She paused for breath.
Maud was standing stiff and cold against the door. "Is that what you called me in here to say?" she asked.
Mrs. Sheppard still looked uneasy though she tried to laugh it off. "Not quite all, dear. But I really should go and make friends with him if I were you. He isn't a bit angry with you any more. In fact he has been joking about it, says his arm is so stiff this morning he can hardly use it. You couldn't possibly keep it up if you heard him."
"I shall not hear him," said Maud.
White and proud she faced her mother, and the latter's half-forced merriment died away.
"Child, don't look so tragic! What is it? Come, he didn't hurt you so badly surely! Can't you forgive and forget?"
"No," Maud said. "I shall never do either. I am going away with Bunny to-day. And I hope-with all my heart-that I shall never see his face again."
"Going away?" Mrs. Sheppard opened startled eyes. "But, Maud-"
"I am going to marry Jake Bolton," Maud said, her voice very deep and quiet. "He will take me and Bunny too."
"Oh, my dear. That man!" Her mother gazed at her in consternation. "He-he is infinitely rougher than Giles," she said.
"I know he is rough. But he cares for Bunny. That matters most," said Maud. "In fact, I believe he likes Bunny best!"
"My dear, it's you he wants-not Bunny," said Mrs. Sheppard, with a rare flash of insight. "I saw that at the very beginning of things-at our wedding-party. He looked at you as if he could devour you."
Maud put out a quick hand of protest. "Mother, please! That doesn't prove he cares about me-any more than I care for him. It-it's just the way with men of his sort. He-he has been very kind, and he is genuinely fond of Bunny, and-and-in fact it's the only thing to be done. I can't-possibly-stay here any longer."
Her lip quivered unexpectedly. She turned to go. But her mother intercepted her quickly, endearingly.
"Maud, darling, wait a minute! I haven't finished. You took my breath away. But listen a moment! This sacrifice won't be necessary, I am sure, I am sure. You couldn't marry that horsey creature. You would never bear life with him. You are not adaptable enough nor experienced enough. You could never endure it. It would be infinitely worse than poor Giles and his tantrums. No, but listen, dear! If you really feel you must go, I think a way of escape is going to be offered to you and poor little Bunny too. I have had a letter from your Uncle Edward, and he is coming expressly to see you both."
"Mother!" Maud almost tore herself free, gazing at her with that in her eyes that was to haunt Mrs. Sheppard for many days. "Oh, why, why, why didn't you tell me before? When did the letter come?"
"It was last night, darling. You were such a long way off-right at the top of the house-and I was too tired to go after you-I meant to tell you first thing, dear; but when I went to look for you after breakfast, you had gone. I am very sorry, but really it wasn't my fault. Still, you won't want to marry that vulgar person now, for I am sure your uncle means to make provision for you. He can well afford it. He is very wealthy."
But Maud resolutely put her mother's clinging arms away from her. "Jake is not vulgar," she said in a voice that sounded flat and tired. "And I have promised to marry him. Nothing can make any difference to that now."
"My dear! What nonsense! I will get Giles to talk to him. How can you dream of such a thing, you who might have married Lord Saltash-and may yet! There is no knowing. Maud, dearest, you must be reasonable. You must indeed. This Jake Bolton may be a very excellent man, a very worthy man, but as a husband for you he would be utterly unsuitable. Surely you can see that for yourself! I can't imagine what possessed you to entertain such an idea for a moment. It was rank presumption on his part to dare to lift his eyes to you. Why, my dear, if you were to marry him your life would be an absolute thraldom. You mustn't think of it, dear child. You mustn't indeed. Why, he is not much better than a stable-boy. And his speech-"
"He has spent a good deal of his time among cowboys." Maud was still firmly trying to disengage herself. "His speech is more or less acquired. In any case-in any case-I have given him my promise. And you had better not let Mr. Sheppard interfere. It would be wise of him to keep out of Jake's way in fact. Jake knows exactly why I am prepared to marry him."
"My dear! You actually made a confidant of that dreadful person! How could you?"
"I wanted a man to protect me," Maud said very bitterly, "from the vindictive savagery of a brute!"
"Maud! How can you talk so? And I am sure Jake Bolton is much more of a brute than poor Giles. Why, look at the man! Look at his mouth, his eyes! They absolutely stamp him. Oh, dear, you're very headstrong and difficult. I begin to think Giles had some excuse after all. Perhaps your uncle will be able to manage you. You are quite beyond me."
Maud almost laughed. "When does he arrive?" she asked.
"This evening. He has asked us to reserve a room for him." Mrs. Sheppard had speedily developed a proprietary interest in the management of the hotel. Its welfare had become far more engrossing than that of her children.
Maud opened the door. "We shall be gone by that time. Jake's finding us rooms somewhere in the town."
Mrs. Sheppard held up her hands. "Jake finding rooms! Maud! how-scandalous! How do you know-you don't know! – that he is to be trusted?"
Maud made a brief gesture as of one who submits to the inevitable. "I trust him," she said, with that in her voice that stilled all further protest.
And with the words she passed with finality out of her mother's room, and went away upstairs without a backward glance.
Mrs. Sheppard sat down and shed a few petulant tears over her child's waywardness. "She never would listen to advice," was the burden of her lament. "If she had, she would have been happily married to Lord Saltash by now, and I might have had my house in London to-day. Oh dear, oh dear! Children are a bitter disappointment. They never can be made to see what is for their own good. She'll rue the day. I know she will. That trainer man has a will of iron. He'll break her to it like one of his horses. My poor, proud Maud!"
CHAPTER XV
THE CLOSED DOOR
A way of escape! A way of escape! How often during the hours of that endless day were those words in Maud's mind. They pursued her, they mocked her, whichever way she turned.
To Jake she merely very briefly imparted the news of her uncle's expected advent, and he received it without comment.
Bunny was much more speculative. He had been somewhat carried out of himself by the trend of events. It was Jake who whispered to him the amazing information of his sudden conquest, together with a very strenuous injunction not to talk to Maud about it unless she started the subject. And Maud, for some reason, could not start it. She went through all the necessary arrangements for their removal as one in a dream, scarcely speaking at all, responding very occasionally to Bunny's eager surmises respecting the unknown great-uncle who had never before taken the faintest interest in them, or shown himself so much as aware of their existence. His coming did not seem to matter to her. If indeed he were about to offer her a way of escape, it could not matter to her now. The door that led thither had closed, closed in the night, because her mother had been too tired to seek her out and tell her. The irony of it! The bitter cruel irony! She dared not pause to think.
Jake spent a great part of the day with them, working with a will to get them comfortably settled in their new quarters before the fall of the early dusk. After that, he remained to tea; but he devoted almost the whole of his attention to Bunny, who had in fact come to regard it as his right.
He left soon after, refusing to remain for the game of chess for which the lad earnestly pleaded.
"Not to-night, my son! Your brain has got to settle down. It's a deal too lively at present."
He bent over Bunny at parting, and whispered a few words that were inaudible to Maud. Then he turned