them as if they had 
 been flames and she cold. 
 
 Susan went out into the tiny balcony and leaning 
 over it looked down into the square. 
 
 It was eight o'clock in the evening and people were 
 arriving at the neighboring houses for dinner, so that 
 the usually quiet place was full of vehicles, chiefly 
 private motor-cars. 
 
 "No, Aunt Corisande, it's some very gorgeous dame 
 arriving at the Wellbrooks." 
 
 "Oh, dear, where can they be? I said half -past 
 eight, meaning nine, on purpose to give them a little 
 leeway. The train was due at seven." 
 
 Susan, who looked extremely handsome in her tight 
 black gown, came back from the window with a laugh. 
 
 "That doesn't matter when it's father. I mean, 
 there are a million queer mishaps that could happen 
 to no one else, but which could easily happen to him. 
 And as to Daffy, she is the unluckiest person in the 
 world. Probably," she added, sitting down, "they 
 have forgotten the address !" 
 
 234
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 235 
 
 Lady Corisande uttered a little cry of horror. 
 "Oh, no ! Surely, not even they could do that." 
 
 "They may have forgotten their luggage left it 
 on the wharf or something. Ah, there's our bell." 
 
 The Bishop and his wife had been bidden to wel- 
 come the travelers home and they arrived promptly. 
 A little later Fred Peplow came sauntering in, much 
 amused by the characteristic non-appearance of Chris- 
 topher Lambe and his youngest girl. 
 
 "They're to stop here, are they not?" he asked his 
 wife. 
 
 "No. He cabled they were going to the Ritz. What 
 an idiot I am," she added, "we can telephone there and 
 see if they have come. Antoine will leave if his dinner 
 is spoilt, and then I should die. Susan, will you tele- 
 phone?" 
 
 Susan left the room. 
 
 The Bishop, whose handsome head was now of a 
 reverend silvery hue, stood by the window. The world 
 had gone well with him, and his wife was as satisfac- 
 tory as most wives who came under his notice, although 
 he had a suspicion that she sometimes chuckled a little 
 to herself over some of his professional platitudes. A 
 handsome man, the Bishop, and probably deserving of 
 his reputation for being the best dressed cleric in Eng- 
 land. 
 
 "I am glad little Daffy is coming back," he said 
 while they waited for Susan's report from the Ritz. 
 "A nice child, Daffy. She will be glad to have her 
 share of the delights of London, too, after all this 
 wandering. A strange idea of Kit's, taking a bit of
 
 236 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 a girl to rough it in Canada. Well, Susan," he 
 broke off blandly only exceptionally lucky clergy- 
 men ever escape the taint of blandness "what 
 news?" 
 
 "They have arrived, but it seems father got mixed 
 and cabled the Ritz in Paris for rooms, so there was 
 some difficulty in finding an apartment for them. Aunt 
 Corisande, father says, his love to you, and please not 
 to wait dinner. They will come as soon as they can 
 get their clothes unpacked." 
 
 Accordingly, the fish in its beautiful green-bedded 
 entirety was a thing of the past when Mr. and Miss 
 Lambe were ushered into the dining-room. They 
 looked, these two small, bright-eyed, sunbrowned peo- 
 ple, almost like foreigners amid the group of large, 
 fair, typical Britons. Daffy was kissed by every one 
 and Lambe's hand grasped warmly. There was what 
 might have been termed an orderly hubbub for a few 
 minutes, and then every one sat down and dinner 
 went on. 
 
 Daffy looked curiously at Susan, whose looks had 
 much improved. 
 
 "You're nearly as good-looking as Sylvia, Susan," 
 she said abruptly. "I like your hair like that." 
 
 It was characteristic of her that, though she did not 
 like her sister, it never occurred to her to withhold 
 from her the praise that she honestly deserved. 
 
 Susan laughed. "Very glad, I'm sure. You look 
 well, Daffy." 
 
 "Daffy's always well," put in her father, beaming 
 at her across the table, "she's the best traveler in the
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 237 
 
 world, too. You've plenty of interesting tilings to tell 
 Susan, haven't you?" 
 
 "Oh, they wouldn't interest girls," objected Daffy, 
 as if she herself were a boy. Every one laughed. 
 
 "Are you glad you are going to balls, Daffy?" It 
 was Aunt Corisande who spoke. 
 
 "Yes, Aunt Corisande, thank you. I want to go to 
 the House and hear Hughie Gunning make a speech." 
 
 Susan laughed. "Precious little you'd understand 
 of it, I can tell you. It was Greek to me at first, and 
 even now I don't always know what they're at." 
 
 "So you've become a political woman, Susan?" 
 asked her father. 
 
 Fred Peplow set down his glass and wiped his little 
 upturned mustache. 
 
 "Susan is the wonder of the world," he explained, 
 "she knows more about politics than any woman ever 
 born. She's going to be the first She Prime Minis- 
 ter!" 
 
 Daffy watched her sister curiously and the old feel- 
 ing came over her. "Susan is up to something." Daffy 
 was not at all observant in the usual sense of the word, 
 but the instinct against danger was as strong as it is 
 in some helpless little animals. This faculty had had 
 occasion to win her own respect during her two years' 
 trials, and although Lambe called it by the unromantic 
 name of Daffy's rat-smelling, he too believed in it. 
 
 And as Daffy watched her sister in one of the rumi- 
 native and unexplained silences that had become a 
 very marked characteristic of hers, her father chanced 
 to notice her face. A minute later their glances met,
 
 238 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 and as Lambe's eyebrows climbed expressively upward 
 toward his receding hair, she gave a short nod. There 
 was, one could see, very great confidence between 
 them. 
 
 Lady Corisande was meantime very busy giving her 
 brother-in-law a resume of the delights in store for his 
 youngest daughter during the month she was to be in 
 lown. 
 
 "It's a very gay season," she explained, with her 
 kind, broad smile, "so many people have debutante 
 girls there is nearly a glut of balls. Of course you 
 dance, Daffy?" 
 
 But Daffy explained, unashamed, that she did not, 
 owing to a habit of invariably falling down. "My 
 feet seem to catch," she went on, with an amiable de- 
 sire to make this point clear to her aunt. 
 
 "Oh, dear, that is -very bad. You might have some 
 lessons or, well, I don't know, a girl who doesn't 
 dance would be rather striking." 
 
 The Bishop inquired whether Daffy played or sang. 
 Again she shook her bushy black head. "Yes, I play 
 rather well technically, I mean, but it doesn't go be- 
 yond my fingers. I am quite unmusical, and I can 
 shoot," she declared, without the least intention of 
 being funny. 
 
 "Of course, every hostess will at once have a shoot- 
 ing gallery installed in her back drawing room," 
 laughed Fred Peplow. 
 
 Susan made no disagreeable remarks. Indeed, she 
 declared that it was a relief to find a girl who "did" 
 nothing. "And Daffy looks utterly unlike other girls,
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 239 
 
 Aunt Corisande," she added in a pleasant voice, "that 
 is something." 
 
 Later in the evening, while the two girls chatted 
 together in Susan's room, whither she had taken her 
 sister to have a stitch put into a stepped-upon hem, 
 Susan said, "I am glad you have come back, Daff." 
 
 "Are you? Why?" Her dark eyes stared hard at 
 Susan. They were very attractive eyes, with a funny 
 little pucker, later to become a wrinkle, between the 
 brows. 
 
 Susan laughed. "You funny child! Well, because 
 I am, I suppose. After all, we are sisters." 
 
 "Poof!" returned Daffy, as the maid bit off the cot- 
 ton and rose from her knees, "that never made any 
 difference." 
 
 She spoke without resentment, but her voice was 
 rather final. 
 
 When they were alone Susan came to her and put 
 one hand on her shoulder. 
 
 "I know what you mean of course I do. I wasn't 
 nice to you and it was horrid of me, but you'll find 
 me nicer now, I think." 
 
 Daffy stirred uncomfortably under her hand. 
 
 "Oh, it's all right, Susan it didn't matter. Oh, I 
 say," she broke off, with a little dash to the dressing- 
 table, "here's Hughie ! What a ripping picture ! But 
 how old he looks." 
 
 Susan smiled. "Yes, of course, he looks old to you. 
 He is nearly thirty-four, you see." 
 
 "Did he give you this? I want one, too." 
 
 "Of course he gave it to me. We are great friends,"
 
 240 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 answered Susan quietly. "He is coming in to-night 
 for a few minutes, so you will see him." 
 
 Daffy beamed as her father sometimes beamed. 
 Then she suddenly grew grave. "Susan he is all 
 right?" she asked, almost in a whisper. "I mean to 
 say he has got over it?" 
 
 Susan took up a comb and loosened her hair at 
 one side. 
 
 "Jeanne is the worst hair-dresser. Oh, got over 
 Sylvia, you mean? Of course he has, my dear. Men 
 don't break their hearts nowadays." 
 
 "Well, I didn't know. He was awful bad at first." 
 
 "You didn't see him after the scene so how can 
 you tell how bad he was ? Come along, let's go down- 
 stairs." 
 
 Daffy followed her in silence. It was not for her to 
 tell of the burying of the bridal bouquet. 
 
 Gunning had come in while they were upstairs and 
 stood by the window talking to Lambe. Susan watched 
 their meeting. Daffy, who ten years before would 
 have marched sedately up to greet him, had learned a 
 more grown-up liveliness of demeanor, and dashed at 
 him joyfully. 
 
 "Oh, Hughie, how are you?" 
 
 He took her hands and smiled down at her. "My 
 dear Daffy, I am glad to see you !" 
 
 Then her smile died away, leaving her face stamped 
 with the expression of weary age that had been its 
 strange attribute when she was a wee child. She was 
 thinking, he knew, of their last meeting, and his face, 
 too, grew grave.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 241 
 
 There was a short pause, and then she asked him 
 how his mother was. 
 
 A moment later he drifted away from her and sat 
 down near Susan with the air of one doing what 
 through custom has become nearly an instinct. Lambe 
 put his arm round Daffy and drew her out on the bal- 
 cony. 
 
 "Do you like it?" he whispered. 
 
 "Not much do you?" 
 
 For answer he made an awful face. "We'll go soon 
 tired after our journey." 
 
 Refreshed by this brief talk they went back into 
 the drawing room and presently Lambe asked Susan 
 to play. 
 
 Stripping her delicate fingers of her rings, she sat 
 down at the piano and turned off all the lights but a 
 distant shaded one. 
 
 "What shall I play, Hughie?" she asked. 
 
 Gunning folded his arms and leaned comfortably 
 back in his chair. 
 
 "Schumann," he answered. 
 
 Susan Lambe could never be accused of burying her 
 talents. She had developed her musical gift in an 
 astonishing way and now possessed a technique equal 
 to that of many professionals. Yet her technique was 
 never over-conspicuous and she had attained a mas- 
 terly simplicity of style. That evening she played, 
 she felt, even almost better than ever. 
 
 She was, for one reason, extremely happy. The 
 end of her plotting and struggling seemed now close 
 at hand, and when once her end was gained there was
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 to be an end to all the schemes and deceits that had 
 been necessary to gaining it. 
 
 Forgetting that the habit of deceit is of all habits 
 the most nearly impossible to shake off, she saw her- 
 self as she played as the simple, frank, happy woman 
 Hugh Gunning deserved for a wife. Never for a mo- 
 ment had she underrated his uncompromising honesty, 
 and she felt to the depths of her soul that she, as she 
 now was, was unworthy of him. 
 
 Her mistake was in believing that she could change 
 after the plotting of the last two years and become 
 what he believed her to be. 
 
 "Poor little Daffy," she dreamed in the fragrant 
 dusk, while the piano sang under her touch, "I will be 
 very kind to her, and she must marry some nice man 
 and never have to go through what 7 have had to. 
 He likes her, too, and I can have her come to stop 
 with us. She is almost pretty now, her little head is 
 beautifully shaped, and her nose is better than either 
 Sylvia's or mine." 
 
 And Daffy, ashamed of herself for the thought and 
 really touched by Susan's change of manner and her 
 tardy apology, sat with her eyes closed as the music 
 swept unappreciated past her unworthy ears, and 
 again wondered what Susan was up to.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 Y the time that the month was over and the 
 day for their leaving London approached, 
 Daffy had come to the conclusion that what- 
 ever Susan might be up to there was not the 
 slightest use in her, Daffy's, trying to discover what 
 it was. 
 
 Susan was consistently kind to her, took her to see 
 pictures and flowers, arranged to have her meet cer- 
 tain minor celebrities admired from afar by her sister 
 in a word, Susan was perfection in her manner. And 
 Daffy was grateful, but at the same time she won- 
 dered. 
 
 At balls Daffy was a dire failure. Not dancing 
 and not beautiful, she was not even tall enough to be 
 seen in a crowd, and as she was miserably uncomfort- 
 able in a crowd, Aunt Corisande after three trials 
 agreed with her that she might as well give up that 
 particular form of amusement. 
 
 So Daffy confined herself in the future to dinner 
 parties, which she loved and at which, quite unexpect- 
 edly to her aunt, she achieved a modest success almost 
 at once. 
 
 "Miss Lambe is charming," a very important old 
 Duchess growled affably to Lady Corisande, "ex- 
 tremely handsome, and, my son-in-}aw tells me y is un- 
 
 243
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 usually well informed for a young woman, but the 
 little one is very amusing. Very like her father, too, 
 isn't she, and the other is all Pember." 
 
 Daffy's amusingness consisted chiefly in the blunt 
 opinions she offered on any subject that chanced to 
 come up and in the absurd blunders she made, always 
 without hurting any one in any way; she herself did 
 not suspect her own possession of it and was humble 
 about her social gifts. 
 
 "Awfully good of Mrs. So-and-So to ask me," she 
 often said, "if I were in her place I wouldn't invite 
 Daphne Lambe to my parties." 
 
 Her father was amused by her modest popularity 
 and Susan was sincerely delighted. 
 
 Daffy had brought Paris clothes, which had cost a 
 fortune, from New York, so her time was her own, 
 with no toll to pay to dressmakers. 
 
 The month was delightful, but the night before she 
 was to leave town, Daffy confided to Hugh Gunning 
 that she was glad it was over. 
 
 "I shall be delighted to get back to the dear villa," 
 she added. 
 
 They had dined tete-a-tete at Lady Corisande's, 
 for even Susan had been obliged to keep an old en- 
 gagement, and were now sitting in the drawing room 
 listening to the rain pattering down on the balcony 
 outside the wide-open windows. 
 
 Gunning nodded. "I know. One gets awfully sick 
 of all this. Without my work I shouldn't have been 
 able to stand it for a week. But, Daffy how about 
 young Macclesfield?"
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 245 
 
 Daffy looked at him calmly. "Mr. Macclesfield? 
 Yes, what about him?" 
 
 The oval of her face was really very pretty and the 
 youthful smoothness of her pale cheeks had a certain 
 charm of its own. Gunning looked at her with a new 
 interest. It was strange to him that she, far more 
 than the beautiful Susan, reminded him at times of 
 Sylvia. Something in the way she moved her little 
 upper lip, he thought it was or was it an occasional 
 movement of her head? 
 
 "I thought," he said, suddenly a little embarrassed, 
 as she repeated her question about Mr. Macclesfield, 
 "I thought you liked him ?" 
 
 "I do. What has that to do with my going to 
 Italy?" 
 
 She knew perfectly well what he meant, he saw, but 
 she refused to be led on. 
 
 "I thought you were perhaps going to marry him," 
 he said simply, and her face cleared. 
 
 "I'm not," she answered, as simply. 
 
 "Daffy do you remember what a little fibber you 
 used to be?" 
 
 "I was a nasty little liar till till that night" 
 she broke off short as the memory of the night in 
 question, the night of the day when Gunning had 
 asked Sylvia to marry him, rushed over her. 
 
 There was a short pause, and then she went on, "I 
 am so glad you said what you did. You see, I was 
 lonely in a way; Sylvia and Susan were always to- 
 gether and that threw me on my own resources. Be- 
 sides, I think it is very easy for a coward to be a liar
 
 246 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 as well." Her hands folded together on her lap, she 
 sat quite still, gazing out into the wet night. 
 
 "But you aren't a coward now, Daffy, surely?" 
 
 "Oh, ain't I? I just am, though, Hughie. I don't 
 suppose I'll ever be brave I mean fearless. There's 
 a difference in the meaning of the two words, don't 
 you think?" 
 
 "Yes I dare say there is," he answered, but he 
 hesitated, for the differentiation had in truth never 
 occurred to him before. 
 
 "But, Hughie you aren't afraid of, say cows. 
 Well, I am. Now, if you walked through a drove of 
 cows you would be fearless, but not brave, and it al- 
 ways comforts me to think that if / walk through a 
 drove of cows, frightened to death as I always am, I 
 am brave, because in spite of being afraid, I go. 
 Don't you see?" 
 
 Her little face was very eager as she explained and 
 he was touched. 
 
 "Of course I see, dear. And you are quite right. 
 I was frightened to death, for instance, when I first 
 spoke in the House, so I know what it is. But it sim- 
 plifies life to be fearless. I should say Susan was, 
 quite; shouldn't you?" 
 
 "Yes. But Susan would be brave even if she was 
 afraid. She was always brave. Sylvia was " She 
 broke off. 
 
 Gunning took out his cigarette case. "I may 
 smoke?"- After a pause he went on, looking at the 
 floor, "You needn't avoid speaking to me about Sylvia, 
 Daffy."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 247 
 
 "Needn't I, Hughie? I thought- 
 
 "I know. You thought it would hurt me. Well, it 
 doesn't, my dear." 
 
 "All right," she answered simply, "I'm glad." 
 
 "You see," he went on, "I never forget her. She 
 she is something to me that no one else can ever 
 be. I think of her every day of my life, and I still 
 have her picture in my watch." 
 
 As he spoke he opened the back of his watch and 
 handed it to her. In silence she looked at the little 
 head of her sister. 
 
 "Pretty, isn't it?" he asked. "I wonder if you 
 know I saw her a year ago? No, ten months, it was." 
 
 Daffy stared. "Did you? No, I never heard. 
 Where?" 
 
 "At her home near Rome. My mother was there 
 for Christmas with our Ambassador, who is her cousin, 
 and I went down to see her. I wrote and asked Sylvia 
 if I might come and call and Ginestra answered the 
 letter, asking me to come and stop. So I went. I 
 was there three days." 
 
 "Was it nice?" asked Daffy breathlessly. 
 
 "Delightful. A beautiful old place, and he is a 
 very nice fellow. They are as happy as possible and 
 the little boy was even then quite beautiful." 
 
 "Is Sylvia as lovely as ever?" 
 
 "Lovelier," he answered steadily, "and not one bit 
 changed. She still drops off to sleep on the slightest 
 occasion, and he watches her just as he did years ago, 
 that day on the boat till she wakes up." 
 
 Daffy nodded. "I am glad. I am to go and visit
 
 248 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 her some time. I shall love the baby. Does Susan 
 spend much time there?" 
 
 "No. She is usually with my mother they are 
 very fond of each other. But she comes very often 
 to stop here. Lady Corisande is fond of her, too." 
 
 "Hughie." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I want your photograph one like Susan's. Will 
 you give it to me?" 
 
 He laughed. "Of course I will, you funny child. 
 But why should you want a picture of my plain face ?" 
 
 Daffy reflected. "I don't know," she returned hon- 
 estly. "Why should Susan?" 
 
 This remark made him pause. "Susan? Well, yes. 
 I don't know only Susan and I are very great 
 friends. I see a lot of her while she's in town, and 
 then at the villa, of course." 
 
 But he sent the photograph the next day and Daffy 
 locked it in her letter-case. 
 
 Gunning, for his part, thought a great deal about 
 her in the next few months. She pleased him very 
 much, in a perfectly unemotional way, and her fugi- 
 tive resemblance to Sylvia had a great charm for 
 him. 
 
 Perhaps it was because she had so long been ab- 
 sent and that during her absence she had done the un- 
 definable thing, "grown-up," but he felt remotely that 
 she was less of a sister to him than Susan was. He 
 could not read her thoughts as he imagined he could 
 read the older girl's, and often he caught himself 
 wondering what she had been pondering on some past
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 249 
 
 occasions while she sat straight and prim and silent 
 among talking people. 
 
 It added a distinct pleasure to his anticipation of 
 his next visit to Sorrento to think that Daffy would 
 be there. 
 
 Meantime Susan worked quietly on, her eyes on one 
 fixed point ahead. And when the time came for her to 
 go to Sylvia's before settling at Sorrento for the win- 
 ter, and Gunning had said nothing to her, still her 
 patience was not exhausted. 
 
 He would miss her during her absence and in the 
 pleasure of seeing her again at the villa it would 
 surely come.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 YOUNG Mr. Macclesfield proved the means of 
 bringing about Hugh Gunning's deciding 
 to marry. It happened in September, when 
 Gunning was just on the point of starting 
 back to England, and it happened, like most momen- 
 tous things, quite simply. 
 
 One morning just before luncheon a note was 
 brought for Lambe from the Tramontana, and when 
 he had read it he sat down and wrote an answer. Then 
 he turned to Gunning, who was sitting near him read- 
 ing his letters, which had just come. 
 
 "Daffy's admirer has turned up, it appears. He is 
 at the hotel and wishes to know when he may call. I've 
 told him to come to lunch." 
 
 Gunning looked up. "Ah, young Macclesfield? A 
 nice boy." 
 
 "Very nice. I think Corisande had views regarding 
 him." 
 
 "I think he had views regarding himself." 
 
 "I dare say. Daffy won't marry him, however." 
 
 The two men were silent for a moment, and then 
 Lambe went on in an innocent tone, "She isn't the 
 marrying kind, but I've often wondered why Susan 
 hasn't found some one to her liking." 
 
 "She is unusually clever, for one thing. I dare 
 say lots of men would be afraid of her." 
 
 250
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 251 
 
 "Yes, the empty-headed type would, of course, but 
 there are clever men, and she would be a good wife 
 to some one who needed a brilliant, managing 
 one." 
 
 "She would, indeed," Gunning agreed uncon- 
 sciously. "There was Drayton-Gore, for instance, he 
 was very much taken with her, but she wouldn't look 
 at him really almost uncivil once or twice." 
 
 Lambe was silent for several minutes and then he 
 said calmly, "Why don't you marry her, Hughie?" 
 
 "Me? I?" Gunning's amazement was laughable. 
 "Good heavens ! Susan wouldn't look at me." 
 
 "Are you quite sure?" 
 
 "Why of course what an idea !" But the 
 younger man rose and walked restlessly toward the 
 window, an uneasy look on his face. 
 
 Lambe watched him. "I am very fond of you, Gun- 
 ning," he resumed, without getting up, "and I should 
 like to have you for a son-in-law. It seems to me that 
 Susan likes you better than any one, although I, of 
 course, know nothing about her feelings. You and 
 she are certainly good friends, and well, there you 
 are. You would never have thought of it, so I have 
 outraged the social code by proposing to you for my 
 daughter !" 
 
 Gunning turned. "I needn't tell you how fond I 
 am of your daughter," he began, but at that moment 
 Susan herself came into the room. 
 
 "Young Macclesfield has come," she said, "and 
 Daffy turned perfectly scarlet when she saw him! 
 They are in the garden now."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "I know he wrote from Tramontana's to ask if he 
 might call. Daffy shan't marry him, though !" 
 
 Susan smiled, and there was real sweetness in her 
 smile. Her own happiness she believed to be within a 
 stone's throw, so she was full of good will. 
 
 "Dear father, you know quite well that Daffy will 
 marry whomever she chooses to marry! And, after 
 all, why not this boy, who is extremely nice and is heir 
 to a really old baronetcy ? Aunt Corisande was greatly 
 pleased when he seemed to like her " 
 
 "Seemed to like your Aunt Corisande !" Lambe was 
 ill at ease and his little joke was made to conceal it, 
 but it answered the purpose as a stop-gap, for as he 
 spoke the gong sounded for lunch and the strain was 
 relieved. 
 
 Lambe studied Daffy's face with something like 
 jealousy. He did not want her to marry young Mac- 
 clesfield, nice as the boy was he did not want her to 
 marry any one. He loved her and he wanted her to 
 stay with him. And Daffy was evidently very glad 
 to see the young man. 
 
 He had come straight from Derbyshire, where the 
 Peplow's country house was, and it had been full of 
 people she knew, about most of whom there was some 
 item of news to be given. 
 
 "And Cicely Long?" 
 
 "Oh, she's going to write to you herself, I'd better 
 not tell you!" returned Macclesfield. But Daffy 
 begged him, her face aglow with interest. 
 
 "Ah, do tell me, please, Mr. Macclesfield ! I'm sure 
 I can guess, anyhow. She's engaged !"
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 253 
 
 His laugh confirmed her in her opinion. 
 
 "I knew it ! But to which?" 
 
 Lambe laughed in his turn. "Was the young lady 
 undecided?" he asked, helping himself to Strangle- 
 priest, a giant macaroni. "Flattering for the one she 
 has ultimately decided to honor." 
 
 Daffy nodded. "There were three. All mad about 
 her. She's awfully pretty, isn't she, Mr. Macclesfield? 
 Well, I am sure it's Captain Lestrange." 
 
 "Wrong." 
 
 "Mr. Waring?" 
 
 "Wrong again." 
 
 Daffy stared. "Then it must be that little Graf 
 Liittwitz. And how she used to laugh at him !" 
 
 Macclesfield shook his head again. 
 
 "Wrong again. It's a parson chap, just down 
 from Oxford. Dolland or Bolland, I forget his 
 name." 
 
 Daffy laid down her fork. "Mr. Gilland! I can't 
 believe it. He has the most enormous Adam's apple ; 
 he was at dinner there once, and he had a horrible cold 
 and sniffed all the time !" 
 
 "He may have got over his cold now," suggested 
 Susan gently. "Cicely will be a dear little parson's 
 wife." 
 
 "At least say a parson's dear little wife; Mr. Gil- 
 land is eight feet tall at the very least," declared 
 Daffy. 
 
 "Let's hope she likes giants, then. When did you 
 leave England, Mr. Macclesfield?" Susan was always 
 very polite, and Macclesfield greatly admired hei%
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 While they were talking, Gunning watched Daffy, 
 who sat on his left. 
 
 "You are a wicked minx," he murmured to her, be- 
 hind his claret glass. 
 
 "Me? Why?" 
 
 "Poor youth, to let him come all the way out here. 
 I blush for you," he went on. 
 
 Now Daffy, the plain one, was the only one of the 
 three girls who was in the least a flirt. Her con- 
 science had hitherto been quite clear regarding Mac- 
 clesfield, for she had felt from the first that he had a 
 proposal in store for her, but he had come down here 
 without asking her permission, and the moment had 
 come when the eternal mousing instinct was strong 
 with her. 
 
 So she interrupted what he was saying to Susan, 
 and by a look and a smile reduced him to silent, mis- 
 erable hope ! 
 
 After lunch they went into the grotto by the 
 library and then he lingered on after coffee as it had 
 begun to rain. 
 
 Presently Susan rose. "Shall we go into the draw- 
 ing room, Hughie? That new music has come, the 
 Sinding thing is magnificent." 
 
 When they were in the corridor, she added with an 
 indulgent laugh, "I thought we might as well give the 
 poor boy a chance." 
 
 Gunning laughed. "She's teasing him," he said. 
 "She is a little brute!" 
 
 Susan played for an hour and Gunning sat in a 
 comfortable chair with his eyes shut. Any one looking
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 255 
 
 in unseen would have thought the little scene a very 
 domestic one, and the thought struck Susan, as it had 
 many times before struck her. He was going back to 
 England the next day but one, and she asked herself, 
 with a rare touch of impatience, whether she should 
 after all have to do the asking! 
 
 When they were apart he missed her, so much she 
 knew, for he had often told her ; and he depended on 
 her in quite a number of ways. They were the best 
 of friends and she counted on this, for she knew quite 
 well that he did not love her. 
 
 Presently he rose and went to the window. The 
 rain had stopped and the sun was coming out. Daffy 
 and her admirer had just come out of the front door 
 and stood in the gravel sweep looking up at the sky. 
 
 "I think we'll go to the Cascade Garden," she said, 
 as Gunning came within earshot, "it will be quite dry 
 there." 
 
 Gunning came back toward the piano. 
 
 "Thanks so much, Susan," he said with a certain 
 constraint in his manner. "It is beautiful stuff. And 
 now, if you will excuse me, I will go and speak to your 
 father." 
 
 "Of course, Hughie." 
 
 He went to the library where Lambe was still 
 smoking. 
 
 "Mr. Lambe," he said hurriedly, "if I can persuade 
 Daffy to marry me, will you give her to me?" 
 
 "Daffy? Well, I'm damned!" 
 
 "I It's very sudden, I didn't know till to-day that 
 I wanted to marry her, but I do."
 
 256 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Lambe gave a forlorn little laugh. "Of course I'll 
 say yes, if she does, but " 
 
 "Thank you, sir." 
 
 It was the first time since Sylvia's marriage that 
 he had ever called Lambe "sir," and the older man felt 
 that it was an epoch-making episode. Then Gunning 
 left him.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 " ^| "V AFFY, come for a walk with me?" 
 
 Daffy looked up from the large bunch of 
 
 ^ j grapes she was eating in the shade of the 
 pergola. 
 
 "Why not sit here, it's pretty warm for walking." 
 
 "I'd rather walk, if you don't mind. It's fairly cool 
 on the Cascade Terrace." 
 
 "All right." 
 
 She rose, and they sauntered through the pergola 
 and off across the lawn, through the gate in the wall. 
 
 It was not really very warm, and Gunning thought 
 that she had made the comparative heat of seven 
 o'clock an excuse for avoiding something she did not 
 wish to do. 
 
 "Mr. Macclesfield gone away ?" he asked presently, 
 looking down at the sedate little figure. 
 
 She nodded. "Yes." 
 
 "A nice boy, Daffy." 
 
 "Ugh, that's what they all say. As if it made a bit 
 of difference !" 
 
 Even in his preoccupation he laughed. "But surely 
 it ought to make some difference? If I were going to 
 ask you to marry me, I should expect my recognized 
 'niceness' to have some weight with you !" 
 
 "Well, it wouldn't, then:" 
 257
 
 258 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Then you'd refuse me without even reflecting !" he 
 went on, feeling his way. She looked absurdly young 
 and immature as she stood still beside the tall, up- 
 springing figure of the Diana. 
 
 "No, I shouldn't, Hughie," she answered, taking his 
 hypothesis quite seriously as a matter for thought, 
 but he knew, not dreaming that he was in earnest. "I 
 should accept you without even reflecting." 
 
 They walked on and after a minute he said, half 
 vexed, half pleased by her unconsciousness, "Do you 
 remember the last time we met before you went to 
 Canada?" 
 
 They had reached the Memorial Stone, and she 
 laid her hand on it. 
 
 "Do I remember? Of course I do. You were very 
 ill that night, Hughie, and oh, I was so frightened." 
 
 "Yes, I was ill," he answered thoughtfully. "I 
 wonder if the remains of the bouquet are still there." 
 He poked in the sandy soil with his stick and then 
 knelt down. "I buried it very deep, I remember, in the 
 tin box it was sent in." 
 
 "Poor Hughie!" 
 
 "Here it is. Shall we have a look at it, Daffy?" 
 
 But Daffy was shy of emotional things, and she 
 hesitated. He looked up, the tin box, half uncovered, 
 at his knees. 
 
 "Won't you even look at it?" he asked ruefully, 
 and she at once assented. 
 
 "Of course, if you really wish me to." 
 
 He dragged the box out of its resting place, dusted 
 it with his handkerchief and opened it.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 259 
 
 A brown and piteous object was the bridal bouquet 
 of two years ago, but even now the dried lilies-of-the- 
 valley were recognizable, and in the middle a leaf or 
 two gleamed green. 
 
 Gunning looked at the poor thing sadly. "It's like 
 my my powers of of loving," he said in a voice that 
 was suddenly harsh with pain. "I I buried more 
 than flowers here, Daffy." What a fool he had been, 
 he thought, to dream that he could ever get over his 
 old feeling for Sylvia! There was a physical pain 
 near his heart as he rose, the bouquet still in his hand. 
 
 "Poor Hughie," Daffy repeated, touching the with- 
 ered flowers gently. "Why did you dig them up? 
 Put them back in the box and we'll bury it again." 
 
 There was genuine pity in her voice and face, but 
 it was the pity of a child for some incomprehensible, 
 grown-up grief. 
 
 "Don't be silly, Daffy," he cried, impatient not of 
 her words but of her youthfulness. He had spoken 
 sharply to her on more than one occasion, and several 
 times in her life he had seriously admonished her. But 
 this was the first time his voice had been devoid of the 
 tenderness due to a child ; he spoke to her as to a fool- 
 ish woman, and it hurt. 
 
 Her upper lip drew up in the middle and gave a 
 little quiver. 
 
 Gunning's heart jumped. She was so like Sylvia 
 at that moment. It hurt him, as it always had done, 
 but it was a luxurious kind of hurt. 
 
 "Daffy, listen to me," he said, taking her hand. 
 I am sorry I was cross. You don't understand, 
 
 ..
 
 260 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 quite. You know how much I loved Sylvia, and, young 
 as you are, you must realize that no man on earth can 
 care like that twice" 
 
 "Of course he couldn't. Oh, Hughie, I hate to have 
 you be unhappy," she interrupted hurriedly, "but I 
 do appreciate your never forgetting her. It is a pity 
 and yet, I like it, somehow." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know, dear. But what I want to say 
 to you is this : I never can love any one as much, or in 
 the same way again, but I am so very fond of you; 
 I wonder if you could marry me?" 
 
 Daffy stared at him until her eyes grew strained- 
 looking. 
 
 "I marry you? But Hughie, why on earth should 
 you want to marry me ?" 
 
 "But I do want to, dear. And well, could you?" 
 
 "Of course I could, Hughie. I suppose I must 
 marry some day, and I'd far rather it were you than 
 any one else. If you're quite sure?" 
 
 She was portentously serious. Her little lip still 
 quivered. His heart smote him. What right had he 
 to take advantage of her ignorance, of her childish 
 affection for him? 
 
 Then his eyes fell on the tiny cluster of still glossy 
 green leaves in the ruin of the bouquet. 
 
 "Look here, Daffy," he said, pulling them out. 
 "This is a bit of myrtle; I brought the plant back 
 with me from Germany nine years ago, and kept it 
 growing all that time, so that I should have a sprig 
 for Sylvia's bouquet. It means fidelity. Well, the 
 rest of the bouquet has gone, but this bit of fidelity is
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 261 
 
 still green. Some things have gone from from my 
 heart, dear, because I was too badly hurt, and because 
 I had loved her for so long. But perhaps there is 
 still a bit of green left in it somewhere. Daffy, I be- 
 lieve there is, dear. Will you risk it?" 
 
 She took the sprig of myrtle and put its stem 
 through two holes of embroidery in her blouse. 
 
 "Why, Hughie, of course I will. Only I don't think 
 it's a risk at all, with you. Do you know I've been 
 dreading marrying ever since an American boy in 
 Japan asked me to marry him. And now it won't be 
 awful at all !" 
 
 "Thank you, my dear. I will try my best lo make 
 you happy." 
 
 "Of course I shall be happy! And father will be 
 perfectly delighted, I know he will. He said in Lon- 
 don that he wished you'd marry Susan, but I never 
 had any hopes of that." 
 
 "No, Susan and I are very good friends, but we 
 neither of us could " 
 
 "I told him that. You're too good friends," she 
 agreed, proud of her penetration. 
 
 Before she went back to the villa, Daffy knelt and 
 buried the tin box with its handful of withered leaves, 
 but the myrtle she left in her breast. 
 
 Christopher Lambe was delighted and consented to 
 a short engagement. 
 
 "I wish it were Susan," he said, while Daffy sat on 
 his knee with her arms round his neck. "Then I 
 might have kept my 'boy' here, a little longer. But 
 she's the dearest thing I have in the world, Hughie,
 
 262 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 and I'm glad to give her into your hands. As for 
 you she's worth ten Sylvias and Susans." 
 
 As for Susan, they found her in her own sitting- 
 room writing letters. 
 
 "Susan," Daffy cried from the doorway, "we have 
 news for you !" 
 
 And Susan Lambe had one second in which to ar- 
 range her facial expression before she had to rise and 
 face them. 
 
 "News?" she asked quietly. 
 
 "Guess !" 
 
 "Well from your faces I should say surely, 
 Hughie, you aren't going to marry that baby !" 
 
 It was admirably done, the good-natured banter ap- 
 peared to them both to cover only good-will and 
 friendly interest. 
 
 "I am, Susan. But the wonderful thing is that 
 'that baby' has been able to make up her mind to 
 marry an old man like me, when she might have had 
 young Macclesfield !" 
 
 Daffy darted an angry glance at him. 
 
 "You have no right to say I might have married 
 Mr. Macclesfield, Hughie. I'm sure he didn't tell you 
 so, and I didn't either." 
 
 Susan laughed. "Now run away, you two dear peo- 
 ple, and finish your first quarrel downstairs, if you 
 don't mind. I must catch the post, and then I'll come 
 down and join you." 
 
 When they had gone, she locked the door very softly 
 and sat down at her desk. 
 
 She did not go downstairs for a full hour, and
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 263 
 
 when she did, and met her father, he drew a breath of 
 relief. He had almost feared she would not take it 
 well, but her manner quite set him at rest. Susan, it 
 appeared, looked on the marriage as a somewhat ex- 
 perimental one, Hughie being thirty-four and Daffy 
 not yet twenty; but she was so fond of Hughie, and 
 he was so good in every way, that she couldn't help 
 being pleased. 
 
 "You must grow up now, little sister," she said to 
 Daffy, with a kiss. "You are to have an important 
 role in London." 
 
 Gunning himself was happy enough. Daphne was 
 a dear little thing and she pleased him. As to loving 
 her, or any other woman, as he had loved Sylvia, this 
 he knew could never be. And Daffy, not being in love 
 with him, would be easy to please in the matter of de- 
 votion. She would not be jealous or too demon- 
 strative. 
 
 But he remembered how his heart had stirred when 
 for a moment she had really looked like Sylvia, and re- 
 solved not to see his sister-in-law again. He would 
 run no risks. Her hold over him, unconscious though 
 it was, was too strong still. 
 
 He went to sleep making this determination and 
 then dreamed of Sylvia all night. 
 
 Daffy for her part was greatly pleased and even 
 more flattered. 
 
 It would be splendid to have dear old Hughie for 
 a husband, he was such a dear and not a bit fussy. No 
 doubt he'd let her go with her father to Cashmere as 
 they had been planning. "And he will never bother
 
 264 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 me with love-making," she sighed to her pillow just as 
 she dropped off. 
 
 And this was the manner in which came about the 
 marriage, noticed in the Morning Post one day in 
 August, as having taken place at Sorrento, of Daphne 
 Lambe to Hugh John Gunning.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 IT is difficult to describe Daphne Gunning as she 
 was during the first two years of her marriage. 
 The years themselves were not uneventful, in- 
 asmuch as they included several happenings that 
 would count as important to any young woman; the 
 taking a house in London, the furnishing of it in her 
 own way ; the settling of her little household at Dray- 
 cott End, the house Gunning had bought for Sylvia ; 
 the meeting and entertaining of many important men 
 in London, for Gunning was looked on in the political 
 world as a rising young man. 
 
 All these things Daffy enjoyed in a way, although 
 her furnishing of the house in South Audley Street 
 turned out to be a failure and had, finally, to be en- 
 tirely done over by the busy Gunning himself; al- 
 though Draycott End was dull without the compan- 
 ionable sea, and her first sojourn there was marked by 
 a disastrous row with the Vicar's wife, settled by an 
 apology from a furious Mrs. Gunning, who said 
 bluntly that she had come because her husband made 
 her ; although political talk proved to be as hopelessly 
 beyond her comprehension as it was beyond that of her 
 father, who never could remember who the Prime Min- 
 ister was. 
 
 In spite of these little mishaps and drawbacks, how- 
 265
 
 266 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 
 
 ever, Daffy wrote to her father from time to time that 
 she liked her new life very well. 
 
 "Hugh is a dear, .although so solemn," she added 
 once, with the disproportionate result that Christopher 
 Lambe at once left his beautiful quiet Sorrento and 
 came hot-foot to the London he detested. He found 
 the young couple at lunch. 
 
 "I thought I'd come, that's all," he repeated, in an- 
 swer to their surprise, "I just thought I'd come, that's 
 all." But that evening he lectured Gunning in his 
 own way. 
 
 "You've been married five months," he said, "and 
 she hasn't changed a bit." 
 
 Gunning stared. "Well, surely you didn't want 
 her to change?" 
 
 "But I did. Every young girl who marries ought 
 to change at first. She ought to become a violent imi- 
 tator of her husband, an airer of his views ; the man 
 ought to put his stamp on her while the iron's hot. 
 Then, a little later," he added dryly, "as the metal 
 cools, the new stamp might, and usually does, become 
 fainter. Iron to receive and wax to retain, you 
 know." 
 
 "Then I don't see the use " 
 
 "Exactly. You don't see the use! My poor 
 Hughie, that is just the trouble. But there is a use. 
 It's a phase that ought to be gone through, my boy. 
 You marry a child like Daffy and then let her grow up 
 all in her own way. You'll be sorry later." 
 
 But Daffy would not have understood her father. 
 Hughie had always been like that, kind and busy with
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 267 
 
 things beyond her ken. She had lost nothing by mar- 
 rying him, and she had won much. It was great fun 
 being Mrs. Gunning and having parties, even though 
 the parties themselves rather bored her. Thus she 
 went her way, and her way was in itself a perfectly 
 harmless and safe one. 
 
 She was given to long walks, even in town, she vis- 
 ited all by herself historic places that interested her, 
 she looked at pictures. 
 
 Then, when she had been married nearly a year, she 
 made a friend, her first real friend after her husband, 
 whom she always bad, and still did, look on in that 
 light. Old Mr. Wace was a Charterhouse pensioner. 
 He lived in a small room over the archway, and Daffy 
 discovered him one spring day when she was roaming 
 about all alone. 
 
 Mr. Wace, who carried a bunch of primroses in his 
 left hand, and leaned on a strong, black stick with 
 the other, was a tall, bent, white-haired old man, with 
 a beautiful hooked nose. 
 
 When Daffy stared at him he smiled faintly. He 
 was quite used to being thought "so like poor dear 
 Colonel Newcombe." The little girl in the smart blue 
 coat and skirt looked hard at him for a moment and 
 then came nearer. 
 
 "How do you do?" she said shyly. 
 
 "How do you do?" returned Mr. Wace, sniffing at 
 his primroses. 
 
 "I wonder if you'd think me very rude " began 
 Daffy, but he interrupted her with a wave of his fine 
 old hand.
 
 268 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "If you said I was like Colonel Newcombe? Oh, no, 
 so many say it ; chiefly Americans." 
 
 Daffy's stare changed to one almost of stupidity. 
 "Who's Colonel Newcombe?" she asked gruffly. 
 
 Mr. Wace was delighted, and when he found that 
 she only wished to ask him for a primrose as she had 
 not seen any that year, his delight knew no bounds. 
 
 He had more in his room ; a lot more ; they had been 
 sent to him by a friend in Devon. Would Daffy let 
 him give her those he carried? Daffy was delighted 
 and pinned the friendly things into her coat, and after 
 a few remarks about the beauty of the day, she went 
 away, leaving the old man in the sun, alone. 
 
 A few days later she came back, bringing a basket 
 of violets that she had bought in Covent Garden, one 
 of her favorite haunts. She waited for a long time in 
 the quiet quadrangles, but no Mr. Wace appeared, and 
 at last she met a functionary in an official cap, and ex- 
 plained her difficulty. 
 
 "He says he's always called Colonel somebody 
 out of a book," she explained, and the functionary 
 knew at once whom she meant. 
 
 "Oh, yes, Miss, that'll be Mr. Wace. If you'll just 
 step along with me, I'll take you to his room. The old 
 gentleman has been rather poorly a bad cold, I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 Daffy stepped along and found the old man sitting 
 by his window reading "Masterman Ready." 
 
 He was very glad to see her ; it was more than kind 
 of her to come and see him; the violets did his old 
 heart good.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 269 
 
 She sat down by him and he showed her all his 
 treasures. A picture of his mother (judging by the 
 remarkable plainness of whom he must have taken 
 after his father) ; a poisoned arrow from Africa; his 
 few books, all well worn ; two stuffed parrots mounted 
 on strangely glittering trees, presumably tropical; a 
 velvet smoking cap ; three pipes, one from the Tyrol ; 
 and his flowered tea service, a gift from some friends. 
 He was a strangely impersonal old man. He named, 
 in all the subsequent talk, no names, no addresses. 
 Daffy never learned what he had been, before Charter- 
 house took him to her kind but melancholy bosom; 
 she never knew whence he came ; only one thing she 
 learned, and that was destined to be of great import- 
 ance to her. Mr. Wace was a widower and his wife 
 had been an angel. 
 
 The story was told to her one dark day when her 
 second wedding anniversary was only a few months 
 off. 
 
 It had amused Daffy that the old man should, in 
 spite of her ring, always take her girlhood for 
 granted. Several times, in the slowly ripening inti- 
 macy, he had referred to "when your time comes to 
 marry, my dear !" And, out of mischief, she had not 
 enlightened him. She had perhaps come half a dozen 
 times in all to see her friend, when he told her his 
 story. 
 
 It was a raw, dark day, and behind snugly drawn 
 curtains, they were drinking tea. Daffy was feeling 
 very tired; she had had bronchitis, and was not yet 
 quite strong, she said.
 
 270 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Mr. Wace was a little silent that day and Daffy did 
 not resent his mood. Silence was no hardship to her, 
 and she sat stirring her tea, quite at ease, while the 
 nickel clock ticked the minutes away. 
 
 Suddenly she coughed, and the old man waked with 
 a start from his reverie. 
 
 "You you have a cough," he stammered, reaching 
 across the table and laying his hand on hers. 
 
 "Yes, not a bad one. I told you I have just had 
 bronchitis, you know." 
 
 "But, you must go away. You must go away at 
 once," he cried with rising excitement. 
 
 Daffy shook her head. "Aren't you ashamed to be 
 so inhospitable ? Look at the fog !" 
 
 "Out of England I mean, away out of the fog and 
 the wet." 
 
 "Oh, no, I can't do that." 
 
 "But why not? Sur.ely your father is rich? Oh, 
 you must go, and at once, before it is too late !" 
 
 He was very much in earnest and his white old face, 
 like that of a waxen image, so old that its color had 
 faded, flushed quickly. "Oh, my dear, do not waste 
 time," he said, "tell your father what I say. I am 
 right, oh, I am right, God knows ! Go, before it is too 
 late." 
 
 He covered his face for a moment with his hands 
 and when he looked up, Daffy was smiling gently at 
 him, as one who smiles at an excited child. 
 
 "Don't laugh, dear Miss Gunning," he said, sud- 
 denly quite calm, "old people sometimes know things. 
 And I, alas, know this only too well. If I had known
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 271 
 
 it all thirty years ago, I should not be the lonely old 
 pensioner you see to-day." 
 
 "You mean, some one died? Your wife?" Daffy's 
 voice was very gentle. 
 
 "Yes, my wife. Oh, my dear. It is forty years ago 
 to-day that we were married. Forty years ; and for 
 thirty of them I have been alone." 
 
 Daffy watched him, the firelight in her dark eyes. 
 
 "She was a lady, my dear, a delicate, beautiful lady, 
 and it was in in a cold old church in the south that 
 we met that morning, and were married. Her people 
 had forbidden it, but she did not care. She was not a 
 girl thirty years old, five years younger than I, and 
 she knew her own mind, she said. And that she did. I 
 had no money and no position. We came here to 
 London together ; third-class it was, but what did that 
 matter to her ? Her spirit was as strong as her lovely 
 body was delicate. 'It didn't matter,' she said. It 
 didn't matter her having only a sandwich for her 
 lunch, it didn't matter walking from the station to 
 the bus, and then sitting for half-an-hour on top in 
 the rain. It didn't matter her having to live up three 
 pairs of stairs in dark rooms. Nothing mattered, she 
 said, and I, poor fool, believed her. How could I know 
 that in one thing, she, as truthful as the angels them- 
 selves in everything else, should, in this one point, lie, 
 lie, lie her own beautiful life away ?" 
 
 His face flushed and his thin lips worked nervously. 
 "It was for me she did it, so that I should not 'worry.' 
 Worry my God! I who would have carried her in 
 my arms to the warm sunlight she needed, if I had
 
 272 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 not believed what she always told me that it didn't 
 matter !" 
 
 Daffy took his hand in hers. "She must have loved 
 you very much," she said. 
 
 The old man smiled. "Yes, she loved me. When 
 the baby was at last coming and her cough was so bad, 
 she used to look at me with eyes, with such beautiful 
 mother eyes, that mothered me as much as the baby. 
 And when the cough grew worse and worse, she al- 
 ways said it didn't matter. You see, if she had gone 
 away, I couldn't have stayed with her. I was busy, 
 and if I had gone, I should have lost my position." 
 
 "Perhaps," suggested Daffy, stumbling on the 
 truth out of her black ignorance, "she preferred the 
 little while with you to a longer life without you." 
 
 He nodded. "Yes, she knew it was consumption, 
 the doctor told her. She wouldn't let him tell me. 
 And it is just as you say she liked better the two 
 or three months with me to stay a year without me. 
 She lived to see the baby, and then before I had to tell 
 her that the poor little thing had died, she she 
 coughed again and went to sleep and never woke up. 
 The neighbors said I was brutal to her, that it was my 
 fault she died. I let 'em talk. She knew and God 
 knew. But oh, the loneliness ' 
 
 He broke off, his noble old face a mask, in that it 
 gave promise of more than his life had fulfilled, very 
 beautiful in its sadness. 
 
 Daffy broke the ensuing silence by another cough, 
 and he came back to the present with a start. 
 
 ",So you see, Miss Gunning, you must take care of
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 273 
 
 your cough. You will go away to the sun, won't 
 you?" 
 
 Daffy shook her head. "Mr. Wace, do you mind 
 talking about her? I like to hear." 
 
 And the reticent old man, probably glad that the 
 ice was broken, talked on in the firelit dusk. 
 
 Daffy never forgot that hour. The old man's 
 voice went on and on, unrolling before her eyes a 
 scroll of lovely old memories, a record of real, true 
 love, such as she had never in her life seen. Depths 
 of tenderness possible between wedded lovers were 
 shown to her ; little old pet-names told, little incidents, 
 all cherished for forty years in almost unbroken 
 silence. 
 
 Probably the old man forgot that he was speaking 
 aloud, for the room got darker and Daffy did not 
 move. He told of the prayers his wife and he had 
 prayed for the coming baby, how they asked God to 
 make him good and brave and strong ; of their plans 
 for educating him, of how they were to save every 
 penny to ensure the luxury of knowledge for him. 
 
 "She liked churches ; we used to go to St. Olave's 
 and sit there in the afternoons, when I could get off. 
 She liked the oldness of it, and the kneeling citizens 
 and their wives on the tombs, and the bust of Pepys' 
 wife he was a man that wrote a diary in Queen 
 Elizabeth's time," he added and the ignorant Daffy 
 could not correct him. "And once we came in here, 
 and she walked round leaning on my arm. We didn't 
 know then that I should one day be one of the old men 
 in cloaks, whom she liked so much. When I had to
 
 274 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 come, six years ago," he went on, again realizing his 
 listener's existence, "I was glad that she had been here. 
 I can see, from my window there, the place where she 
 sat down to rest, in the gateway. She was tired, she 
 said, but it didn't matter! Well, we had ten perfect 
 years, and the last was the best, for then the baby was 
 corning at last. We had a rather better home by that 
 time, only one pair of stairs and a good view over a 
 square, where trees grew. But I lost money that 
 year again. I thought I might take a little risk for 
 his sake, and they fooled me. I was never clever. 
 And when I had to tell her that I couldn't give her the 
 white lacquered 'pram' we had picked out in a shop 
 window, she said " 
 
 "She said it didn't matter, of course," added Daffy, 
 "and it didn't. Little things," added the sage, "only 
 matter when one hasn't a big thing, and she had you." 
 
 Old Mr. Wace reached for her hand. "You are 
 right," he said, patting it. "That's just what she 
 did say. But, yes, she was happy, thank God and 
 all His angels. Ah, my dear, when you marry, be 
 sure you get the right man. I was weak, and unlucky 
 and ignorant, but I was Lily's right man. It is that 
 that counts the most after all. You are so young, 
 you might make a mistake. Be very careful." The 
 solemnity in his voice gave her a little pang. 
 
 "But, Mr. Wace, do you think every one is capable 
 of of feeling what you felt? For instance, I know 
 a girl who married such a nice man, and he is very 
 good to her, and she is extremely fond of him. Oh, 
 yes, extremely. Only, it isn't at all like what you have
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 275 
 
 been telling me. I mean to say, she never could say, 
 'it doesn't matter,' to things " 
 
 Suddenly the old man lost his temper. He was 
 seventy-five years old and very frail. 
 
 "Nonsense, nonsense," he exclaimed sharply. "Lik- 
 ing doesn't mean anything. A woman may like a 
 hundred men. If she doesn't love her husband, then 
 it's all wrong, all wrong, I tell you. And there's dan- 
 ger all round her. Don't you ever let any one you like, 
 persuade you to marry him. You are the kind who can 
 really love not all women can and you could say 
 'it doesn't matter,' for the right man. Wait till he 
 comes, my dear. You'll know. Only don't be in a 
 hurry. Wait, I tell you, wait !" 
 
 He was very much excited and Daffy had some dif- 
 ficulty in quieting him. When at last she left, she had 
 not undeceived him. He still believed her to be Miss 
 Gunning.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 DAFFY went home in a rather thoughtful 
 mood. The old man had impressed her and 
 her mind went back at once to Sylvia. Gun- 
 ning could have said, 'it doesn't matter,' to 
 nearly everything for Sylvia's sake and Sylvia could 
 for Gianfranco's. 
 
 But could she, Daffy, say it for Gunning? She 
 knew quite well that she could not. So many things 
 mattered to her. As a wife, obviously, she was a 
 failure. 
 
 That night after dinner, she said to her husband, "I 
 say, Hughie, aren't you ever sorry you married me ?" 
 
 Gunning laid down his book. "My dear child, what 
 a very funny question ! No, of course I'm not." 
 
 "Oh, I only wondered, that's all." 
 
 "But what made my dear little girl think of such a 
 stupid thing ?" 
 
 He smiled gravely at her as she sat on the arm of a 
 carved chair, swinging her legs and gazing at him. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know ! I was talking to a man to-day 
 who had had a wife who was very different from me. 
 He was telling me about her, and it made me wonder." 
 
 Gunning laughed, and as he passed her on his way 
 to the door, he bent and kissed her. 
 
 "Every man to his taste, you know," he said. 
 276
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 277 
 
 She jumped down from the chair arm, and looked 
 up at him. 
 
 "Yes, only I don't happen to be your 'taste' really, 
 and I feel somehow that I I ought to do something 
 to make you happier." 
 
 A little frown passed over his face, leaving a smile 
 on it. 
 
 "Surely, you don't mean that? As for your not 
 being why should I have asked you to marry me if 
 I hadn't been very fond of you?" 
 
 "Oh, I know you like me. And I like you, Hughie, 
 indeed I do," she returned earnestly. 
 
 It is to be observed that old Mr. Wace's story had 
 roused in her no sense of any deficiency on Gunning's 
 part, only a kind of vague remorse for her own in- 
 ability to feel that things did not matter. 
 
 Gunning had important work to be done before he 
 went to the House, but he stood still and looked down 
 at her with a very kind expression in his blue eyes. 
 
 "Of course you do, my dear. And please believe 
 that in spite of what your friend has been telling you, 
 I can't think of any one I'd so like as my wife." 
 
 "Except Sylvia," she retorted indiscreetly. 
 
 There was not in her the remotest approach to 
 jealousy. The knowledge that he loved Sylvia had 
 grown with her growth and become an integral part 
 of her life. She mentioned her sister now merely be- 
 cause he seemed to have made a misstatement. 
 
 To her surprise he flushed. "You have no right to 
 suggest that I have any feeling for another man's 
 wife beyond that, which, as my sister-in-law, I owe
 
 278 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 her," he said severely. "You are too old to be so 
 childish, Daphne." To say that he marched out of 
 the room would hardly be overstating the case. And 
 Daffy, naturally, was left behind with a dismal feeling 
 of having made a fool of herself. 
 
 "Poor old Hughie, what a beast I was," she said 
 aloud, "fancy his minding my knowing!" 
 
 She was very sorry for her husband; her feelings 
 for him had changed not one whit since her marriage. 
 He was still dear old Hughie to her, although her 
 mind accepted and indeed rather overestimated his 
 importance in the world, so that he was a rather great 
 man to her as well as a dear, and a poor dear. She 
 sent for her dogs and set to work continuing their 
 education in the matter of tricks. 
 
 Gunning, meanwhile, sat in his study, his papers 
 lying untouched before him, his head on his hand. 
 Daffy had no business to touch on his old grief in that 
 careless way. She had about her a curious touch of 
 roughness, such as young boys often have. Surely he 
 had done nothing to make her think he regretted his 
 marriage. As a matter of fact he did not regret it, 
 although the little flash of emotion that had bade him 
 hope the evening of his engagement had never come 
 again. 
 
 He was a very busy man and he loved work, but he 
 had honestly tried to make his little wife happy. He 
 had given her many things, and now his mind turned 
 to the subject of a present he might make her to com- 
 fort her. Why she needed comforting he did not at- 
 tempt to guess, but it appeared to him that he had
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 279 
 
 failed in his efforts to satisfy her, and he wished to 
 make amends. 
 
 Having decided on a little diamond bulldog he 
 had seen in a shop window the day before, he went 
 back to his work with a sigh of relief. How lucky 
 that she was sufficiently a child to enjoy diamond 
 bulldogs ! 
 
 But when he came home late that night, he found 
 Mariana, Daffy's Italian maid, waiting up for him. 
 Daffy was ill. 
 
 Going into his wife's room he found her feverish 
 and in pain, her hand pressed to her chest. 
 
 "I'm so sorry, Hughie," she gasped, "but I can't 
 breathe, I feel as if an elephant were sitting on my 
 chest." 
 
 It was very late, but Gunning at once sent for the 
 doctor and then, while he waited, sat by Daffy and 
 tried to make her more comfortable. 
 
 "He said I mustn't stay in this climate," she broke 
 out, "that's what killed her. Only, it doesn't matter. 
 I say, Hughie," she added, sitting bolt upright and 
 clasping her hot hands round his arm, "I do wish I 
 wasn't such a goose. Or that I was better looking. 
 I'm not a bit of good as a wife, and I'm sorry." 
 
 Her fever was very high. When the doctor came he 
 looked grave, and declared simply that his patient 
 seemed to be in for pneumonia. Poor Daffy, she was 
 very ill indeed, and when at last she was announced to 
 be out of danger, she was so weak that she couldn't 
 even speak. 
 
 Her delirious dreams had been pleasant rather than
 
 280 
 
 otherwise, for she seemed back in the years with old 
 Mr. Wace and his Lily, only he was young Mr. Wace 
 and looked exactly like the second secretary to the 
 Russian Embassy. Their happiness was so beautiful, 
 the only sad part of it all was Daffy's inability to stave 
 off the disaster that only she saw to be coming. Her 
 talk was constantly that Lily must go away ; that it 
 did matter ; that Lily could not stand the cold and the 
 wet, and must go away. "Don't let her say it doesn't 
 matter," she begged the nurse, "it does matter and he 
 ought to be told." 
 
 On this point she insisted so strongly that the doc- 
 tor at last asked Gunning if she could not have her 
 way. 
 
 "Can't you tell 'him,' whoever he is, that 'Lily' must 
 go away? If Mrs. Gunning could be made to under- 
 stand that 'Lily' has gone away, her mind might be 
 able to rest." 
 
 "But, Sir John, I haven't the least idea of whom 
 she is talking. I know no one named Lily, and she has 
 never mentioned to me a friend of hers of that 
 name. I " he broke off, his troubled eyes fixed on 
 the birthday knights ! 
 
 Sir John shrugged his shoulders. "She is evidently 
 fond of 'Lily'," he said dryly and went away, leaving 
 Gunning convinced that the great man was blaming 
 him for his reprehensible ignorance of his young 
 wife's interests. 
 
 He was very kind and devoted to Daffy, notwith- 
 standing the doctor's views. Even his beloved work 
 was neglected for the worst days of the illness.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 281 
 
 Lady Corisande told every one how tragic to be- 
 hold was his grief. 
 
 "He wanders round the house like a piteous ghost," 
 she declared, "I had no idea he was so in love with the 
 funny little thing." But then Lady Corisande al- 
 ways presented her relatives in the most becoming 
 light possible. 
 
 Sir John Wilcox, on the other hand, confided to his 
 wife that for his part he'd hate to have Escott (his 
 son-in-law) take as little interest in Julia's doings as 
 Mr. Gunning took in his wife's. 
 
 "Doesn't seem to know who her most intimate 
 friends are, even," he added, drinking beer out of a 
 silver cup, the gift of a grateful German serenity. 
 
 And so vast is the vastness of London, that when 
 events occurred that settled forever the question of 
 Gunning's feelings for his wife, Sir John and Lady 
 Wilcox never learned in what way the question was 
 decided. 
 
 "A sea voyage would be the best thing," Sir John 
 told his patient's husband, "a long, warm sea voyage. 
 Say the West Indies. No, her lungs aren't really af- 
 fected, but she is very delicate, Mr. Gunning." 
 
 Gunning reflected a moment. "She might go to her 
 father's in Sorrento. I could take her there and come 
 back." 
 
 But Sir John enjoyed enforcing the use of a pre- 
 scription in which he did most thoroughly believe. 
 
 "I should not advise that. The journey would be 
 far better. She ought not to think of coming back 
 here before May at the earliest. Let me see, this is the
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 sixteenth of December. Why don't you go to Ceylon ? 
 Kandy would be excellent just now, and a little later 
 that place in the hills." 
 
 "I know Ceylon well," said Gunning gloomily, 
 "but " 
 
 'Good. Then let us decide on Ceylon. She likes 
 traveling, she tells me." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then, good morning." 
 
 "Good morning, Sir John." Two excellent men 
 shook hands, detesting each other cordially, and Gun- 
 ning, after a few minutes' reflection, went up to 
 Daffy's room. 
 
 It was a very pretty room now that he had done 
 away with the furniture of her choosing, and it 
 looked pleasant enough in the firelight. 
 
 Daffy lay on a couch, wrapped in a shell-colored 
 dressing gown and covered with an eider-down. Her 
 little face was smaller than ever, her hands on the silk 
 looked like faded petals of some white flower. 
 
 "Well, my dear," he began, kissing her. "What 
 do you think of a journey to Ceylon?" 
 
 Her answer startled him. "Dear me," she said, 
 without opening her eyes, "am I that bad?" 
 
 "How do you mean, dear?" 
 
 She had meant, quite unresentfully, just what she 
 said. Only very great necessity could drag him from 
 his work. 
 
 "Don't you think some place nearer might do?" she 
 asked. "It's a pity for you to have to go." 
 
 "Thai doesn't matter," he answered kindly.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 283 
 
 She was very weak and the words reminded her of 
 her dream friends, Mr. Wace and Lily. 
 
 "Doesn't matter," she repeated, and two big tears 
 rolled quietly down her wasted cheeks. 
 
 Poor Gunning was overwhelmed with remorse, for 
 he knew not what. 
 
 Kneeling by the couch, he took her little body in 
 his arms and laid his cheek close to hers. 
 
 "My dear, what is it? Don't you wish to go? I 
 thought it would be be so delightful." 
 
 He stumbled a little over the lie, but surely it was 
 not counted as a lie against him. 
 
 She did not answer for a moment and then she 
 whispered, "Father can take me." 
 
 But Gunning possessed a strong sense of duty. 
 Dearly as he loved his work, he felt that this little 
 creature he had married deserved his care and his 
 time. 
 
 "Certainly not," he returned promptly, "7 will 
 take you unless you wish me not to?" The question, 
 put playfully, she answered with the monumental 
 gravity that had amused him in her as a child. 
 
 "Oh, Hughie, you know I'll love to have you take 
 me. And it is so good of you." 
 
 So it was settled. Lambe, who was in Transylvania, 
 came back, on receipt of Gunning's first wire, without 
 waiting for the following quieting ones, and found 
 the travelers eating their last dinner before leaving 
 England. 
 
 When Daffy had gone to bed, the two men sat 
 smoking.
 
 284 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Poor wee thing, how awfully bad she looks even 
 yet," Lambe began, with a voice that was not quite 
 steady. 
 
 "Yes, she was very ill. But the doctors say the 
 sea air will soon set her up. Besides, you know she 
 loves traveling and is so interested, it's bound to do 
 her good." 
 
 "Yes, she's a good traveler." 
 
 "She's got all sorts of queer things to take, enough 
 tropical contrivances to last for a year. Also she has 
 a very fat book on 'Ceylon and Its Inhabitants,' which 
 she is already studying profoundly. Dear little 
 Daffy." 
 
 Christopher Lambe's usually vague eyes were very 
 intent for a moment. 
 
 "Yes, she really likes books about places few peo- 
 ple do I envy you taking her there, it's a beautiful 
 place." 
 
 "I say, Lambe, why don't you come with us?" 
 Gunning's heartiness was plainly visible. "She would 
 love it, and so should I. Do come." 
 
 Lambe's face flushed eagerly for a moment. 
 "By Jove, I should enjoy it, I could get what I 
 need in Marseilles " and then he broke off short. 
 "No, no, I won't come, Hughie; thanks, all the 
 same." 
 
 "But why? I am very little good as a companion 
 for her, you know, and you would keep her from be- 
 ing lonely. Do come." 
 
 "No, I will not come." Lambe rose, for it was late. 
 "I'll go to bed now if you don't mind. And, I say,
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 285 
 
 Gunning, she is very young, and very ignorant, but 
 you mustn't let her be lonely, you know." 
 
 Gunning was silent. The two men thoroughly un- 
 derstood each other and he knew why his father-in-law 
 had decided not to go. 
 
 "You are right," he said simply, as they shook 
 hands, "she mustn't be lonely. I'll do my best."
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 DAFFY came out of the bungalow Gunning 
 had taken, up beyond the Galle Face Hotel, 
 and stood on the portico steps looking out 
 over the freshly sprinkled sweep of red soil 
 from under the moonflowers that gave the house its 
 name. 
 
 The day had been very warm, and now the moon, a 
 huge, orange-colored globe, rode high, showering the 
 earth with its light. 
 
 To the left of the door stood the rickshaws, their 
 boys loafing in the shadow, only their white loin- 
 cloths clearly visible. 
 
 Daffy wore white and round her neck gleamed a 
 single string of not very large, but very perfect, 
 pearls, Gunning's "getting-well" gift. 
 
 She was much better than she had been on leaving 
 England a month ago, but in the moonlight her little 
 face looked still delicate and her waist might almost 
 have been clasped by some large woman's bracelet. 
 
 "Hughie." 
 
 As she spoke, the boys emerged from their shadow 
 and hastened to her with many bends of willowy brown 
 backs. One boy was young and handsome, the other 
 was old, toothless and sad-looking. 
 
 386
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 287 
 
 Daffy waved them away and explained to them in 
 English that she had not called them. 
 
 Presently Gunning, in his shirt-sleeves, came to his 
 window far down the portico. "Yes, dear, what is 
 it?" 
 
 "We shall be late, it's half-past eight already." 
 
 Gunning came toward her. "The mail's in," he 
 explained, "and I had two cablegrams to write. I 
 ought to get out my code book and send another. 
 Suppose you go on without me, and I'll come as soon 
 as I can?" 
 
 Daffy nodded. "All right. You'll come as soon as 
 you can? I'll tell Mrs. Harscamp any important 
 news from home?" 
 
 He smiled. "No, dear, only political. Oh, yes, Mrs. 
 Harscamp will understand; mail day has privileges 
 out here. Hi, boy !" 
 
 Both boys raced forward, pulling their rubber- 
 tired vehicles, and Daffy seated herself in that of the 
 old man. 
 
 "Do come soon, Hughie, they're sure to talk of 
 things I don't understand. Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye, dear, I shan't be more than half an 
 hour behind you." 
 
 He stood for a moment listening to the soft pad- 
 ding of the boy's feet as he tore down the avenue, and 
 then went back to his work. 
 
 The Galle Face Road was not now so full of rick- 
 shaws as it had been a few minutes before, but still 
 there were many people to be seen. Fat natives boil- 
 ing over the narrow vehicle's seat, and blurring their
 
 288 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 outline, men and women in evening dress, the new- 
 comers in vain trying to look unconscious of their un- 
 accustomed conveyance, belated tourists in topees 
 tearing home to dinner. The lights bobbed merrily 
 along the wide, red road, the moonlight in its calm 
 strength seeming to draw their strength from them, 
 and on the left, swept in slowly the enormously long, 
 oily waves of the ocean, breaking like cream on the 
 sand. 
 
 A group of huge, bearded Afghans in towering tur- 
 bans inspected Daffy gravely as she passed; on a 
 bench was huddled a sleeping Chinaman ; a closed na- 
 tive carriage with gilded slats grated along, drawn by 
 two bullocks. 
 
 It was a variegated and interesting scene and Daffy 
 loved it. 
 
 She wished, however, that her boy's ribs were not 
 so painfully prominent and his knot of oiled hair not 
 so scant and gray. It is sad that the Cingalee coolie 
 never ceases to be a boy till he dies. The Tamils, big 
 black men, are better runners, but the little Cingalese 
 appealed more to the girl by reason of their slight 
 alertness and their pathetic eyes, and whenever she 
 could, she engaged them. 
 
 Her rickshaw had left the scattered crowd now and 
 was bowling along at the end of the promenade, where 
 it merges into the bi-villa'd road leading to the town. 
 
 Suddenly Daffy heard a sound of singing ; a light 
 and musical baritone voice singing one of the few 
 songs she could distinguish : "I'll Sing Thee Songs of 
 Araby," it went very sweet.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 289 
 
 Thoroughly unmusical people often have what they 
 call a favorite song, and this, whether from associa- 
 tion or because she was subconsciously proud of recog- 
 nizing it when they met, was Daffy's. 
 
 She stopped putting on her gloves always a tire- 
 some and lengthy task on a warm evening in Colombo 
 and, calling to her boy, made him understand that 
 he was to go slower. Then she leaned forward and 
 looked out into the shadows for the singer. 
 
 He was some distance ahead of her, and he was 
 walking. She could see a tall, broad figure all in 
 white on her left, and now, in the almost deserted 
 road, he was singing louder. His voice was a most 
 sweet one, with a beguiling cadence that Daffy felt, 
 though she could not have explained it. 
 
 " 'And charm thee to a tear. 5 " 
 
 But it was late and she must not tarry, so at an- 
 other sign, the rickshaw shot past the singer, leaving 
 him still charming some one to a tear. He turned as 
 the rickshaw passed him, but Daffy did not look at 
 him. Her left glove refused absolutely to go on, and 
 she was engaged in a heated struggle with it. 
 
 A minute later she dragged it off in a fury, and a 
 flash of something for a second dulled the moonlight. 
 
 "Stop, boy, stop, my ring ! Stop, I say." 
 
 The boy stopped slowly, showing his unlovely 
 gums, and Daffy got out. 
 
 Her glove had, in coming off, jerked from her thin 
 finger her diamond engagement ring. Lifting up 
 her skirts to save them from the red dust, she went 
 back a few steps and began her search.
 
 290 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "I beg your pardon, but is this your ring?" 
 
 It was the singer and in his brown palm lay the 
 ring. 
 
 "It fell at my very feet," he explained, "don't you 
 want it any more?" 
 
 Daffy blundered into speech, shy as usual with 
 strangers. 
 
 "Oh, thank you so much ; yes, of course I want it 
 how good of you I couldn't get my glove on, you 
 see, so I tore it off the glove, I mean, and the ring 
 flew off, too." 
 
 She held out her hand and her little finger just 
 touched his as she took the ring. Then she looked up 
 and he smiled at her, and her shyness fled and she felt 
 as if she had known him all her life. 
 
 "I must hurry, I'm going to a dinner, and am late 
 already." 
 
 He bowed, still smiling. "I have a letter of intro- 
 duction to Mr. Gunning, and may I introduce myself? 
 I'm Nicholas Skene, tea-planter and black sheep 
 very much at your service.'' 
 
 "Oh, you are Mr. Skene ! Yes, I know, my husband 
 told me. You are Mrs. Harscamp's friend." 
 
 He glanced quickly at her, but her face was inno- 
 cent of all second meaning. 
 
 "Yes, Harscamp has been very good to me. I'm 
 dining there to-night. I wonder if by any lucky 
 chance, you are, too !" 
 
 Daffy sped on to the Grand Oriental, her mind full 
 of pleasant interest. So this was Nicko Skene and he 
 was also dining with the Harscamps !
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 291 
 
 "How nice to have somebody young there," she 
 thought childishly. "I do wish he'll be somewhere 
 near me. How beautiful he is. I do hope Hughie 
 can do something for him. I'm sure he'll try he 
 looks so like Sylvia." 
 
 Nicko Skene was indeed, as she said, beautiful. In 
 another generation I should perforce describe him as 
 being like a Greek God. His head, set on a strong 
 neck, was small and well shaped, his fair hair curled 
 closely around it, and his pellucid violet gray eyes were 
 twice as large as most people's, although the smooth, 
 long lids were lazily heavy. Disastrous eyes they were, 
 with ready tears behind them, the tears that do not 
 gall, but blur the brightness of the eyes and hang 
 pathetically on the lashes. 
 
 His well-molded chin betokened character and firm- 
 ness, his straight nose was quite classic, and his mouth, 
 smooth and of a pleasant dark red color, was clear 
 cut and sank deep at the corners. A magnificent face, 
 noble and strong. 
 
 And its owner was without doubt the most out-and- 
 out scoundrel in the island. This discrepancy is un- 
 usual, because scroundrelism does not usually belie it- 
 self in expression. But so it was. 
 
 When Daffy sat down at the table in the restaurant 
 of the G. O. H., Skene, to her joy, was next her. On 
 her left sat her host, Mr. Theodore Harscamp, an an- 
 glicized Belgian, a fat, cheerful man with a bibulous 
 nose, which in this case did not belie its owner. 
 
 The room was packed with diners, but kept fairly 
 cool with electric punkahs. In the little gallery an
 
 292 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 orchestra played, not too loud, and the dinner was 
 good. 
 
 Mrs. Harscamp, a handsome woman with the pallid 
 complexion of women who have been long enough in a 
 hot climate, had on her right and left a yachting 
 peer, red-bearded and taciturn, and an empty chair 
 Gunning's chair. 
 
 On Harscamp's left sat a middle-aged woman in a 
 high black frock, and between Gunning's chair and 
 Skene was a very pretty, frizzy-haired girl, whose 
 name Daffy had not caught, but whom every one in 
 the party called Violet. 
 
 It was a merry little party, much more amusing, 
 Daffy reflected, than London dinners. Every one 
 talked island shop, and shop is always interesting 
 when not proffered in too large doses. 
 
 Harscamp told her who the people at the neighbor- 
 ing tables were, several local celebrities, one or two 
 travelers of importance ; the pretty fair girl with the 
 ear trumpet was Rosie Waldron of the Gaiety, now 
 Lady Lenvick ; the tall man with the very large nose 
 was a political demagogue on his way home from 
 India where he had succeeded in stirring up a certain 
 amount of disaffection among the ever-ready natives. 
 
 "Frozen to death in the Red Sea, one or two of my 
 fellows nearly died," declared the yachting peer, sud- 
 denly after a long period of silence. 
 
 Then Gunning arrived, was forgiven by his hostess, 
 and Daffy found herself listening to young Skene's 
 description of what his life was on his tea plantation. 
 
 "Only excitement is mail day, you know, and as the
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 293 
 
 new Governor is a merry soul, an occasional ball at 
 Government House. Lots of pretty girls, but they 
 generally go home just as one gets fond of 'em. 
 Violet's going next month," he added, glancing at his 
 pretty neighbor. 
 
 "And are you fond of her?" laughed Daffy. 
 
 "Not I. Pretty, isn't she? Good sort, too, but " 
 he shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "What does that mean?" 
 
 "Tar-brush. Her great-grandmother was as black 
 as your hat." 
 
 Daffy stared at the other girl, who was fairer than 
 she herself. 
 
 "No, it can't be trueP* 
 
 "But it is!" 
 
 "How very sad ! I suppose it will hurt her all her 
 life, won't it?" 
 
 "Not it. She'll go home and marry some chap who 
 doesn't know the East, and all will go merry as a 
 church bell what d'ye call it? marriage bell un- 
 less luck should go against her and she should have a 
 black baby." 
 
 He smiled gaily as he made these tragic revelations, 
 and Daffy forgot his subject as she watched his 
 face. 
 
 Harscamp had a rubber plantation to sell. "I want 
 to get rid of it and take Mabel home," he explained, 
 with an affectionate glance at his pretty wife. "She's 
 had about enough of it out here, haven't you, old 
 girl?" 
 
 Mrs. Harscamp nodded. "I have indeed, Jim. I
 
 294 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 suppose," turning to Gunning, "you don't want to buy 
 a rubber plantation?" 
 
 "No, thanks. I am a tourist, plain and simple." 
 
 "Perhaps Mrs. Gunning would like to motor out to 
 Black Hill and see the harvest?" suggested Hars- 
 carnp, who liked Daffy. 
 
 "Oh, I should love it !" 
 
 "It's a pretty place, and it's rather interesting the 
 way the trees are tapped, if one's never seen it. By 
 Jove," added Skene animatedly, "I wish I had a few 
 thousands, and I'd buy Black Hill. It's one of the very 
 best plantations in the island, and rubber is going up 
 as sure as eggs is eggs." 
 
 "Going up where?" inquired Daffy. 
 
 He laughed and explained, to her further bewilder- 
 ment. After dinner they went out into the garden 
 and listened to the band playing under a huge and 
 beautiful tree. 
 
 It was a very pretty scene, and Nicko Skene sat by 
 Daffy and told her stories about the island. 
 
 Before the party broke up it was settled on the 
 following Thursday the Harscamps and Skene were 
 to take the Gunnings to their tea plantation, as Gun- 
 ning found Black Hill too far away for Daffy, for a 
 day or two. 
 
 "You'll like it," Skene told Daffy as he walked by 
 her to her rickshaw. "It's a lovely place. I say," he 
 added boyishly, "I am glad you lost your ring and 
 that I found it." 
 
 "Are you? Why?" 
 
 "Weh 1 , it seems a good omen for our friendship,
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 295 
 
 you to lose something valuable and me to restore it to 
 you." 
 
 They shook hands and Daffy laughed. 
 
 "I literally threw it at you," she answered. "You 
 really couldn't restore it to me." 
 
 "I don't know. I might have kept it, remember! 
 A big diamond is a great temptation to a poor devil 
 like me!" 
 
 They were still laughing as the rickshaws rolled 
 away.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 IT HAS been said that Daffy alone among the 
 three sisters was a flirt. Psychologically, this is 
 not so strange as it at first appears. Sylvia 
 was too stupid, Susan too tragically bent on get- 
 ting from life that which she coveted to be appealed 
 to by the amusement in question. Whereas Daffy, 
 too plain to attract by her looks alone, too interested 
 in people to be passive, naturally, if only half-con- 
 sciously, exerted her powers to please every one, man, 
 woman or child, who pleased her. Hitherto she had 
 had but few occasions to exercise her talents in this 
 fascinating direction, but now the easy-going island 
 customs made this practice very easy, and Nicko found 
 himself frankly welcome at Moonflowers and his atten- 
 tions accepted with a demure mischievousness that 
 partly cheered his weary spirit. 
 
 Gunning, as usual, was busy. He had not wished to 
 come to Ceylon, but now that he was there he could not, 
 as he naturally put it to himself, waste all his time. 
 So for many hours every day Daffy was left to her- 
 self while her husband wrote useful but very dull arti- 
 cles for Parliamentary use about the island and its 
 industries. Gunning was glad that his wife found 
 amusement in Skene's always available society. He 
 himself had talked very little with the younger man, 
 
 296
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 297 
 
 but he knew that every house in the place was open to 
 him and that he was technically a gentleman. 
 
 "Isn't he beautiful, Hughie?" Daffy asked once, 
 and her husband laughed. 
 
 "He is very beautiful, indeed, my dear. Does he 
 make love to you?" 
 
 "A little make-believe love." 
 
 Which perfectly true statement satisfied Gunning 
 and sent him back to his work with a comfortable feel- 
 ing that Daffy was amused, much as a mother might 
 have left her child with a harmless, unbreakable toy. 
 And Skene, who was extremely hard up and lived while 
 in town in a very small room high up in a second-rate 
 hotel, was more than glad to have a new pair of eyes 
 to look into, a new table at which to satisfy his excel- 
 lent and expensive appetite. 
 
 It pleased him to be accepted unquestioningly at his 
 own valuation, and he was indeed very charming and 
 quite irreproachable that first fortnight. In the shady 
 drawing room they used to sit, and very often he read 
 aloud to her or they arranged flowers in various vases 
 a graceful act in which he excelled. When he sang 
 it was chiefly for his own amusement, unless he sang 
 "Araby." 
 
 He chaffed her openly about her musical ignorance 
 and in return she teased him for posing at the piano. 
 They were very happy. Once he made her sit still for 
 a whole day while he sketched her. The sketch was 
 very bad and he tore it up, but it served his purpose, 
 and he enjoyed watching her queer little pointed face. 
 
 Her clothes, "real proper clothes," he called them,
 
 298 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 in contradistinction to the confections of the native 
 tailors, pleased him, and the British ways of her, un- 
 dimmed by tropical suns. 
 
 From the room he had adopted as a study Gunning 
 used to hear them laugh, and was well pleased. At 
 last came the often-put-off day for the visit to Narar- 
 villa, Harscamp's tea plantation. Harscamp had a 
 motor and drove it himself, Daffy beside him, Skene 
 sitting at her feet. In the back seat Mrs. Harscamp 
 and Gunning sat together. 
 
 Past Mount Lavinia, with its lovely crooked palms 
 etched against the sky, and thence into the wild coun- 
 try, they went ; past temples the paths to which were 
 scattered with the white flower petals of offerings; 
 through villages where brown children gleaming with 
 cocoa-oil strutted about as naked as they had been 
 born ; they met a native wedding, all banners and gilt 
 paper; were scowled at by tonsured and villainous- 
 looking priests in yellow robes, each one carrying a 
 palm-leaf fan, behind which they were supposed to 
 hide their sacred faces from profane sights. 
 
 And once a huge tamil climbed a king palm by 
 means of a short rope holding his feet together, and 
 bringing down a cocoanut, cut the top off it, wiped the 
 edges of the hole with his filthy turban and offered it 
 to the ladies to drink. 
 
 There were very few cars in Ceylon, and in the re- 
 moter villages the excitement was great as they drew 
 up for water. 
 
 And Daffy loved the babies, fat, small people with 
 enormously distended stomachs, around which, sole
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 299 
 
 garment, was bound the red thread by which their 
 mother measured their food-containing capacity. 
 Skene, always voluble, always agreeable, always ready 
 to do small services for people, was a charming com- 
 panion. He had the gift of giving out scraps of 
 amusing information, and he it was, rather than the 
 somewhat heavy-minded Harscamp, who told Gunning 
 the things he wished to know about rubber and tea. 
 Gunning liked him, looked on him as a boy, and felt in 
 his company much the sense of relaxation busy men 
 sometimes find in that of pretty, rather silly women. 
 
 The party left Colorado at six in the morning and 
 at about eleven stopped at the tea plantation for 
 luncheon. 
 
 The owners of the place, two red-faced Yorkshire- 
 men, gave of their best to the welcome guests, and 
 when the meal was over took the Gunnings and Skene 
 to the long wooden building where the fresh picked 
 tea leaves go in at one door to come out at the other 
 end, the shriveled scraps beloved of us at home. 
 
 The heat was great and Gunning hurried through 
 the different rooms as quickly as he could past the 
 squatting be-ringed brown women who first sort the 
 leaves, past the great sifters shaking to and fro. 
 
 But Daffy loved the heat and the strong aromatic 
 smell. She and Skene lingered in the sifting room. 
 
 "You like it?" 
 
 "Yes; don't you?" 
 
 He made a grimace. "Too used to its charm, I sup- 
 pose. I've been five years at my rotten little place, 
 and I'm poorer now than I was when I first came out.
 
 300 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 That doesn't exactly arouse a passion of enthusiasm 
 for tea in me." 
 
 Daffy looked at him as he leaned against the wall. 
 The air was full of impalpable tea dust, through 
 which the sun made a very beautiful atmosphere. 
 
 "How did you happen to come out?" she asked. 
 
 "I didn't happen to at all. My people sent me to 
 get rid of me." 
 
 His handsome face was very dark as he spoke, his 
 eyebrows drawn down. 
 
 Daffy was sorry for him. "How nasty of them !" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. I was a bit of a nuisance 
 however, here I am, and here I suppose I must stay." 
 His eyes rested wonderingly on her upturned face for 
 a minute, and he added, "Upon my word, I believe 
 you're sorry." 
 
 "Of course I'm sorry." 
 
 He was attracted by her, but the truth is that she 
 was far more attracted by him. In the first place she 
 passionately admired beauty, and Nicko Skene's 
 beauty could be divined not even by those who best 
 knew him. In his way he was as stupid as Sylvia. 
 Daffy, moreover, had never been in love, she had never 
 even had the feminine equivalent for calf love. 
 
 So it was perfectly natural that when, there in the 
 strange surroundings of the tea house, the broiling 
 sun gilding his hair and his slightly hollow cheeks 
 and deepening the color of his wonderful eyes, the 
 young man began to make love to her, something 
 within her should instantly respond. 
 
 It was so natural for him to make love to an attrac-
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 301 
 
 tive woman that he hardly resisted at all. Why 
 should he resist? He meant no real harm; he had 
 nothing to do ; his mind, when unoccupied by imme- 
 diate amusement of some kind, was a turmoil of dis- 
 content and worry. There he was, there she was, and 
 they were alone. 
 
 He burst out into a rhapsody of self-pity, described 
 the misery of his solitude at his plantation, the ecstasy 
 of his joy in finding her, his happiness in this little 
 journey, so soon to be over. 
 
 He did not approach her, nor did he utter the word 
 love, but it was love-making, and Daffy did not repulse 
 him. She had seen Gunning's utter devotion to her 
 sister, she had seen Ginestra's southern intensity and 
 fire, she had heard old Mr. Wace talk of his love for 
 his dead wife. But hitherto no one had loved her. 
 Her only proposal before Gunning's had been made 
 by Macclesfield, a mere boy who trembled at his own 
 words ; and Gunning's had not been romantic, in spite 
 of the episode of the buried bouquet. 
 
 And now here was this magnificent, beautiful man 
 telling her, the plain Daffy, that he loved her. 
 
 "You are not angry?" he added anxiously, as her 
 answer failed to come. 
 
 "Angry ? No I am glad you like me." 
 
 Like had been his word, as it was hers. 
 
 "Amuses you, eh?" he went on, disappointed 
 by her manner, and, lion-like, lashing himself into a 
 fury. 
 
 Then Daffy looked up at him and mentally he 
 started.
 
 302 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 
 
 "I am not amused at all," she responded, "but I 
 
 did not understand why you should like me. I am so 
 
 ugly." 
 
 This he believed to be affectation, for she was not 
 at all ugly to him. 
 
 "You know quite well that you are not ugly," he 
 retorted impatiently, "and you know quite well 
 that " As he spoke a half-breed youth who was em- 
 ployed as a clerk in the shipping department came in 
 to tell Daffy that Gunning wished her to come back to 
 the house. 
 
 "Mr. Gunning says it's too hot here," the messenger 
 added, showing all his teeth. 
 
 "That'll do, thanks." Skene's manner was very 
 short. 
 
 "You may go. We will come at once." 
 
 They went out through the packing room among 
 the crowds of be-ringed and be-braceletted native 
 women, and as they came out into the blazing sun and 
 Skene put up her green-lined umbrella, Daffy asked 
 in good faith, "Why were you so cross with that 
 pretty boy?" 
 
 "Because the pretty boy was impertinent. Beasts 
 they are, all of 'em, every single one," he added, his 
 brows down. 
 
 "Who? Natives?" 
 
 "He isn't a native. Half-breeds, I mean. They are 
 all liars and sneaks and would be bullies if they 
 dared." 
 
 "I have noticed that all of our Englishmen who live 
 out here despise them, poor things, and it seems rather
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 303 
 
 hard. Some of them must be nice, and they are often 
 good looking." 
 
 They were going through the dried-up garden of 
 the overseer's wife, a piteous place, speaking of utter 
 discouragement and slackness on the part of the 
 owner. 
 
 Skene didn't answer, and Daffy went on, "I saw a 
 perfectly beautiful young man the other day Mr. 
 Carstair said he is half Portuguese Pedro some- 
 thing or other. I have rarely seen a handsomer man 
 or woman, either, and my two sisters are remarkably 
 beautiful. No one ever lived who is quite so beautiful 
 as Sylvia." 
 
 Skene, who didn't quite see what Sylvia's looks had 
 to do with the half-breeds of Ceylon, made no answer. 
 Daffy wondered why he always looked black at any 
 mention of black blood, but she was far more interested 
 in the state of her own feelings and did not again 
 speak till they had reached the bungalow and were 
 seated in the comparatively cool depths of the veran- 
 da, where the rest of the party were partaking of 
 pale drinks in tall glasses full of ice. 
 
 Her face, usually so white, was a little flushed and 
 her eyes were bright. 
 
 "Are you all right, Daffy?" Gunning asked, look- 
 ing at her. "It was too hot in the tea house don't 
 drink your lemon squash till you are a little cooler." 
 
 Daffy nodded and sat silent, while Mrs. Robertson, 
 the overseer's wife, complained. 
 
 She complained of the heat, of the rains, of the lack 
 of neighbors, of the quality of the neighbors she did
 
 304. THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 have ; of the difficulty of obtaining good meat, of the 
 iniquity of native servants, of the way kid gloves and 
 silk stuffs rotted in the humidity, of the way her hair 
 came out, of the delicacy of her children, of her hus- 
 band's callousness to her sufferings, of the danger of 
 cobras in the neighborhood. 
 
 There was nothing, Daffy thought, that God had 
 thought well to do for Ceylon that satisfied the yellow- 
 faced Mrs. Robertson, with her monotonous whining 
 voice. And because Mrs. Robertson was yellow-faced 
 and had a disagreeable voice, DafFy, the beauty-mad, 
 felt very little pity, or indeed anything but impatient 
 disgust for the poor woman's miseries. 
 
 Skene drank his peg and said little. Mrs. Harscamp 
 was asleep upstairs, and Harscamp had had several 
 pegs and was drowsy. It was a very dull party indeed. 
 
 When presently every one went up to rest Daffy sat 
 by the window in her room and for an hour dreamed 
 waking dreams.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 THEY returned to Moonflowers the next day 
 but one, but Daffy saw nothing of Nicko 
 Skene for nearly a week. He had gone up 
 country to his own plantation, a miserable 
 place where, she knew, failure was writ large on every- 
 thing. 
 
 And in his absence she missed him ; missed him more 
 than she had ever in her life missed any one or any 
 thing. 
 
 It was unfortunate that at this juncture Hugh 
 Gunning should have been particularly engrossed with 
 his own personal interests. A certain political plan 
 of large immediate import and larger potentialities 
 for the future had been submitted to him by his polit- 
 ical chief, and as it meant upheaval to a certain ex- 
 tent of his present course of life, his brain was busy. 
 Daffy's slight petulance, a thing quite new to her, he 
 set down naturally enough to the heat. 
 
 "Do try to keep quiet in the middle of the day, my 
 dear," he said kindly, his blue eyes absent, "you look 
 rather seedy and I believe your little face is smaller 
 than ever!" 
 
 Daffy, who as yet had not arrived at a point where 
 feelings are complicated, nodded indifferently. 
 
 "I will," she answered, like a child humoring a well- 
 305
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 meaning but rather boring parent, and he went back 
 to his room satisfied. 
 
 Skene wrote twice. One letter simply excused him- 
 self for not having come to say good-bye, but the 
 other was longer. "I am a fool, I suppose," it went 
 on, "(but that is nothing new) and I loathe being 
 here even worse than usual. I want to be back in 
 Colombo. I want to come to Moonflowers, I want to 
 see you. Don't be angry with me, Daffy. I can't help 
 it. I'll stop now, or I'll say too much. Yours, N. S." 
 
 He had never called her Daffy. For a long time 
 she sat with his letter in her lap. Then she rose and 
 going to the table selected a very perfect sheet of 
 paper and wrote what was her first love letter; wrote 
 it without a qualm of conscience, her husband only 
 two rooms away from her ! 
 
 "I am not angry," she began abruptly, "and I am 
 glad you miss me. I miss you, too. I have nothing 
 on earth to do, and it is so dull here without you. I 
 never said you might call me Daffy, but you may. 
 Mrs. Harscamp is still at Newraglia" (she never 
 learned to spell the word) "and the Lovels did not 
 come on the Moravia after all. We dined last night 
 at the G. O. H. with some people Hughie knows. I 
 teas so bored, as they all talked politics. Come back 
 soon. Daffy." 
 
 This communication had the effect of keeping Skene 
 two days longer up country than he had intended to 
 stay. He was a rather knowing young man, and 
 chuckled to himself as he read what Mrs. Gunning had 
 written.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 307 
 
 So far not much harm had been done, but trouble 
 was brewing, and if Daffy had been a trifle more at- 
 tractive to him it is hard to say what might not have 
 happened. But he was only just sufficiently drawn 
 to her to make a flirtation a pleasant pastime. "Damn 
 it all ! why can't I half care for her," he growled im- 
 patiently. "Lots of fellows would " He swore at 
 a memory that rose in his mind and then took a 
 drink. 
 
 "Skene is back," Gunning told his wife two days 
 later. "I met him at the club and asked him to dine." 
 
 "Good." 
 
 "Whom else can you get? Harscamp says his wife 
 is coming to-morrow, but for to-night I can't think of 
 any one." 
 
 "I don't want any one but Mr. Skene. He doesn't 
 have to be amused, and it's too hot to talk much." 
 
 At half -past eight Daffy, all in white, stood on the 
 veranda waiting for her guest. There was in her 
 breast a pleasant flutter and her cheeks burned. 
 
 "I am in love," she said to herself, "and I like it." 
 
 Her thoughts absolutely went no further than this. 
 Gunning and Skene did not appear to her in juxtapo- 
 sition ; Gunning, indeed, seemed to have very little if 
 anything to do with the matter. If he had been her 
 father he could not in her mind have stood more aside. 
 This may have been simply because she had never 
 loved him, or it may have been partly the result of her 
 life-long knowledge of his love for her sister. 
 
 When Skene, on finding her in the fragrant warm 
 dusk, tried to lose his head a little and kissed her
 
 308 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 hands, she gave a happy laugh and drew him into the 
 house. 
 
 "Oh, I am so glad you have come back," she said, 
 and the catch in her voice stirred him a little. Emo- 
 tionally, he was rather vibrant at all times and his 
 looks were of the type that express far more than they 
 ever really mean. 
 
 "I shouldn't have come." The cliche rose naturally 
 to his accustomed lips, but she could not know that. 
 
 "Why?" she asked in perfectly real surprise. 
 
 "Because Gunning " Was she half a fool, he 
 was wondering, or as deep a little devil as he had ever 
 met? 
 
 At the door she turned and looked at him, her eyes 
 lambent. "Hughie doesn't love me," she said 
 simply. 
 
 No woman on earth but Christopher Lambe's 
 daughter could have said it, but Skene, for his part, 
 of course, couldn't know this. 
 
 Deciding that she was the deepest little devil he had 
 ever met, and feeling with relief that the fact cleared 
 his way and made whatever he might choose to do 
 quite excusable, he followed her into the drawing 
 room where Gunning was reading the last Fort- 
 nightly. 
 
 "How d'ye do, Skene?" 
 
 "How are you?" 
 
 They shook hands and then Gunning began speak- 
 ing of a subject new to Daffy. 
 
 "Did you see your friend?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes. It will be all right for to-morrow. He says
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 309 
 
 there are a lot of 'em in the paddy-fields, so we ought 
 to have a good day." 
 
 "A good day for what ?" Daffy asked, sitting down 
 and starting an electric fan. 
 
 "Snipe. Mr. Skene is taking me out to-morrow." 
 
 "Good gracious, Hughie, can you shoot?" 
 
 Gunning laughed with the good temper of a man 
 who can shoot. 
 
 "A little, dear." 
 
 While the two were discussing the possibilities of 
 the next day she watched them. Gunning's rather 
 stern face did not gain by contrast with Skene's, whose 
 perfect features were saved by the tropical sun from 
 any hint of effeminacy. For all his beauty, he looked 
 "hard," and compared to the energetic modeling of 
 his chin, Gunning's looked almost indefinite. Daffy, 
 like most people who know nothing of physiognomy, 
 believed very much in the meaning of chins. There 
 was to every one a look in Skene of beautiful alertness 
 that had no bearing whatever on his actual character. 
 
 "He looks as if his mind were on tiptoe," a fat, red 
 German scientist had once said of him, and the phrase 
 had stuck to him. "Tiptoe Skene" was still his nick- 
 name. By the side of his radiant youth Hugh Gun- 
 ning at thirty-seven looked a settled, rather dull mid- 
 dle-aged man. And this Daffy realized strongly. 
 
 Gunning's mistake had been in allowing her to go 
 her own way since their marriage. He knew her own 
 way to be harmless, and believed that he acted in kind- 
 ness, but no own way can be good for a young wife, 
 and now, unrecognized by himself, there lay at the
 
 310 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 back of her mood a dangerous feeling that Hughie 
 wouldn't care. After dinner Skene played and after 
 a bit Gunning went back to his papers. 
 
 The drawing room was a cool and pleasant place, 
 full of the scent of flowers ; the lights were low ; Daffy 
 sat in a comfortable chair by the window listening to 
 the music, the waves of the sea, and the things in her 
 own heart. 
 
 "Daffy !" 
 
 The name sounded very sweet as he said it, and as 
 he went on playing she was not obliged to answer. 
 
 She looked up and met his great eyes fixed on her. 
 He was no drunkard, but he had dined well, and every 
 kind of luxury had its effect on him. The world was 
 made for pleasant things : good food, and wine, and 
 music, and love-making. Presently, his eyes still on 
 hers, the music ceased and without moving he spoke 
 again : 
 
 "You don't mind my calling you Daffy?" 
 
 "No. I said you might." 
 
 "You look so pretty in that frock. You look so 
 young." 
 
 But she was too young to appreciate the latter com- 
 pliment. 
 
 "I am young. But do I really look pretty?" 
 
 "You know you do." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "You've said that before. I don't know it. I've 
 always been ugly, and I never minded before. But 
 if I look pretty now, I am glad." 
 
 "Are you? Why?"
 
 THE GREEN PATCH Sll 
 
 He fully believed that she was making love to him, 
 whereas she was as convinced that he was making love 
 to her. 
 
 "Because," she answered, "I like you to like me." 
 
 She took up a little tortoise-shell box, in the lid of 
 which was inset a slit of mirror, and looked at herself. 
 
 "I can see my own eye, a rather nice brown eye. 
 Now I can see my nose. My nose, of course, really is 
 good. It's even better than Sylvia's. But, oh, my big 
 mouth. It isn't even very red, like girls in books, 
 and then I have no color, and I am so little. I am," 
 with disgust, "a shrimp." 
 
 "You are a dear," he returned, taking the box and 
 her hand in his, and surer than ever that she was en- 
 couraging him. 
 
 At that minute Gunning came in at a window the 
 other side of the room, and Skene, knowing that his 
 love words could not have been heard, went on, look- 
 ing at the box, "got it in the Pettah, did you?" 
 
 "What?" said Daffy bluntly. "Oh, the box. No, 
 Hughie gave it to me where did you get this little 
 box, Hughie?" 
 
 Gunning looked at the two for a minute and then 
 sat down. 
 
 "I've forgotten one of the shops near the 
 G. O. H., I think. Rather pretty, isn't it, Skene?" 
 
 And Skene knew that he had seen him holding 
 Daffy's hand and said "damn" to himself. Gunning 
 did not leave the room again, and when the arrange- 
 ments were completed about the shooting the next day 
 Skene took his leave.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Daffy." 
 
 "Yes, Hughie?" 
 
 "You mustn't let that chap make love to you." 
 
 She looked up at him, not quite liking the tone in 
 his voice. 
 
 "Why not?" she asked. 
 
 "Why not? Good heavens, can't you see why not?" 
 
 She walked to the window and stood looking out at 
 the sea. For a moment she nearly decided to tell him 
 that she and Skene loved each other. Then she 
 changed her mind. 
 
 "He was holding your hand when I came in," went 
 on Gunning patiently. He was a little shocked, but 
 not at all jealous, and felt himself to be performing a 
 duty. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well you mustn't let him, that's all. Surely even 
 you can understand that," he broke out, suddenly 
 bored, his patience flying. If he was going to be 
 obliged to watch her an end had come to his peace ! 
 
 Daffy turned, blazing with rage as sudden as his 
 impatience. 
 
 "Even I? Am I half-witted, then, that you say 
 'even'?" 
 
 "I didn't mean that you know perfectly well that 
 I didn't. Don't be absurd." 
 
 "Half-witted and absurd. Go on !" 
 
 Her disproportionate anger surprised him. He had 
 not seen her in a temper for years, and the recollection 
 of the last occasion coming to him suddenly it was 
 connected with the amputation by Susan of a favorite
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 318 
 
 doll's nether limbs he unfortunately laughed. She 
 was so utterly childish! 
 
 When after a pause she turned and he saw her face 
 he realized his mistake. For the first time it was not 
 childish. It was the face of an exasperated and indig- 
 nant woman, and he marveled. 
 
 "Good night," she said shortly, "I am going to 
 bed." 
 
 She marched out of the room without another word, 
 and he stood for some minutes with his rather slow 
 mind in a state of utter bewilderment. They had been 
 married nearly three years and this was their first 
 quarrel. There was about it none of the charm he had 
 heard attributed to lovers' quarrels. 
 
 "But then," he told himself rather ruefully, "we are 
 not lovers. This is a what's it they say? a con- 
 j ugal dispute. Oh, Lord !" 
 
 He knocked on Daffy's door, but she maintained an 
 unbroken silence, and after a time he went back to his 
 study. 
 
 "I don't understand her, after all," he admitted to 
 himself. "I've hurt her feelings and she resents it. 
 But, after all, the fellow did have hold of her hand !"
 
 THE next morning Gunning and his wife 
 breakfasted together as usual at eight. 
 Daffy gave no sign of remembering their 
 quarrel. She looked very tired and he knew 
 she had not slept, but in answer to his inquiries replied 
 merely that she was quite well. With two Cingalee 
 boys waiting on them, padding in and out of the room 
 on their noiseless bare feet, no more was said. 
 
 When Gunning started off in a rickshaw for the 
 club, where he was to meet Skene, Daffy, as usual, ac- 
 companied him to the door and stood, a little pale blue 
 figure on the veranda, waving her hand to him as he 
 turned out into the road. 
 
 "Queer little soul she is," he thought as he was 
 whirled along in a cloud of red dust. "I suppose the 
 truth is he had just grabbed her hand and I came in 
 before she had time to snub him. If that is the case 
 she of course resented my saying what I did. Al- 
 though," he went on just as usual, even to himself, 
 "I had a right to object to what I saw, and she should 
 have told me if I was too hasty." If he had half liked 
 Skene, the chances are that he would have said a few 
 words of reproof to the younger man, whom he looked 
 on as a mere boy. But for some time past a feeling 
 of distrust had been growing in his mind something 
 
 314
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 315 
 
 he did not attempt to define, but of which he was con- 
 scious every now and then, and this prevented his 
 taking any open action. With a little bored sigh he 
 realized that he must henceforth keep an eye on the 
 chap. 
 
 "If he doesn't behave I shall tell him not to come 
 again," he decided as he drew up at the club steps with 
 a jerk that, in his absent mood, nearly shot him 
 out. 
 
 There was in him no more distrust of Daffy than 
 there was jealousy. If he had been forced to analyze 
 his opinion of his wife it would have been summed up 
 in the words, "She's quite all right, poor little dear, 
 only so awfully young!" 
 
 "Yes, sir, Mr. Skene was ready, sir." The servant 
 disappeared and in a few minutes the two men were on 
 their way to the station, where they had a twenty- 
 minute journey to their destination. Skene, looking 
 his very best in a very ancient, beautifully cut shoot- 
 ing jacket, showed no signs of constraint. He was 
 radiantly cheerful as, to do him justice, he still had 
 the grace of being on a fine morning. He was a 
 rascal of many endearing little ways. This, too, was 
 one of his good days, and Gunning felt his dislike 
 again waning. "After all," he thought, half ashamed 
 of his secret ungraciousness toward his painstaking 
 host of the day, "I may be quite wrong. His good 
 looks are of course against him, but well, I hope I 
 am wrong." Harscamp, who was at the station to 
 meet his wife on her return home, sped them on their 
 way and later told his wife about it.
 
 316 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Gunning seems to like Nicko," he said. "At first 
 I thought he didn't." 
 
 "At first," corrected Mrs. Harscamp, who looked 
 much younger for her stay in the cool air, "he did. 
 Like Nicko, I mean. Then he began to not to dis- 
 like him, but to distrust him." 
 
 "Nothing original in that," laughed Harscamp. 
 "Poor old Nicko must be used to rousing that partic- 
 ular feeling." 
 
 She shot a peculiar glance at him. "Yet you always 
 trusted him," she said. 
 
 "Not I! I rather like him, and I am more than 
 rather sorry for him. But as to trust no, no, my dear ! 
 Two years ago, when the young scamp was always 
 hanging round you, do you think I trusted him?" His 
 big red hand closed partly over her little gloved ones. 
 "My trust was in you, old girl. That's different !" 
 
 Mrs. Harscamp was silent during the rest of the 
 drive home. 
 
 Meantime, Daffy, having come to a conclusion, set 
 to work to carry it out. All night she had sat by her 
 window thinking. For the first time in her life she 
 was in love. It was as yet puppy love, such as a boy 
 of seventeen might feel, but as such love is to a boy of 
 seventeen the most vital thing in the world, so was this 
 new feeling to Daffy. It was a sacred, splendid thing, 
 and she was as proud of it as if she had been un- 
 married. 
 
 In her short life she had seen only three love affairs 
 Sylvia's two, one between a girl and a young Italian 
 on the steamer between Vancouver and Yokohama.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 317 
 
 And these three love affairs had all forged steadily 
 ahead toward one end : marriage. Marriage had been 
 the idea in the minds of all the six people she had seen 
 in love, and young Macclesfield had used the great 
 word with regard to herself. She loved Skene and 
 Skene loved her. Therefore, Skene must want to 
 marry her. To her it all seemed quite simple, and the 
 most beautiful part of it all was that Hughie wouldn't 
 mind. 
 
 "It's too bad I shall have to be divorced," she told 
 herself, "but that won't matter." 
 
 The phrase recalled old Mr. Wace and his Lily. 
 "It didn't matter!" And how glad her old friend 
 would be when he knew that she, too, had now some 
 one for whose sake she felt that nothing on earth 
 would matter! She had seen the old pensioner only 
 half a dozen times, but he was a friend. She would 
 write and tell him all about it. Ringing for iced 
 lemon squash, she settled herself in Gunning's study, 
 which at that time was the coolest in the bungalow,' 
 and with one of Gunning's carefully wiped pens she 
 dipped her pen into Gunning's inkpot and began. 
 
 "Dear Mr. Wace," she wrote in her round, boyish 
 hand, "I wonder how you are? In London, of course, 
 it is beastly now, cold and wet and foggy, but here in 
 Ceylon it is grilling, and the sea is even bluer than 
 my Italian sea, and the flowers are glorious and make 
 the whole place smell like a scent factory. 
 
 "I am quite well again and haven't coughed once. 
 How I wish your poor Lily could have come here." 
 The old man's age and her as great youth had bridged
 
 318 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 over the years since Lily's death and neither of them 
 saw any discrepancy in her speaking of the dead 
 woman as though she were a contemporary of her own. 
 
 "And now," she went on after a pause during which 
 she drew little daisies on the blotting paper, "I have 
 some news for you. I love some one very much. He 
 is a young Englishman who has a tea plantation near 
 here, and he is the most beautiful person in the world, 
 after my sister Sylvia. I fear he will be upset because 
 I am married, but that really doesn't much matter. 
 My husband, luckily, does not care for me, and I don't 
 blame him. I am much too stupid for such a clever 
 man. It is a pity he didn't marry Susan, the clever 
 one. But I suppose she wouldn't have had him. Did 
 she ever go to see you? She said she wished to and 
 that she would take you some books and some fruit 
 from me. Don't forget that when Lady Archie Bel- 
 lasis calls on you it is my sister I mean to say, don't 
 say you don't know her and refuse to let her in ! 
 
 "Well, to go back to Nicko (that's his name, Nich- 
 olas Skene). He is poor, but well-born, and has the 
 most beautiful manners in the world. I am so proud 
 that he should love me. He even thinks me pretty. 
 Isn't that nice ? 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Wace, I so often think about Lily and 
 you and her saying it didn't matter. Now I know 
 what it means and how true it is. Nothing in the 
 world matters but just Nicko. I'd just as soon be a 
 beggar all my days if I could be with him. I have 
 only known for a few days that I love him, and to- 
 night when Hugh comes home I am going to tell him
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 319 
 
 and ask him to divorce me at once. He is so kind, I 
 am sure he will do it without any delay. Nicko and I 
 will come back to England to live, for we hate Ceylon. 
 Poor dear, he has been here so long. My father will 
 give me some money, I am sure, and we will buy a 
 little house where the hunting is good and live 
 there." 
 
 Thus Daffy, who loathed the English climate and 
 would as soon have attempted to ride a wild elephant 
 as the mildest hunter on earth ! 
 
 "We were to have gone home the middle of April 
 and stopped in Italy on the way, but now, no doubt, 
 we shall have to come sooner on account of the di- 
 vorce, and I shall see you soon. 
 
 "It will be good to have a long talk with you again. 
 My love to you, dear Mr. Wace, and believe me to be 
 always your sincere friend, 
 
 "DAPHNE GUNNING. 
 
 "P. S. 'Daphne Skene' is prettier, isn't it?" 
 
 Sending this bombshell to the poor old pensioner 
 off to the post by one of the numerous boys of the 
 establishment, Daffy sat down again to determine ex- 
 actly what she should say to Gunning. 
 
 Any one, almost, of her mother's family would, 
 could he or she have been able to read Daffy's mind as 
 she planned, have declared that she was half-witted 
 like her father. No one actually believed, of course, 
 that Christopher Lambe was not in full possession of 
 his faculties, but his wits, such as they were, were so 
 utterly different from those of the Pember tribe that
 
 320 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 the expression "half-witted" seemed to them most 
 clearly to express the difference. 
 
 A lack of the possibility to realize the meaning of 
 the word "impossible" has won for more than one man 
 the title of genius. Daffy had not only the peculiarity 
 of not realizing the meaning of that particular word, 
 but to her "divorce" and "scandal" meant absolutely 
 nothing. 
 
 She had no doubt whatever that Gunning could and 
 would at once arrange matters for her. She had over- 
 stated nothing in her letter to Mr. Wace. 
 
 And now, after an hour's concentrated thought, she 
 came to a perfectly definite plan of campaign. 
 
 "Hughie," she would say, rejecting all beating 
 about the bush, not as unworthy, exactly, but as sense- 
 less, "Mr. Skene and I wish to marry, and will you 
 please divorce me at once?" 
 
 No wonder a possible Pember would have doubted 
 her sanity. 
 
 Then Hughie would want to know if she were abso- 
 lutely sure that she would be happy with Skene. That 
 he would be careful for her future she knew, and she 
 faced bravely the boring necessity for discussion of 
 the point. 
 
 "He will say he doesn't much like him and I shall 
 have to talk a long time to convince him that he is 
 the right man for me. Then the money question will 
 come up, but I can easily make that all right. He 
 knows that father will give me some. I am glad father 
 is so rich." 
 
 The grounds for a divorce, or even that grounds
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 321 
 
 were necessary, did not occur to her. There was some- 
 thing touching in her conviction that Hughie would 
 do everything for her. 
 
 At last, when in her mind everything was settled, 
 she ate her solitary lunch and after a nap went out 
 for a walk. 
 
 The sky had clouded over and it was close, though 
 not so unbearably hot as it had been for the past few 
 days. 
 
 Daffy walked slowly along at the edge of the dusty 
 road, disregarding the curious glances of the native 
 passers-by. 
 
 Unconsciously she turned toward the Pettah the 
 native village. She had been here once or twice with 
 Gunning, but never on foot, and once in the heart of 
 it she suddenly woke up to the fact that it was very 
 interesting. 
 
 It was noisy as a parrot cage at a zoo and its smells 
 were variegated and ungodly, but the shops were full 
 of interest. For a long time she stood outside the little 
 garden leading to a barber's shop watching the shav- 
 ing of a coolie's head as he squatted on the earthen 
 floored veranda. Half-naked brown men squatted 
 everywhere, glossy brown babies swarmed everywhere, 
 at a pastry cook's stall fearsome messes of aniline 
 hues attracted chattering crowds. 
 
 Dainty little Cingalee women, in white jackets that 
 left a band of brown skin visible between their edges 
 and the beginning of the folded petticoat, tripped 
 about, busy with their household concerns. Daffy 
 backed into a big yellow priest and, begging his
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 pardon, received in return a volley of foul language 
 which fell as harmlessly as a blessing on her uncom- 
 prehending ears. Suddenly the sun came out, flood- 
 ing the sordid, dirty street with light and blackening 
 the wide-spread palmetto fronds against the dazzling 
 sky. 
 
 "Ugh, how it smells," said Daffy, crossing to the 
 other side of the road to avoid a very virulent dog- 
 fight. 
 
 After passing a gaudily adorned temple on her left 
 and watching the progress of a native funeral, she 
 turned back and made her way homeward. 
 
 And now, on the opposite side of the street from 
 that on which she had passed that particular part of 
 the village, she observed a little bungalow set far back 
 between two shops, but yet, because of the trees that 
 surrounded it, possessing a certain degree of privacy. 
 
 It was a shabby, tumbledown little house, long since 
 painted white, and from behind the curtain of colored 
 beads that hung across the door came a sort of whin- 
 ing, rhythmical song, accompanied by the not unmusi- 
 cal clink of some kind of native instrument. 
 
 Daffy listened, glad of a little rest, for it was sud- 
 denly very hot, and the as sudden darkening of the sky 
 boded a storm. 
 
 In the garden was a beautiful hibiscus tree aflame 
 with flowers, and on the newly boarded but unpainted 
 veranda floor lay scattered starry smelling white 
 blossoms temple flowers. 
 
 Beyond the hibiscus tree, between a pepper tree 
 and a post of the veranda, hung a hammock in which
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 323 
 
 some one lay under a huge, bright colored Japanese 
 sunshade. 
 
 The droning singing continued, and after a long 
 pause Daffy was about to walk on when a figure 
 coming toward her caught her attention. 
 
 It was that sad, tragic figure too often seen in Brit- 
 ish colonies, that of a drunken, gone-to-seed English 
 gentleman. A tall man with a bulbous front, a swol- 
 len, red face and shabby brown linen clothes. It would 
 have been hard to tell in what way he looked a gentle- 
 man, but in spite of his shabbiness and his present 
 condition of half-seas-overness there was no doubt 
 even in Daffy's immature mind. 
 
 As he reached her he gave a lurch, glanced at her 
 sharply with his sodden eyes, and then, taking off his 
 battered topee, said with painful distinctness, "Excuse 
 me for speaking to you, but you should be getting 
 home. The Pettah at this hour is is no place for 
 white ladies." 
 
 Daffy drew back a little, but thanked him civilly. 
 
 "I am just going," she said. "I am not afraid." 
 
 "Excuse my speaking to you," he went on with the 
 extreme gravity of the very drunk, "I I am English 
 myself. If I were in fit condish'n," distinctness no 
 longer possible to him, "but I am not." 
 
 With a flourish he put on his hat and lurched into 
 the gate by which they had been standing. 
 
 As he went up the path the hammock gave a sudden 
 jerk and from it a small bare foot and leg shot 
 out. 
 
 "Drunk again," said a musical voice, and then
 
 324 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Daffy saw, as the owner of the voice sat up and began 
 feeling for a lost red slipper, very down at the heel, 
 that had dropped to the mangy grass, a remarkably 
 beautiful girl. 
 
 She wore a frowsy tea-gown of a once delicate pink 
 hue, she wore no stays and her thick black hair had 
 half come down and hung in an untidy mass at the 
 back of her neck. She looked to Daffy about twenty- 
 five, but was really just eighteen. 
 
 "Verree early to be so rotten drunk," went on the 
 girl, lazily, without real resentment. 
 
 "Diss-gusting !" 
 
 The Englishman sat down heavily on the edge of 
 the veranda and let his topee roll on the path. 
 
 "What a lovely, lovely girl," she thought as she 
 turned homewards. "Almost as beautiful as Sylvia ; 
 better than Susan oh, yes, much better than Susan. 
 What a wonderful skin like magnolia leaves." 
 
 Before she reached the end of the native town a 
 great clap of thunder seemed to shake the world and 
 she ran for her life. Poor Daffy she was not yet 
 really grown-up, in spite of her nearly three years of 
 matrimony and the great age of twenty-two. She en- 
 joyed her run through the darkening streets and the 
 excitement of reaching home just before the rain came 
 down as if the heavens were a great bucket and had 
 turned over. 
 
 Several rickshaws stood before the door and a 
 sound of agitated voices greeted her. 
 
 "Hello, Hughie," she called, seeing Gunning's big 
 figure in the darkness of the veranda, "what's up?
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 325 
 
 The servants are making " Gunning held out one 
 hand to stop her words, but did not rise. 
 
 "For God's sake, be still," he said in a voice she 
 hardly recognized in the hiss and roar of the rain, 
 "an an awful thing has happened. I have shot 
 Skene he will lose an eye."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 ONE morning in April an austere-looking 
 woman in the blue and white uniform of a 
 London hospital nurse knocked on Hugh 
 Gunning's study door at Moonflowers. 
 
 When he called out, "Come in," she obeyed and 
 stood looking at him for a moment before she spoke. 
 Then her hard face softened a little. "He is ready to 
 come down, sir if you will come." 
 
 Gunning, who sat at his table, bowed his head for 
 a moment and then rose. 
 
 "I am ready," he said. 
 
 In the brilliant sunshine it was plain that his smooth 
 brown hair was streaked with gray and that his brown 
 face had a curiously wasted, ravaged look. He had 
 suffered mightily, and was still suffering. 
 
 "How is he?" he went on presently as they made 
 their way down the long bare corridor. 
 
 "He is quite well, sir. It is a fine constitution," 
 Miss Archer answered judicially. "The shock of such 
 an operation is usually much more severe." 
 
 At the door of the room whither they were bound 
 Gunning paused. "I I am a coward, Miss Archer," 
 he said. 
 
 She laid her hand for an instant on his arm. 
 
 "No, you are not," she answered firmly. "You are 
 326
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 827 
 
 only a very sensitive man in a particularly painful 
 position. Try to endure it a little longer. He will be 
 able to move in a fortnight, and by that time you must 
 be going back. The heat is terrible even now." 
 
 Her plain, sensible face was very kind. To her 
 Hugh Gunning's suffering made him nearly a patient. 
 
 "If if only he weren't so patient," he said, his 
 words stumbling a little. "His lack of resentment 
 hurts more than anything, I think " 
 
 Miss Archer sniffed. Even a duchess may sniff 
 occasionally. "I shouldn't bother about his lack of 
 resentment if I were you," she said dryly. "Some 
 people would say that the Lord is tempering the 
 wind." 
 
 Gunning nodded wearily and knocked at the door. 
 As he opened it his big figure collapsed limply 
 against the lintel. If he had stood free of support he 
 might have fallen. 
 
 Before him in the middle of the clean bare room 
 stood Nicholas Skene, dressed very carefully all in 
 white. His curly hair shone in the sunlight, his ill- 
 ness had succeeded only in half bleaching the sunburn 
 from his face, so that he looked less like an invalid 
 than like some demi-god in modern clothes. Invalid- 
 ism and probably so material are the means that con- 
 tribute to spiritually appearing earthly things in- 
 valid hours and fare had given his beautiful face a 
 kind of delicate radiance that was hardly human. And 
 over his left eye, neatly bound round his curly head, 
 a dark green silk patch lay like a blot on the fairness 
 of his face.
 
 328 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 It was the first time he had been fully dressed, the 
 first time he had been free of bandages. 
 
 When he saw Gunning he smiled, a smile, it seemed 
 to the poor fellow he greeted, of almost unearthly 
 radiance. 
 
 "Am I not smart?" he said. "I am so glad it isn't 
 black ; green is so much more becoming !" 
 
 "Don't, Skene that's a good fellow, don't chaff 
 about it, I I can't bear it." 
 
 And Skene's face changed. "Sorry, Gunning; I 
 didn't mean to hurt you I say, it is j oily to be prop- 
 erly dressed again. Let's go downstairs, shall we?" 
 
 Miss Archer watched the two men as they walked 
 down the passage together. Gunning walked stiffly, 
 like a man on parade, but Skene had taken his arm 
 and leaned on it half playfully. 
 
 "Humph !" said Miss Archer, and she sniffed again. 
 She had been with Skene since the day after his acci- 
 dent and she had seen Gunning daily. Her mind re- 
 garding them both was well made up. 
 
 Meantime they had reached the drawing room and 
 gone in. Skene was laughing, Gunning grim and 
 silent. 
 
 Daffy, who sat by the window, rose so hastily that 
 she upset a small table on which stood some knick- 
 knacks and a vase of flowers. 
 
 The water streamed over the floor, and as she bent 
 to pick up the vase Skene darted forward and knelt 
 in the debris. 
 
 "Oh, you have got your trousers wet," she ex- 
 claimed.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 329 
 
 He rose, set the vase down on the table and felt of 
 his left knee. "I didn't see the water," he said simply. 
 
 Then Daffy, looking at Gunning, felt that she al- 
 most hated her husband for the coldness in his face. 
 Poor Skene had not seen the water because his left 
 eye was gone, and Gunning, who had done the damage, 
 looked on as unmoved as if he himself had been both 
 blind and deaf. 
 
 Skene held out his hand to her. "Please welcome 
 me downstairs, Mrs. Gunning," he said. "I am so 
 delighted." 
 
 But Daffy, white-lipped, was staring at his green 
 patch. "I I oh, I am so sorry," she stammered, 
 the inadequate words ringing horribly absurd in her 
 own ears. 
 
 Skene, who had his hand in hers, turned and held 
 out his left one toward Gunning. 
 
 "Now look here," he said genially, "I know how 
 dreadfully sorry for me you both are. And I am, of 
 course, sorry for myself to a certain extent. But 
 that bullet was cast to go wrong and disable me in 
 some way, and I greatly prefer a green patch to, say, 
 a wooden leg or an empty sleeve." 
 
 As he spoke the white-robed butler came in and set 
 down on the nearest table a big tray on which stood 
 an array of iced drinks of various kinds. 
 
 As Gunning and Daffy remained silent, the young 
 man went to the table, poured out two modest whis- 
 kies, splashing the glasses with syphon, and hand- 
 ing Daffy a lemon squash, gave Gunning a whiskey 
 and took one himself.
 
 380 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "So please don't let's talk about me any more. I 
 mean to say, about my late eye. Promise me this, or 
 I shall be miserable. And now, please drink with me, 
 will you? to the Green Patch." 
 
 Automatically Gunning drained his glass, his eye 
 fixed in its depths. Daffy sipped at hers with her 
 quaintly pointed upper lip, and set it down. 
 
 "I think," she said deliberately, "that you are sim- 
 ply splendid, Mr. Skene. I admire your pluck more 
 than I can say. And I will try never to mention it 
 again. Only " 
 
 "Only me no onlies! It is agreed. And you, too, 
 Gunning." But Gunning had gone quietly out 
 through a window. 
 
 "Poor chap !" murmured Skene. He was genuinely 
 sorry for Gunning, but he was far sorrier for himself, 
 which was perfectly human and natural. 
 
 Daffy, somehow, looked prettier to his one eye than 
 she had ever done to his two ; at the humor of this idea 
 he suddenly laughed, and she at the sound burst into 
 tears. 
 
 She had suffered unspeakably since his accident and 
 her nerves had been strung up to breaking point. 
 Now the breaking point had come. 
 
 It was sweet to Skene that she should weep for him, 
 and he had been for long days in complete darkness, 
 and then for many more nearly as wearisome restricted 
 in the matter of women's faces to Miss Archer's, to 
 which he had not felt at all drawn. 
 
 Daffy's little white visage all a-tremble, her big 
 eyes bubbling with tears, the piteous baby-like shake
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 331 
 
 of her upper lip, went to his head. Before she knew 
 what he was about she was in his arms, her nose 
 smashed flat against the buttons of his coat, his mouth 
 close to her ear as he muttered little broken words of 
 love to her. 
 
 "It is so awful, so dreadful," she gasped, wriggling 
 to put her nose into comparative safety, "I can't bear 
 it." 
 
 Then he kissed her face, and for a minute she was 
 quiet. 
 
 "Poor, darling little Daffy," he said softly, "was 
 she so upset 1 She mustn't cry, though, no! she 
 mustn't. Hush, dear, you really mustn't." 
 
 But Daffy must, and did, and for quite five 
 minutes, and when at last she wiped her eyes on his 
 beautiful, smelly handkerchief, it pleased him to see 
 that her delicate little nose was not in the least dis- 
 colored or her eyes swollen. 
 
 "So you do care for me," she said, giving him back 
 his handkerchief. 
 
 "Of course I do ! Did you doubt it?" 
 
 "Yes. I was sure you did before and then when 
 you wouldn't see me all that time, then I thought I had 
 been mistaken." 
 
 "I didn't see you because I was not well enough," 
 he answered. But his real reason had been one of co- 
 quetry as keen as was ever that of a woman. With 
 bandages over his head, his chin and cheeks unshaven, 
 he would see no lady. This green patch, in its mute 
 pathos, was, he knew, not without a certain aesthetic 
 value. It was in a way almost becoming.
 
 333 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Well, that's what I thought. So I haven't told 
 Hughie." 
 
 "Told him what?" 
 
 "About us." 
 
 He looked at her aghast. "Why should you tell 
 him, in Heaven's name ?" 
 
 Daffy laughed. "Oh, you needn't be afraid. He 
 won't mind," she assured him. "He doesn't care for 
 me, you see, so he won't care at all." 
 
 Skene stared hard at her with his one big eye. Was 
 she a little mad ? 
 
 "Won't mind what?" he stammered stupidly. 
 
 But Daffy's mind was quite clear. "Why, about us, 
 of course. I never told you about how he came to 
 marry me, did I?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well sit down, and I will." As she spoke, she 
 herself sat down, and folding her thin little hands, be- 
 gan with something the air of a child with a good 
 story to tell. 
 
 "You see, I am the youngest of three girls, and 
 both the others are beautiful, not pretty, but real 
 beauties. And Sylvia, the elder she is Duchess of 
 Ginestra now is a very, very great beauty. Well, 
 Hughie knew us all when we were little children and he 
 fell in love with Sylvia then. He never loved any one 
 else. He loved her awfully. And when my mother 
 died he came to the funeral, and after it (mother had 
 known he loved Sylvia) he asked her to marry him. 
 Of course she said she would. Anybody would, he is 
 so nice."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Oh," commented Skene, wondering whether, after 
 all, his illness had made his head so queer. 
 
 "Yes, and they were engaged until the following 
 spring, and then she married the Duca di Ginestra." 
 
 "But why? I I don't seem to understand." 
 
 Daffy looked at him critically. "I don't see what 
 there is that's hard to understand ! It's all perfectly 
 simple! She married Gianfranco because she fell in 
 love with him ; because he is very handsome. It seems 
 rather quaint, doesn't it, that first Sylvia and then I 
 should desert poor old Hughie because another man is 
 handsome? Why, it nearly killed him when she did, 
 and as I said, he won't mind at all when I do. Well 
 then for a long time he was very miserable and when 
 father and I came back from Japan, he was better. 
 He came to Sorrento 
 
 "Why to Sorrento?" 
 
 "Because that's where we lived. Father has a lovely 
 house there and he came there and well, I'm sure I 
 don't know why he asked me to marry him, except that 
 I am Sylvia's sister." 
 
 Skene leaned forward, his hands on his knees, and 
 looked at her closely. 
 
 "And why did you accept him? Were you in love 
 with him?" 
 
 "No. I never was in love with any one till I met 
 you. But oh, well, it was time I married some one, 
 and dear old Hughie was so nice. Father was awfully 
 pleased." 
 
 "I S ee 
 
 "So that's how it all happened ! Isn't it lucky that
 
 334 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 he doesn't care for me ? I should hate to have to hurt 
 Hughie." 
 
 Skene wished he knew how to get out of the room. 
 He wanted to think. What she was planning he could 
 only guess, but he was definitely ill at ease, and wished 
 to be alone to think. 
 
 It was like his wretched luck that just when to her 
 no difficulties seemed visible, they loomed largest to 
 him. And the worst of it was that she had never been 
 half so attractive to him as now, when he began seri- 
 ously to doubt her mental balance. 
 
 He rose. "I think I had better rest awhile now, if 
 you don't mind," he said. "I am a little tired," and 
 Daffy flew to his side. 
 
 "Lean on me, and I'll go with you to your door. 
 No, lean harder. I am very strong." 
 
 Her eagerness to help touched him. She was so ut- 
 terly unlike all the other women he had honored with 
 his attention although these ladies were many and of 
 various types her strangeness in a subtle way flat- 
 tered him. He was pleased with himself for being 
 capable of appreciating her queer little charm, as 
 some people are proud of liking caviar. 
 
 "You are very good to me," he murmured. "To- 
 morrow I shall be stronger and we can talk it all over. 
 Please don't say anything to Gunning until we have 
 talked it over." 
 
 "Oh, don't you think I had better tell him at 
 once?" 
 
 She looked up at him, surprise in her eyes. 
 
 "No, dear. There are things you and I must settle
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 335 
 
 first. Now here we are. Thank you very much, and I 
 will rest. Good-bye until to-morrow." 
 
 He kissed her gently, and then, although it was only 
 eleven o'clock, went back to bed to insure solitude for 
 his reflections. What he was to say to her the next day 
 he had not the remotest idea, nor what in the name of 
 Heaven she would say to him. Her idea of telling 
 Gunning was, course, absurd to the verge of madness, 
 but he had no doubt he could convince her of its ab- 
 surdity, so it did not matter. 
 
 What did matter was, he realized, what he was to do 
 next. He knew himself well enough to realize that as 
 soon as he was a little stronger he was going to fall in 
 love with her. 
 
 He had not had a little love affair for some time, 
 and he knew that this one was now inevitable. 
 
 "If he finds out I shall have to leave and I do 
 want to go to Europe as he suggests to see that ocu- 
 list chap in Switzerland even Baffy ought to do 
 something for me when he sees me with one eye gone." 
 
 Baffy was his particularly long-suffering, but 
 finally disgusted eldest brother. 
 
 "I wonder why I never really thought of her till 
 that eye was gone. She isn't even pretty, and I'm 
 quite sure she's a little mad. And yet " 
 
 He sighed as the nurse pulled the green shutters to 
 and left him alone. He knew too well that matters 
 were now what he called out of his hands. And they 
 probably were. Self-control does not grow in a day, 
 nor do principles.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 JFTT^HE next day, for some reason, Skene was 
 worse ; he woke with a bad head and a little 
 fever and the doctor ordered him to stay in 
 *" bed. 
 
 Daffy was much disappointed, for she was burning 
 to tell the story to Gunning and had promised not to 
 before she had again seen Skene. 
 
 She wandered restlessly up and down the house all 
 day, her face set in its queer scowl, and once when 
 Gunning spoke to her, her voice, for the first time 
 since their marriage, held its old gruff bass note. 
 
 "Are you not well?" he asked, absently taking a 
 mango and looking at it as if he had not the least 
 idea what he was to do with it. 
 
 "Quite well," she growled, adding after a pause, 
 "thanks." 
 
 Gunning was away most of the afternoon. He had 
 a new trick of staying out for unexplained hours at a 
 time, and would come in looking exhausted and cov- 
 ered with dust. 
 
 Probably, if he had been asked where he had been he 
 would not have known, but no one asked him. Daffy 
 was utterly engrossed in the glorious egotism of her 
 first love. That particular day he did not come in 
 until just before dinner, and Skene, looking pale and 
 ill, sat in the drawing room. 
 
 336
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 337 
 
 "Ah glad to see you are down," the elder man 
 said, his face setting firmly as he shook hands with his 
 guest. "Are you better?" 
 
 "Yes. It was only a recurrence of the headache." 
 
 "Have you seen my wife?" 
 
 "No, I only just came down before you came in." 
 
 As he spoke, Daffy entered, carrying a great bunch 
 of purple, bill-like flowers that filled the air with a 
 strong scent. 
 
 "Oh, you are down !" Some of the flowers fell to 
 her feet in her surprise and Skene picked them up 
 after he had shaken hands with her. 
 
 "What lovely flowers," he said, a little sharply, 
 holding them to his face. "I didn't know you had any 
 here." 
 
 "No, we haven't, they were sent to me." 
 
 Gunning drew away from the strong-smelling 
 things. 
 
 "Who sent them, dear?" he asked civilly. 
 
 Daffy selected a vase for her present. "Would you 
 mind ringing for water, Hughie? I don't know who 
 it was. A lady, Johnson said; she came in a rick- 
 shaw." 
 
 Johnson, who was Gunning's valet, answered the 
 bell, and when he had left to fill the vase, Skene said 
 to Daffy, not looking at her, "I wonder who the lady 
 was, Mrs. Gunning. Perhaps Mrs. Harscamp." 
 
 "Oh, no, he knows her by sight. A young lady, he 
 said it was." 
 
 "Violet Dawson, probably, then." 
 
 Johnson returned just then and Daffy, constrained
 
 338 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 by a feeling that she must do so, although the mystery 
 did not greatly interest her, asked him about the lady 
 of the flowers. 
 
 "I don't know who it was, Madame," the man an- 
 swered, "it was a young lady, and she was very 
 pretty, if I may say so in fact, Madame," he went on 
 with the respectful confidence of an old servant, "she 
 was well, the most beautiful lady as ever I saw in 
 my life, barring 'Er Grace." 
 
 Daffy turned in surprise to Skene, but he had gone 
 to the piano and stood with his back turned to her, 
 looking at some new music that lay there. 
 
 "Thanks, Johnson. But who on earth can she be ?" 
 she continued, as the servant left the room. "Have 
 you any idea, Mr. Skene ?" 
 
 Gunning, who was watching the young man, no- 
 ticed his face as he turned. "I ? No, Mrs. Gunning. I 
 had no idea we were favored with the presence of such 
 beauty!" 
 
 "That," thought Gunning, as he went to his room to 
 dress, "was a lie." 
 
 His brain, almost physically weary of turning over 
 and over the hideous, hopeless thought of Skene's mu- 
 tilation, seized on the new idea of the lady of the 
 purple flowers with something like relief. Skene 
 knew who she was, and he would not acknowledge it. 
 Why? 
 
 All through dinner he was busy with this new 
 thought, though the subject did not come up again. 
 Skene was a little silent, excusing himself on the plea 
 of not yet feeling quite himself. "A headache is the
 
 THE GREEN PATCH - 339 
 
 very deuce, isn't it?" he added patiently, and Daffy 
 answered warmly. 
 
 Gunning's attitude of indifferent silence she took 
 greatly to heart. It looked to her like utter heartless- 
 ness, and the more angelic Skene was, the more indig- 
 nant she became. 
 
 Presently the conversation turned to their ap- 
 proaching return to England, and she turned to Skene. 
 
 "How long is it since you have been there ?" 
 
 "Nearly four years." 
 
 "Is it, really! Well, you will be very glad to get 
 back, won't you?" 
 
 Skene took some wine very slowly before he an- 
 swered. Then he said in a quiet voice, "I fear I shall 
 not be able to go, Mrs. Gunning." 
 
 "Not go! But why?" 
 
 "To be quite frank, I can't afford it." 
 
 Daffy glanced quickly at Gunning, who was draw- 
 ing patterns on the table-cloth with a fork. 
 
 "But " 
 
 "You see," Skene went on with an air of simple 
 courage, "I have wasted a lot of time this winter, and 
 things have gone wrong. I have to take the conse- 
 quences, that's all. But don't be troubled, Mrs. Gun- 
 ning. I am nearly quite strong again, and I shall, I 
 dare say, be able to manage a few weeks in the moun- 
 tains." Gunning didn't look up. His mouth was 
 fixed in its grim line ; he didn't speak. 
 
 Daffy drew a deep breath as she looked at him. 
 
 "Well, you must come to England, that's quite cer- 
 tain," she said, two little spots of red burning in the
 
 340 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 whiteness of her face. "It is entirely my fault that 
 you have 'wasted time,' so I wrote to my father just 
 after the the accident, and I had a cablegram to-day, 
 asking you to come over as his guest for a long stay. 
 You will like my father," she added hastily, "he is the 
 greatest dear in the world. And he will like you. He 
 has such a pretty place at Sorrento, and he wants you 
 to go there first for a month or so, and then he is 
 going to England, and wants you to go with him. 
 His eyes are a little troublesome, he says, and he is 
 going some time during the summer to Lausanne to 
 see the big oculist there, and " 
 
 "Rather a long cablegram," commented Gunning 
 harshly. Then he rose and left the room. Daffy 
 stared defiantly after him for a moment and then 
 looked at Skene. 
 
 "My dear," he said softly, "he knew that that was 
 a fib." 
 
 "Then," growled Daffy in her hoarsest voice, "I 
 hope he is as ashamed as he ought to be. Oh, Nicko, I 
 am so ashamed of him. I can't understand. He 
 never was unkind before." 
 
 Skene came to where she sat, and laid his hands on 
 her bare shoulders. "Look at me," he whispered, 
 something in his voice that stirred her in a quite new 
 way. 
 
 "Oh, no, you mustn't kiss me!" she faltered, her 
 black head pressed against his shirt front, "not yet." 
 
 He drew back, as surprised as he was annoyed. 
 
 "I can't understand you at all," he said angrily. 
 "Why do you flirt with me?"
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 341 
 
 She rose and faced him. "I don't flirt with you," 
 she retorted, angry herself. "That is not true. But I 
 don't think it would be nice to kiss me before we have 
 told him." 
 
 Skene failed absolutely to understand that she was 
 sincere. To him her attitude was a not unskillful one 
 of coquetry, and it piqued and led him on as no 
 amount of simple love could have done. 
 
 He seized her and kissed her violently several times. 
 
 Poor little Daffy ! when he let her go she stood be- 
 fore him panting and scarlet, her eyes wet, her mouth 
 quivering. She was torn by two very different emo- 
 tions, but only one of them found words. "You 
 mustn't, you mustn't" she protested, almost wildly, 
 "it isn't fair. It's horrid!" 
 
 "Thanhs ! I kiss you because I love you, and you 
 say it's horrid !" His pale face flushed with anger and 
 hurt vanity. 
 
 "I don't mean that you know I don't ! I mean that 
 it isn't right yet. Hugh will not mind after I have 
 told him, but he hates sneaking, and I mil not sneak!" 
 
 She had never in her life before called her husband 
 Hugh. 
 
 This Skene, of course, did not know, but in her 
 anger and her new dignity she appealed strongly to 
 him, although he saw in her mental attitude but an ab- 
 surd pose. He liked pose, however. 
 
 "You have a fine little temper of your own, I see," 
 he teased, "I am positively afraid of you !" 
 
 But her seriousness remained unbroken. 
 
 "I will go and tell him now," she declared firmly.
 
 342 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "You mustn't." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 "He'd scold you." 
 
 "Nonsense. He never scolds me. Good-bye. I will 
 come back no, I'll come to the drawing room in 
 about well, it will take a long time in half-an-hour, 
 say." 
 
 And before he could stop her she had left the room 
 and he heard her knock at the study door. 
 
 Gunning was not in the room, but as she opened the 
 door he came in at a window. 
 
 His face had a peculiar expression, but she was too 
 self -engrossed to notice it. 
 
 "Hughie," she said, "I have something to tell you." 
 
 "Sit down, Daffy." 
 
 But she remained standing. He never forgot the 
 picture she made in her white frock, her hands tightly 
 clasped before her, her brows drawn intently together. 
 
 "It is this. I know you will not mind, so I can tell 
 you in a few words. I want to marry Mr. Skene, 
 Hughie, so will you please divorce me ?" 
 
 Gunning sat down suddenly, and burst out laugh- 
 ing. "So will I please divorce you? My dear child, 
 have you gone mad?" 
 
 "No, Hughie, I am not mad at all. I I love 
 him." 
 
 He was silent for a moment, and then he said, sud- 
 denly grave, "Daffy, dear, if if you dislike me too 
 much to stay with me, you may go home to your 
 father. But before you go, you must realize that it 
 will cause a great deal of talk, which you will not like.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 343 
 
 And your position as a woman living apart from her 
 husband will not be so good as the one you have now 
 even with me," he added a little bitterly. 
 
 "But I don't want to go home to my father," she 
 insisted, her eyes fixed on him. 
 
 "As to your marrying Skene, you shall certainly 
 never do that," he continued, disregarding her inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 "But why? It isn't as if you loved me." 
 
 "That has nothing to do with it. Skene is not a 
 good man. He would not be good to you." 
 
 Daffy flushed violently. Then she extended both 
 her arms in a queer theatrical gesture he had never 
 before seen her use. 
 
 "Oh, you brute, you coward," she cried hoarsely, 
 the words stumbling over each other, "to say that of 
 the man whose life your carelessness has ruined. 'Crim- 
 inal carelessness' 7 call it. Other men don't hurt their 
 friends, and you have always been proud of your 
 shooting " 
 
 "Be silent !" he thundered. 
 
 It was a strange moment. She had never before 
 seen him as angry as lay in him to be, and her deep in- 
 dignation, unjust as it was, struck him by its very 
 intensity. 
 
 Both of them, more angry than ever before in their 
 lives, were at the same time impressed by the unex- 
 pected revelation in each other. 
 
 "I will not be silent " 
 
 "You will. You are not yourself. You have in- 
 sulted me in a way I shall never forgive."
 
 344 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "And you, in insulting the man I love, have in- 
 sulted me. I repeat that I consider you a coward. I 
 have no more to say." 
 
 Very quietly she left the room, and Gunning, after 
 staring at the closed door for several seconds, stum- 
 bled to a chair and sat down.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 GUNNING got no sleep that night. After 
 leaving the dinner table he had walked about 
 the garden for some time, and then an evil 
 chance had brought him within eye-shot of 
 the scene in the dining-room just as Daffy tore herself 
 from Skene's arms. 
 
 Gunning was too far off to hear what the two were 
 saying, and his sense of dignity did not allow him to 
 stand and watch, but he went away into the darkness 
 with, printed in his mind, a picture of his wife, a 
 flushed, tremulous woman, wakened at last to woman- 
 hood by another man. 
 
 Over and over again he recalled the scene, as the 
 short, hot night wore on. 
 
 And it did not occur once to him that his first im- 
 pression as to Daffy's reason for making her remarka- 
 ble request might have been wrong. 
 
 She had, he believed, seen him in the garden, and 
 her coming to his study had been merely a suddenly 
 inspired bit of feminine diplomacy. 
 
 His slow, honest mind was stirred to disgust by this 
 conviction. 
 
 Her accusation of cowardice regarding Skene, too, 
 hit him in a very raw place. It was horrible to him 
 that he could not like the man he had so terribly in- 
 jured. 
 
 845
 
 346 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 He felt that his distrust of Skene was an added hurt 
 to the young man. He had many days before sug- 
 gested Skene's going back to Europe with him and his 
 wife, to see the oculist in Switzerland, but since mak- 
 ing the suggestion his dislike of Skene had so increased 
 that he felt he could not face the journey. 
 
 In some way without hurting the fellow, he had been 
 thinking he must arrange that the journey must not 
 be made together. 
 
 It was very horrible to him, thus to plot, for Hugh 
 Gunning was a generous-minded man, but his dislike 
 of Skene was stronger than his reason ; he could not 
 overcome it. 
 
 The knowledge, too, that Daffy saw his dislike and 
 mis-read it as callousness, had hurt him severely. But 
 he was one of those men who seem, once their emotions 
 come into play, incapable of explanation. It was im- 
 possible for him to even make an effort to convince 
 his wife of her injustice. All he could do was to set 
 his teeth and endure his misery as best he could. 
 
 And now the worst had happened, and the poor lit- 
 tle fool was in love with the man she regarded as her 
 husband's victim. 
 
 Why Gunning's sense of justice should have failed 
 him in a matter so vital as his judgment of Daffy's 
 reason for telling him of her infatuation, it is hard to 
 guess. 
 
 It may have been because his brain was already 
 over-tired, it may have lain in the fact that he knew 
 she had as a child been untruthful. 
 
 Whatever the reason was for his mistake, in its way
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 847 
 
 as vital as hers about his mental attitude regarding 
 the accident, it helt! rpod and widened the breach to a 
 very dangerous extent. 
 
 Morning, however, found him resolved to make an 
 effort to keep her from rushing into the folly she con- 
 templated. 
 
 At about eleven o'clock he sent for her to come to 
 his study. They had not met before, and wished each 
 other a sedate good-morning. Then he began gently, 
 "Daffy, I am sorry I was harsh last night. And I 
 wish to tell you something that will perhaps explain 
 to a certain extent why I maintain that Skene is not a 
 good man. I saw him kiss you last night." 
 
 Now Daffy was still ashamed of that kiss, but she 
 was far too angry to admit it. 
 
 "Well?" she asked defiantly. 
 
 "Do you think it nice, as you say, to come to a 
 man's house and make love to his young his very 
 young wife?" 
 
 "Nonsense! If the young the very young wife 
 permits it, why not? I tell you, I love him." 
 
 "There is, believe me, nothing new in that situation. 
 You are not the first woman who has " 
 
 But Daffy was seized with one of her fits of elo- 
 quence and burst into a torrent of words that tempted 
 him to stop his ears. 
 
 "I know all that, and all that you are planning to 
 say. And it is all wrong. I have been perfectly hon- 
 est with you ; I came and told you that I loved Nicko 
 Skene, and that we wished to marry; and if he has 
 kissed me, what of that? Don't people who love each
 
 348 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 other usually kiss each other? I let him," she lied, 
 "and I liked it. I liked it very much. He loves me, 
 and that is more than you ever did ! Oh, I am not re- 
 proaching you; I always knew you'd never love any 
 one but Sylvia, and I am glad you don't love me, 
 but " she paused for a moment, and then with a 
 crowning effort of fierceness added the supreme injus- 
 tice: "But you knew what love is, and I didn't, be- 
 cause I was too young, and you had no right, no 
 right, I say, to cheat me out of my chance of hap- 
 piness !" 
 
 There was a long pause, and then Gunning said 
 quietly, "I see what you mean, and I am sorry you 
 think that. Everything you have said is untrue as 
 well as cruelly unkind, but that doesn't matter. I 
 will take you to your father and leave you there. But 
 I will never understand me once and for all, please 
 I will never either divorce you or let you divorce me. 
 The man is not straight ; oh, I don't mean because he 
 kissed you there are other things I have heard men 
 talk about him, and I have noticed a hundred trifles I 
 didn't like, and you shall not ruin your life by marry- 
 ing him." 
 
 "Ah, I see. I congratulate you on your perversity, 
 Hughie. First you maim and disfigure him, the most 
 beautiful man in the world, and then you refuse to let 
 him be happy. Very well. I will go to my father, and 
 if he cannot convince you that there is only one thing 
 that you can in common decency do then I will run 
 away with Nicko Skene, and every one shall know what 
 you have done."
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 349 
 
 "This is silly rot, Daffy. Try to behave like a 
 grown woman. The fellow hasn't asked you to run 
 away with him, has he? And I greatly doubt if he 
 would have the courage ! Did he tell you to come to 
 me last night? I greatly doubt that, too." 
 
 Daffy caught a deep breath and tried to speak, but 
 she was done, and in place of words came tears. 
 
 Poor Gunning at once softened. She was so little, 
 so young, so unutterably foolish! 
 
 "Don't cry, Daffy," he said awkwardly, "I am 
 sorry I was hasty. Try to believe that I am thinking 
 of your ultimate happiness. And I am sure it does 
 not lie with poor Skene. God knows I " he broke 
 off ; the words expressing his grief about the accident 
 would not come. After a pause he went on: "He's a 
 type I know well, dear. He's a woman's man ; he's had 
 half a dozen love affairs even out here. He knew yes- 
 terday who the lady was who brought you the purple 
 flowers ask him. I saw his face." 
 
 Daffy had nearly conquered her tears now, and was 
 scrambling for her pocket in an unrestrained childish 
 way that gave him a little pang of amusement in the 
 midst of his pain. 
 
 "It isn't true, he does love me. He said so." 
 
 Hope shot into Gunning's heart. "I'm not saying 
 he doesn't love you. No doubt he does in his way. 
 But it isn't the love that lasts, I could swear. It 
 never occurred to me that he loved you. He doesn't 
 look as if he did. You don't know, my dear, how 
 many emotions there are that go by the name of love 
 without even approaching it."
 
 350 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Having found her handkerchief, Daffy blew her 
 nose. 
 
 "It's the kind of love that pleases me," she de- 
 clared finally. "If you had had the the humanity 
 to kiss Sylvia even once, realty she might not have 
 got bored and thrown you over. Then all this trouble 
 would never have been." 
 
 Gunning, remembering the great measure of his 
 beautiful reverence for Sylvia, felt as if her words had 
 desecrated a temple. 
 
 "Don't !" he ej aculated sharply. 
 
 "All right, I'll not say any more. I wish to go to 
 Sorrento at once. I suppose you have no objection?" 
 
 "None whatever. A boat goes to-morrow. We can 
 catch it quite easily." 
 
 "I wish to go alone, please. Oh, you needn't be 
 afraid," she added with an absurd little air of hauteur, 
 "Nicko will not come until I send for him !" 
 
 "Very well, you may go alone to-morrow. The 
 Porter-Whytes are going and they will " 
 
 " Took after me?' All right. Thank you." 
 
 She left the room without further delay and a little 
 later he heard her maid's heavy footfall in her room 
 overhead, as she tramped from box to box packing. 
 
 "Curious," he thought, lighting a cigar, "how she 
 looks like Sylvia when she's angry. Not that Sylvia 
 ever was angry," his mind went on, loyal as ever to the 
 memory of his youthful love, "but Daffy's mouth is so 
 like hers when she is in a rage. Poor Daffy !" 
 
 He was unspeakably miserable; life indeed was 
 hard to bear. After shooting Skene, it had seemed
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 351 
 
 nearly unendurable, but now Daffy's madness in- 
 creased the misery tenfold. If Skene had been a good 
 fellow, he thought, he would not have minded, but as 
 it was, poor Lambe, he would be dreadfully shocked. 
 "I wonder if she is right, after all; that I had no 
 right to marry her when she didn't know? But I 
 thought I could make her happy." 
 
 With a stab of remorse he remembered his forgotten 
 promise, made to Lambe the night before they sailed, 
 not to let Daffy be lonely. He had not recalled the 
 conversation until now, and now he recalled as well 
 his father-in-law's uneasy manner and queer little 
 speech of adieu. "I believe he saw trouble ahead," he 
 reflected. 
 
 Like most honest people his self-reproach over- 
 reached itself, and he took to himself all the blame 
 from the very beginning. But Daffy's attitude about 
 the accident he could not forgive. She might, she 
 should have seen that his sorrow was beyond expres- 
 sion, that he simply could not talk about it ; that the 
 green patch Skene wore was to him like a great blot 
 on the fairness of the world. He saw it everywhere. 
 And when he met Skene suddenly, or if the young 
 man, turning quickly, displayed the thing, it was as if 
 he, Gunning, literally could not bear it. 
 
 Skene's seraphic patience, in which he could nol 
 force himself absolutely to believe, made matters 
 worse. If only the young man had been petty and un- 
 reasonable ! But he was always gentleness itself, and 
 Gunning, distrusting his gentleness, felt himself to be 
 a monster of suspicious uncharitableness even while in
 
 352 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 his heart he knew Skene was not what he termed 
 straight. Hours passed and Gunning had not left 
 his study. 
 
 At last, toward six, unable to bear the stress of 
 continuous thought any longer, he went for a walk. 
 As he passed through the garden to the gate, he met 
 Daffy returning home in a rickshaw. "I have been 
 about my cabin," she said civilly. "I have got a 
 very good one." 
 
 "I am glad. Where is Skene?" 
 
 "I don't know. I haven't seen him at all to-day. 
 This morning his head was bad. Sly of him to have 
 headache, isn't it? And as to the green patch, I call 
 it very dishonest of him to wear it." 
 
 Her childish malice hurt him horribly. Without a 
 word he passed on, and a little later found himself in 
 the native village. 
 
 But after threading a difficult way through the 
 evening crowd there for a few minutes, the smells be- 
 came too much for him, and he turned up a narrow 
 lane leading to the left toward the Cinnamon 
 Garden. 
 
 Here it was quieter and the smells were less viru- 
 lent. Presently he came to an open road, which was 
 lined with sunburnt pepper trees, and where a slight, 
 warm breeze was stirring. 
 
 Gunning was very tired, and with dragging foot- 
 steps took the footpath to the right. 
 
 His mind had gone back to the political plan that 
 had been submitted to him. It pleased his ambition, 
 but its charm had gone, somehow. He was too tired
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 353 
 
 to take pleasure in anything. " 'For Cassius is a- 
 weary of the world,' " he thought sadly, and then 
 laughed at his own vanity in comparing himself to the 
 brilliant Roman. 
 
 But a-weary of the world he was, nevertheless. The 
 trouble ahead of him was peculiarly repellant to his 
 orderly mind. An obstreperous wife had never oc- 
 curred to him as one of the griefs life might have in 
 store for him. 
 
 Divorce he looked upon with uncompromising eyes, 
 simply as disgraceful. 
 
 "Whatever comes," he said again to himself, as he 
 entered a path thickly shaded by trees hanging over 
 a high wooden paling on his right, "that shall not. 
 Besides, the poor little thing doesn't really love him. 
 It's calf love, the romantic nonsense she should have 
 gone through at eighteen." 
 
 And then he stopped suddenly as if he had been 
 shot. Some one had spoken on the other side of the 
 paling. 
 
 "I tell you, I won't have it," the voice had said, 
 angry, authoritative. And it was Skene's voice. 
 
 "Why, dee-ar," drawled some one else very musi- 
 cally, "how can you help it?" 
 
 "I'll beat him to a jelly if it happens again. 
 That's how I'll help it !" 
 
 The woman laughed. "Why, dear Apollo, then 
 what should / do? Don't be sillee. Now tell me the 
 news. How is the little ladee ? Did she like the flowers 
 I sent her?" 
 
 "Aha ! I knew it was you. How dared you?"
 
 354 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 She laughed again. "I am not afraid. Why should 
 I be? I am a verree good girl, as every boddee knows, 
 and I am daughter of an English gentleman! When 
 Pedro told me, then I laughed very much. It was so 
 funnee. And one night, I went to Moonflowers and I 
 crawled close to the windows and I looked in. Oh, 
 verree prettee! And Mr. Apollo Skene sitting so 
 close, so close, his eyes half shut so. He had two 
 eyes then !" 
 
 The laugh made Gunning's blood rush indignantly 
 to his face, but he had sat down on a bench that stood 
 in the dark shadow of the trees and deliberately lis- 
 tened. 
 
 It was the first dishonorable act of his life, but he 
 had no scruples. 
 
 Presently he saw a knot-hole in one of the boards 
 of the paling and crept quietly along the bench and 
 put his eye to it. 
 
 The garden, he saw, was neglected and untidy. At 
 the far end of it an open door showed a small strip of 
 a dark, dirty kitchen, in which a woman sat, with her 
 back turned toward the garden. Just inside the pal- 
 ings was a battered steamer chair, and in it sat the 
 woman who laughed. 
 
 She wore a dirty white dress tied round the waist 
 with an orange-colored sash. Her hair was hidden by 
 a violet straw hat, adorned by dingy white plumes. 
 Her hands and arms to the elbow were bare, and of a 
 peculiar dusky bronze hue. From his place Gunning 
 could not see her face, but the hands were the hands 
 of a woman possessed of some sort of power. They
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 355 
 
 were carefully tended, too, though a little dirty, and 
 a heavy gold bracelet shone on one wrist. 
 
 "Pedro was looking very handsome at the wedding," 
 she went on, her hands curving round each other in 
 evident enjoyment. "It was a verree prettee wedding. 
 We had pink champagne. Pedro kissed mee !" 
 
 There was a crash as Skene, in jumping up, 
 knocked his chair over. 
 
 "Look here, Blanziflor," he said, his voice rough 
 with strong emotion, "I swear I won't have this; I 
 can't stand it. I'll do that dog some harm, I tell you." 
 
 The beautiful dusky hands in the white lap ceased 
 their sensuous motions and stiffened suddenly. "Don't 
 be cross, Nicko," she said, "you frighten me." 
 
 Then Skene knelt by her, and with both arms round 
 her, he muttered things Gunning could not hear. 
 
 The girl, turning a little, bent and kissed the curly 
 head in her lap, and then as they sat motionless, Gun- 
 ning for the first time saw her face. It was so beauti- 
 ful that he caught his breath. "Who on earth can she 
 be?" he asked himself. She had said she was the 
 daughter of an English gentleman, and she certainly 
 was as fair as many dark Englishwomen, but her 
 hands were not the hands of a white woman. Chi-chi ! 
 
 Any one used to the East would have known at 
 once by the way she spoke, but Gunning only recog- 
 nized it now. 
 
 "Blanziflor, I love you," he heard Skene whisper 
 brokenly, "be good to me ; don't torment me. Isn't it 
 enough that that swine has destroyed my eye and 
 maimed me "
 
 356 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "God damn him," interrupted the girl calmly, "I 
 hate him. I should like to tear out his eye with my 
 fingers." 
 
 "Oh, he didn't mean to, but it was brutal careless- 
 ness at the best smug fool. It makes me so angry 
 when I think of all his money, and all he can do, 
 while I " 
 
 The girl took off her hat and sent it sailing away 
 over the gravel. Her beauty now was amazing. 
 
 "But why you make love to his wife?" she asked, 
 frowning suddenly. "Pedro told me. I know." 
 
 Skene did not answer at once and Gunning waited, 
 breathless, for his answer. 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you the truth, shall I?" 
 
 "Yes, Nicko, dear." 
 
 "It's this way, then. You had been beastly to me, 
 your father had been making another row at the bar 
 at the G. F. H., I was furious with you and ashamed 
 of him, and, she's a nice little thing," he added, "and 
 I had to make love to some one." 
 
 The callousness of this last statement did not shock 
 the girl. "And she fell in love with you and made love 
 to you," she suggested, without malice, "and oh, 
 yes, I see. It is verree simple. Well, and what are you 
 going to do with me ? I don't believe you really love 
 me. Not as Pedro does !" 
 
 "Damn Pedro." 
 
 "Yes, but Pedro is rich. And he will marry me. 
 To-morrow, if I like !" 
 
 Gunning was almost sorry for the unconscionable 
 Skene, as he saw his face pale at her words.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 357 
 
 "My God, Blanziflor, you know I'd marry you to- 
 morrow if I had the money. But I couldn't even pay 
 the parson !" 
 
 "Well, then, what do you mean to do with me ?" she 
 persisted. "Why do you not go to your Mr. Moon- 
 flower and say to him, 'Look here, you shot out my 
 eye, give me money for it.' * 
 
 "Nonsense, I can't do that. Try to remember that 
 I was at least born a gentleman," he retorted 
 clossly. 
 
 "All right. If you cannot marry me, then I will 
 marry Pedro," went on her sweet voice. 
 
 Before he answered her Gunning's attention was 
 attracted by an old native woman who came out of the 
 kitchen. She was very ancient, very wrinkled, very 
 black, and she was smoking a pipe. 
 
 The girl, seeing her approach, spoke sharply to her 
 in some native dialect and the half-naked old creature 
 turned obediently and ambled back into her lair. 
 
 "You don't like my dear grandmother," laughed the 
 girl in lazy amusement. 
 
 Skene groaned. "She is abominable. I I can't 
 bear to think of her it is loathsome." 
 
 "And yet she is my mother's mother! And such a 
 handsome Portuguese gentleman loved her! My 
 mother was prettee, and I am the beautiful Blanziflor 
 Truscott; my father is an English gentleman! 
 Verree nice." 
 
 Gunning understood. He had once seen a very 
 much intoxicated Englishman staggering up the main 
 street, and some one had told him the story. "Poor old
 
 358 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Bill Truscott lived here for thirty years ; married a 
 half-breed gone utterly to smash." 
 
 And this beautiful creature was the result of the 
 marriage. 
 
 Two things were made plain with merciful rapidity 
 to Gunning. He need have no further compunctions 
 about Skene, whom he could easily buy off ; and with 
 such evidence as this in his hands Daffy could not 
 possibly refuse to be convinced of her lover's baseness. 
 Very quietly the eavesdropper crept away from his 
 bench and made his way, after a long tramp in the 
 Cinnamon Garden, homeward.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 WHEN Gunning reached home the first 
 thing he saw was Daffy's luggage go- 
 ing down the avenue in a bullock cart. 
 The steamer, he knew, sailed early, and 
 he went at once to the drawing room to make sure that 
 she had not already gone on board. 
 
 She sat at the writing table sealing a letter, her 
 mouth screwed up earnestly. For a moment she did 
 not see him and he watched her with a great feeling of 
 pity and tenderness in his heart. 
 
 She was unjust, and cruel, and absurd, but she was 
 so little, so wan in the warm evening light; she was 
 the same pathetic little Daffy whom he had picked up 
 that night years ago in the boat off the Sussex coast. 
 And now he was going to rescue her again! The 
 quaint thought gave him a kind of melancholy pleas- 
 ure. Would she again assure him of her age and per- 
 fect ability to take care of herself? 
 
 She looked up to find him, his face, kind as of old, 
 bent toward her. "Why, Hughie," she said, with a 
 little gasping surprise, "how queer you look!" 
 
 Then she remembered and drew herself up with 
 much dignity. "I have sent my luggage to the 
 steamer," she said, "and Hemming and I go early in 
 the morning. I have written you a long letter to read 
 after I have gone. I was going to put it on your 
 
 859
 
 360 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 table just before I left, but you might as well take 
 it." 
 
 "Why didn't you pin it on my pincushion?" he 
 asked with a little smile. 
 
 "Why your pincushion?" 
 
 "That's what most women do who are deserting 
 their husbands !" 
 
 But his joke seemed to her out of place. 
 
 "I suppose you won't mind my talking to Mr. 
 Skene after dinner?" she said severely; "there are 
 things I must explain to him." 
 
 Gunning hesitated, overcome by a sudden fear of 
 hurting her. It seemed like executing a baby with a 
 sixteen-pounder. 
 
 "Daffy, dear," he said, "did you ever hear of a very 
 beautiful girl here, named let me see Blanziflor, 
 yes, Blanziflor Truscott ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, her father's a drunken Englishman, a gen- 
 tleman once, poor wretch, who married a Portuguese 
 half-breed. They live in the Pettah, in a tumble-down 
 bungalow." 
 
 Daffy remembered. "Oh, yes, I have seen her, also 
 the father. The bungalow has some absurdly preten- 
 tious name ; I've forgotten it. But why, Hughie, what 
 about her?" 
 
 "Skene is in love with her," he said bluntly, unable 
 to find words in which to clothe properly the ugly, 
 naked fact. 
 
 "I don't believe it," she answered flatly, and it was 
 clear that she did not.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 361 
 
 * 
 
 "But it is true. He would marry her if he could. I 
 tell you, I know" he persisted. 
 
 "It is not true at all, and I didn't think you'd do 
 such a thing. I'm going to dress and " she moved 
 toward the door, but paused on her way, one hand 
 raised in an attitude of listening. 
 
 "Here he comes," she said quietly, "now you must 
 let me tell him what you have said." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 Neither of them was ever to forget the two minutes 
 they stood in silence, listening to Skene's light foot- 
 steps as he came up the roadway, into the house, and 
 across the hall. 
 
 When he opened the door he paused, struck by 
 something in the atmosphere. 
 
 "Nicko," Daffy began at once, without preamble, 
 "I have told my husband that we love each other and 
 that I wish him to divorce me." 
 
 "You have told him yes, I know, last night," 
 stammered the young man. "Well " he turned, as 
 was his habit, so that Gunning could not fail to see 
 his green patch, but this time Gunning, for the first 
 time, did not flinch. 
 
 Gunning was silent for a moment, while the 
 other two, recognizing his intention to speak, 
 waited. 
 
 At last he said to Skene, "Well and when I have 
 arranged the divorce, you wish to marry my present 
 wife?" 
 
 Skene was very pale, and later they both remem- 
 bered that he had been pale when he came in.
 
 362 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 "Yes," he said slowly, "if she will do me the 
 honor." 
 
 Gunning was surprised, but his face did not show 
 it. He had left his knot-hole too soon. 
 
 "You will, I am sure, recognize my right to make 
 sure before I take any definite steps in the matter that 
 her happiness really lies with you?" 
 
 "Of course." Skene arranged the ribbons that held 
 the patch in place as he spoke, but again Gunning did 
 not wince. 
 
 "Then excuse my abruptness you love Daffy ?" 
 
 "Of course he does," she interrupted eagerly, "and 
 you have no right " 
 
 "Hush !" said Gunning. Then he again waited. 
 
 "I do love her. Yes, of course, I do. Now are you 
 satisfied?" 
 
 There was something like a snarl in his voice as he 
 brought out the words, and he looked away. 
 
 Daffy shot a reproach-laden glance at Hughie. 
 
 He was doing what she wished, but he was not doing 
 it graciously, as she had expected. She was conscious 
 of a feeling of disappointment in him. 
 
 "Yes, I hope you are satisfied," she said with 
 dignity. 
 
 "Stop! I am not satisfied. Listen to me, Skene, 
 and Daffy, watch him well. I have a proposal to make 
 to you, Skene. I have the intention of buying Hars- 
 camp's rubber plantations. I have felt ever since that 
 most unfortunate accident for which God knows I 
 shall suffer all my life, that I ought to make you 
 some substantial reparation for the loss the loss of
 
 THE GREEN PATCH 363 
 
 your eye, which you sustained through ray miserable 
 carelessness. 
 
 "Now the Black Hill Plantation is, I believe, a very 
 fine one. I wish to give it to you, not because I 
 imagine for one minute that it will in any slight meas- 
 ure make up to you for your terrible misfortune, but 
 because I wish you to be because well, in short 
 because I wish you to have it. You will allow me this 
 pleasure ?" 
 
 "The Black Hill Plantation why it's it's worth 
 it's one of the best on the island," stammered Skene 
 "I really couldn't " 
 
 "Wait a moment. I am a rich man. I can quite 
 well afford it. That's beside the question. I have one 
 condition to make. You will guess it." 
 
 "That he gives me up, of course," sneered Daffy, 
 with deep scorn. "Hughie, I am ashamed of 
 you." 
 
 "Yes, that he gives you up and marries the woman 
 he really loves, Blanziflor Truscott." 
 
 Skene groped behind him for a chair and sat hud- 
 dled in it for a full minute before he spoke. 
 
 "Blanziflor I don't understand." 
 
 "Yes, you do," contradicted Gunning sternly, "you 
 understand perfectly well. Be a man, Skene. Tell my 
 silly little wife the truth. She doesn't really love you 
 any more than you love her. Come, it won't kill her, 
 you needn't be afraid!" 
 
 DafFy went and stood by the coward in the chair. 
 
 "Why don't you answer?" she asked him curiously. 
 "Answer him, Nicko."
 
 364 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 Skene moistened his dry lips with the tip of his 
 tongue. "I I " he stammered. 
 
 "Hurry up," Gunning looked at his watch. "My 
 offer holds good for exactly two minutes longer." 
 
 He stood with his eyes fixed on the galloping second 
 hand. A minute passed and sweat broke out on his 
 brow. Suppose the fellow were, after all, too vain to 
 expose himself to Daffy. Suppose he counted too 
 surely on Lambe to help them out ; suppose a definite 
 break had taken place between the Truscott girl and 
 Skene after he, Gunning, had left. 
 
 Skene breathed hard, his face livid behind the green 
 patch. Gunning fixed his eyes now on the green patch 
 that was to him a symbol of so much suffering. Was 
 his whole life to be ruined by it ? 
 
 Daffy stood very erect, her eyes on the sea. She 
 was curiously motionless. 
 
 "Thirty seconds more and your chance is gone," 
 said Gunning. "Twenty seconds ten " 
 
 "I I accept it," stammered Skene, rising and 
 stumbling toward the window, "I'm ill, I'm going to 
 faint." 
 
 "Get some brandy, Daffy, it's true, he is faint- 
 ing." 
 
 Daffy rushed to the dining-room and came back 
 with a carafe in her hand. 
 
 "Here, Skene, drink this, it's only brandy no, no, 
 you must take it." 
 
 Gunning's voice sounded like a doctor's, Daffy 
 thought vaguely. 
 
 Then Skene stood up, drawing a deep breath.
 
 THE GREEN PATCH S65 
 
 "Sorry to have made such an ass of myself," he 
 murmured, "I I had a queer turn." 
 
 "Yes, but you're all right now." 
 
 "Dinner is served, Madame," announced Thompson, 
 in his startlingly every-day voice. 
 
 "I must go." Skene turned to Daffy. "You will 
 excuse me." 
 
 "Of course," she said civilly, but Gunning detained 
 him. 
 
 "One minute. You accept my offer of the Black 
 Hill Plantation, and you admit that you love this 
 young lady?" 
 
 "Yes." After all, there is some good in most peo- 
 ple. Skene drew himself up a little and faced them 
 with a certain dignity. 
 
 "I have known Miss Truscott for four years, nearly, 
 I have always cared for her. But it all seemed hope- 
 less. You probably know that her mother was a half- 
 caste, and you will have seen her father. I'd have 
 married her, however, any time these four years if I 
 could. But I hadn't a penny. This very afternoon I 
 said good-bye to her, and I I am very fond of -of 
 Mrs. Gunning. I should have tried " 
 
 "You may leave that out," declared Gunning. 
 
 Skene cleared his throat. "As you say, Mrs. Gun- 
 ning has been misled by her pity for my my acci- 
 dent (about which you are inclined, I fear, to think 
 too much), I am sure that her feelings for me are 
 really only those of of friendship and pity." 
 
 "Wait a moment, Mr. Skene!" Daffy's voice was 
 very cool and remote. "Pity only but friendship ! I
 
 366 THE GREEN PATCH 
 
 have been an utter fool and, all things considered, I 
 don't blame you for for resigning yourself to ac- 
 cepting me with the luxury you know I probably 
 meant for you. But friendship! Oh, no." 
 
 She walked away to the window. 
 
 Skene flushed. "This is most unpleasant," he said 
 awkwardly, "and she is very unjust. I will go." 
 
 "Unpleasant, yes," corrected Daffy from the win- 
 dow, without turning. "Unjust, no." 
 
 "Good-bye, Gunning." 
 
 "Good-bye, Skene, I will arrange it all with my so- 
 licitor as soon as I get back. I have your address. 
 And you do believe in my my everlasting sorrow 
 about your eye?" 
 
 Skene nodded gravely. "Yes, I do, of course I do. 
 And I hope I hope things will be" he glanced at 
 Daffy. 
 
 Gunning frowned a little. "Good-bye," he said. 
 
 Then Skene left, and Gunning went to where his 
 wife stood by the window. 
 
 THE END
 
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