All Else Is Folly. Peregrine Acland
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mark the end of an episode. And that episode as certainly marked the end of a stage in his own development.
In his devotion to the blue-eyed, fair-haired Phyllis Howard, in Canada, he now saw that he had been nothing but a dreamy youngster distantly worshiping an immature Diana. His adoration might have blazed into fire if the War hadn’t placed three thousand miles of sea between them. But during those dreary months of training in England he had yearned for something more comforting than the consciously clever letters of a young girl who knew so much more of books than of life.
Never had he endured lonelier evenings than those which he spent sitting on the edge of his cot, in camp on Salisbury Plain, as he wrote on a knee-held pad by the flickering light of a candle, while the rain pattered on the canvas of the condemned army tent and occasional drops dripped through onto his hair or down his neck.
The feeling of loneliness that gathered during the whole day came to a head in those evening hours. For he felt by himself even when most in the midst of a crowd — at company and battalion drill, on the rifle ranges, at sword exercises, in the regimental mess. He felt himself far removed in his interests and in his nature from these alert, snappy young subalterns. To them he must, he knew, appear deliberative, slow-moving, clumsy.
Yet, surely, he had already packed more action and adventure into his life than had most of them.…
Still impatiently scrutinizing each couple that entered the hotel, Falcon glanced again at his wrist watch. Seventeen minutes after one! And Elsie had said she and her fiancé would arrive at one sharp.
What would this fiancé be like, and how would he regard one of Elsie’s former “friends”? After knowing a girl so intimately as Falcon had known Elsie in the last two months, it would be curious to meet the man who was to marry her. Just how much did the man know?
Stanley Hunter’s face, as shown in the photograph on Elsie’s mantelpiece, was certainly not that of a simple and gullible spirit. His high, narrow forehead, long, sharp nose and small, pointed ears suggested a fox. The twinkle in the eyes and the wrinkle at the corner of the lips hinted that the fox had a sense of humour.
Of course, he might know everything — and chuckle at it. From all the stories that Elsie had told about him, Stanley Hunter must be a cynical devil.
Elsie was in love with Stanley, there was no doubt about that. Her “business career,” as she laughingly called it, hadn’t been long enough to kill her craving for romance. And in Stanley she had found her hero. She was not merely enamoured, she was infatuated … madly. On many mornings Falcon had a hard time to keep from exploding into laughter as he and Elsie balanced on their knees a tray of tea and toast and bacon and she wriggled her toes and talked about the great and glorious Stanley Hunter.
Falcon could quite understand Hunter marrying Elsie, whatever she had done. He had come uncomfortably close to asking her himself — would have, in fact, if she hadn’t prevented him by telling of her engagement.
She was like — she was like …
His eyes, roaming over the figures of men and women in the entrance of the Savoy, paused.
Well, she was a good deal like that tall, slim, dark-haired girl in the snug-fitting black suit with the touch of white at the throat, who was standing across the foyer from him now.
Only that girl, while she was not so very tall, was taller than Elsie; and while her heavy black hair and her large dark eyes reminded him of Elsie, her cheeks were ivory-pale, while Elsie’s glowed with health.
On the other hand, this girl, if she did not have Elsie’s abounding vitality, had a wealth of quiet charm.
She drew off one of her gloves to take something from her vanity-bag. It was a delight to watch each movement of her long, delicately moulded hand. He imagined in her an exquisite sensitiveness.
He wondered who she was and for whom she was waiting. Lucky devil!
He, Falcon, would meet Elsie only to say goodbye to her, and that damned loneliness would return. Nothing but loneliness and then … France.
The tall, pale girl smiled, her eyes sparkled, as a captain in a Rifle Regiment who had just entered the hotel crossed over to her. A handsome man, but too full fleshed. His flushed face indicated that even this early in the day he had been doing himself too well. As he spoke to the girl the smile faded from her face, her eyes saddened.…
Then Falcon noticed her no more.
Dashing through the door came a girl in a dark red suit and toque — bright cheeks, big black eyes and a throat of creamy whiteness. Following her a tall, lean-faced, red-haired British officer of thirty-odd strolled leisurely, quietly humming, as if nothing mattered much these days.
Elsie was breathless and sparkling.… The clear music of her voice charmed Falcon, as it fascinated him when he first met her. That was three months ago, on a weekend leave shortly after the First Canadian Division had arrived in England.
They went in to lunch, Elsie animated, Falcon uneasy, Captain Hunter amused.
“You have heard, of course,” said Captain Hunter, “that Elsie has promised to make an honest man of me?”
“Yes,” said Falcon, a little stiffly. “I have heard.”
“Can’t you possibly come to our wedding?” pleaded Elsie. “The day after to-morrow. There’ll be hardly anybody there but a few of Stanley’s brother officers. And, of course, my father will come down from his farm in Yorkshire.”
“It’s charming of you to ask me, but I have to go back to Salisbury to-night. It’s my last night of leave.”
“Lucky dog to be going back to Salisbury,” said Captain Hunter. “In four days I go back to France.”
“I wish I were going with you,” said Falcon. “It’s such a bore in the training camp, waiting to go out.”
“It’s a worse bore in the trenches,” said Captain Hunter, “waiting to get pipped.”
“At any rate, Stanley darling,” said Elsie, “you can get lots of champagne when you’re behind the lines.”
“Yes … when — and if!”
“How long do you think the war will last?” asked Falcon.
Captain Hunter wrinkled his nose at the question. Then he said:
“It’s over for most of my crowd now.”
For a moment no one spoke.
Then Elsie said to Falcon:
“Stanley says he gets so blue when he knocks about London now. If it weren’t for me he wouldn’t have taken this leave. So, you see, I do some good.”
Captain Hunter smiled. He said:
“Elsie and I are a pair of sinners. We each need one good action to our credit.”
He added:
“Of course Elsie has a long record of benefits conferred.” He winked at Falcon.
Falcon blushed. He had been sitting stiff, expressionless, trying to conceal the mental disturbance which agitated him.
He had thought that his half-dozen week-ends with Elsie had made him a man of the world. They had certainly given him a self-confidence which, curiously enough, had not only changed his attitude to his brother subalterns, but had transformed completely their manner towards him. But now, face to face with this red-headed cynic, he saw himself as merely a shy youngster of twenty-three.
After lunch, Elsie, who had eaten with her usual zest, exclaimed delightedly over her liqueur. It was dark, chocolate-coloured crème de cacao, overlaid with cream — or was it fluffy white of egg? — with a cherry on top.
Elsie said:
“This is topping good ‘angel’s tit,’ Stanley.”
Stanley grinned.
Falcon