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Authors: Marjorie Moore
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And, Mary, you will come back here, won ’ t you? ” she pleaded.
“ Yes ... I ’ ll come back. ”
Satisfied with the answer, Joan returned with renewed zest to her task, and, humming softly, carefully folded each garment.
For a few moments Mary watched her, then, pulling up a chair, seated herself again at the table. True, she mused, while with pen poised in her hand she stared at the sheet of paper before her, Noel Mayton might hardly be aware of Joan ’ s existence, and certainly unaware of her admiration for him, but, while there was a woman prepared to offer him the devotion he deserved, Mary knew that, whatever suffering the future might hold, she could no longer marry Noel simply as a way of escape.
CHAPTER SIX
“ Good-bye, Mary! Have a good time, and mind y o u get well again ... See you again in a fortnight! ” Joan Howe stepped back on the platform as the train jerked into motion and noisily steamed out of the station.
Mary Grant leaned out of the third-class carriage window and waved a final farewell to her friend. “ Thanks for seeing me off, ” she called. Before she could say more the train was rattling its way out beyond the confines of the big terminus. She sank back into her corner seat, took off her hat, and picked up the morning paper. But she could not settle to read, for there was too much on her mind. How splendid it would be to meet Veronica once more, to discuss all that had happened since they last parted. She was longing to hear about Veronica ’ s life in the East, longing to meet Guy, her husband, and Jeanette, their four-year-old daughter. It really was wonderful to think of this reunion after six long years of separation. Of course, when Veronica had set out long ago on that holiday trip to join her brother in Singapore, she had expected to return within six months at most. Then she had met Guy Perivale, fallen in love, and married him before the six months was up. She had written home enthusiastic letters about the life, the country, their sports and friends, and it was not until after Jeanette ’ s birth that the letters had become less frequent, shorter, and much less personal. Sometimes Mary had wondered whether Veronica was as wildly happy as she had at first suggested; she had been absurdly young when she had married. She had spent a very quiet childhood, and been brought up by an aunt who lived in a rambling old house some miles outside Oxford. Occasionally Mary had spent a few days at Windyridge, but she had not a very clear recollection of the house. It seemed strange to think that she should be returning there after such a lapse of time, for Veronica had once more taken up her abode with her aunt, and was to stay there for the remainder of the time that she and her husband were to be in England on leave. Mary smiled to herself. Aunt Bess had always been a darling and pleased to have young people in her home. Mary felt delighted at the idea of meeting her again. “ Queen Bess! ” Yes, that was what they used to call her, and rightly too, for everyone, young and old, was ready to pay her homage.
The train was slowing down! This must be Oxford, then! Mary removed her suitcase from the Luggage -rack, hastily replaced her hat, and, slipping her heavy coat over her arm, prepared to alight the moment the train stopped.
For a second she stood on the platform not quite knowing which way to turn, and then suddenly she found herself being wildly hugged and kissed as Veronica greeted her in a wholly incoherent fashion.
“ Oh, Mary, darling, it is marvellous to see you! I thought your train would never arrive! I ’ ve been here hours. ”
“ But I ’ m not late, am I? ” Mary queried.
“ Not a split second, my dear; but you don ’ t seem to understand that I ’ m thrilled to the core to have you here, and that it ’ s the most heavenly thing that ’ s happened to me in years. It ’ s a more ecstatic moment than my first glimpse of England, and, believe me, I
“ Yes ... I ’ ll come back. ”
Satisfied with the answer, Joan returned with renewed zest to her task, and, humming softly, carefully folded each garment.
For a few moments Mary watched her, then, pulling up a chair, seated herself again at the table. True, she mused, while with pen poised in her hand she stared at the sheet of paper before her, Noel Mayton might hardly be aware of Joan ’ s existence, and certainly unaware of her admiration for him, but, while there was a woman prepared to offer him the devotion he deserved, Mary knew that, whatever suffering the future might hold, she could no longer marry Noel simply as a way of escape.
CHAPTER SIX
“ Good-bye, Mary! Have a good time, and mind y o u get well again ... See you again in a fortnight! ” Joan Howe stepped back on the platform as the train jerked into motion and noisily steamed out of the station.
Mary Grant leaned out of the third-class carriage window and waved a final farewell to her friend. “ Thanks for seeing me off, ” she called. Before she could say more the train was rattling its way out beyond the confines of the big terminus. She sank back into her corner seat, took off her hat, and picked up the morning paper. But she could not settle to read, for there was too much on her mind. How splendid it would be to meet Veronica once more, to discuss all that had happened since they last parted. She was longing to hear about Veronica ’ s life in the East, longing to meet Guy, her husband, and Jeanette, their four-year-old daughter. It really was wonderful to think of this reunion after six long years of separation. Of course, when Veronica had set out long ago on that holiday trip to join her brother in Singapore, she had expected to return within six months at most. Then she had met Guy Perivale, fallen in love, and married him before the six months was up. She had written home enthusiastic letters about the life, the country, their sports and friends, and it was not until after Jeanette ’ s birth that the letters had become less frequent, shorter, and much less personal. Sometimes Mary had wondered whether Veronica was as wildly happy as she had at first suggested; she had been absurdly young when she had married. She had spent a very quiet childhood, and been brought up by an aunt who lived in a rambling old house some miles outside Oxford. Occasionally Mary had spent a few days at Windyridge, but she had not a very clear recollection of the house. It seemed strange to think that she should be returning there after such a lapse of time, for Veronica had once more taken up her abode with her aunt, and was to stay there for the remainder of the time that she and her husband were to be in England on leave. Mary smiled to herself. Aunt Bess had always been a darling and pleased to have young people in her home. Mary felt delighted at the idea of meeting her again. “ Queen Bess! ” Yes, that was what they used to call her, and rightly too, for everyone, young and old, was ready to pay her homage.
The train was slowing down! This must be Oxford, then! Mary removed her suitcase from the Luggage -rack, hastily replaced her hat, and, slipping her heavy coat over her arm, prepared to alight the moment the train stopped.
For a second she stood on the platform not quite knowing which way to turn, and then suddenly she found herself being wildly hugged and kissed as Veronica greeted her in a wholly incoherent fashion.
“ Oh, Mary, darling, it is marvellous to see you! I thought your train would never arrive! I ’ ve been here hours. ”
“ But I ’ m not late, am I? ” Mary queried.
“ Not a split second, my dear; but you don ’ t seem to understand that I ’ m thrilled to the core to have you here, and that it ’ s the most heavenly thing that ’ s happened to me in years. It ’ s a more ecstatic moment than my first glimpse of England, and, believe me, I
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